#YOU CAUGHT A GLIMPSE OF SOMETHING THATS CATCHING YOUR EYE

[yunasgraveyard]

My cats also opens my door

But also you can open it with just pulling, you dont need to use the handle

Also what if nightmare had a daughter/daughters

I just want killers phone to ring, him picking up and just hearing this:

"Hiii, you're dads right hand man right? Or whatever its called-" "is that your dads friend? HI (insert whatever name i'll give the daughter)'s DADS FRIEND!" "girl shut the fuck up for like one second im trying to talk here! do you mind telling him i'll be at a friends house tonight?"

In the background just "BOY GIVE ME BACK MY HAIRCLIP BEFORE I BEAT YOUR ASS WITH MY HAIRDRYER" "WYM YOUR HAIRCLIP? THIS IS MINE!" "girl get off my lap for like one second i need to call my dad too i just remembered." "Tell him i said hi" "NO IT ISNT- oh wait yeah it is"

Half of my nightmare thingamabog lore is just whatever i think is funny, i have no thoughts <3 there is a rat instead of a brain in my skull

I got another but this is purely nightmares lover from their perspective to nightmare

Everything you do, I'm obsessed with you

I don't mean to scare, but you're just so cute

Every move you make, you're fucking sweeter than a cake

I wanna cut you up and put you in my oven just to bake

And everything you say is like poetry

Wanna drop you in boiling water drink, you like chamomile tea

I'd love to wipe these other bitches out, so it's just you and me

I wanna hug you like a bunny, wanna sting you like a bee

Also today i learned my older brother once pushed me out the bed because he wanted more room, since he didnt think there would be consequences.

Thanks dude i was 2 😔 go fuck yourself

Have a cat picture

Nice. I once watched my brother chase around a childhood friend with a knife.

And NM’s love is a massive simp. They probably like that he smells awful. /pos

{ @brokenramunebottle }

[ridingthatd]

❝ FUCKABLE! ❞

gojo and geto are assigned a significant task by their teacher, they have the duty of returning you to tokyo jujutsu high. but what would happen if they both find you fuckable?

warning : heavy smut, degrading, breeding, a lot of cum, phone sex, masturbating, three sum, anal sex, pussy talk, dirty, filthy, very kinky

fucking pervert. gojo spit out these harsh words out of his mouth, as he run his fingers through his wet hair. he's been in the shower for quiet awhile now, rethinking whatever he has done an hour ago, what happened to him? is he this desperate?- is he this desperate to fuck his cock with a thong who belongs to the girl he has to keep safe.

satoru thinks and thinks and thinks staring at his hard cock in the shower should he- no no he already did enough, but maybe if he just let it out maybe he will feel better? maybe if he beats his cock in the shower enough he will get tired of beating it, then he wouldn't have to worry about being hard anymore- well at least thats what he thought.

grunts and groans fills the shower, but it wasn't as loud as the water that was running down his body, satoru groans thighs shaking as he stroke his cock in away he never had- so fast, so hard he wouldn't be surprised if the skin of it tear off from how hard he's gripping it, head on the wall of the shower, water dripping down his face, he can't breath, he can't breath because of how suffocating it is to feel this hot- from the warm shower running and of course from the thoughts he's having right now.

having you here with him, bending you over pushing you into the shower wall, boobs squeezing into it, and head rolling back as you desperately give him a sloppy kiss sucking his tongue into your mouth- he looks at the shower wall it was covered with multiple cum spots- his cum, he had came 4 times fucking 4 times and this is about to be his 5th- he wishs you were the one who's covered with his cum shots instead of the cold wall of the shower, his eyes crossed as he imagine your ass- tits - face - thighs covered with his cum, and this seem to send him to the edge as he cums one more time with a long groan and shaky legs. he slides down the shower to shaky to even stand up.

"satoru~" you teasingly call out his name, looking for non other then your favorite sorcerer, you glance inside the kitchen and there he is- his back facing you as he seems to be putting something in the oven, rolling his eyes because he knows once you call his name this way- it means you're up to something annoying.

you sneakily snuck behind his back and warp your ice cold hands inside his shirt- in intention to freak him out, but your silly little action has started a fire- that will break open you.

gojo freezes, standing still, you start giggling thinking you finally caught him off guard, screaming a-

"gottcha that's what you get-" you weren't

able to continue your sentence because gojo is already on you, he was so fast that you let out a yelp as he painfully grabs your hips between his hand and pick you up pushing you toward the kitchen counter, pushing his forehead against yours- your warm breath is mixing with his from how close he was, nose bumping against each other-your breath hitch not understanding what's happening.

"gotcha" gojo whisper lowly against your lips as he stare at them, you can basically feel them faintly brushing against yours as he mutters those words out, you didn't reply- you couldn't, to busy staring at his lips, as he do the same.

satoru doesn't know what got into him- he surprised himself as much as he surprised you.

"satoru" you whisper against his lips, having no motive of pushing him off, so gojo get enough courage to slowly stroke his hand up your thighs, as he keep staring at your lips, he can feel your breath hitch as he squeeze your thighs, trailing his hand up and up till he reachs the skirt you were wearing- he fucking love your skirts, he adore the collection of your skirts, how it let him catch a glimpse of your peachy ass and your plumpy thighs, and most importantly he always think about how easy the access is, he could just bend you over, sliding your panties to the side and shove his cock in with no hesitation.

his hand hovers on your skirt, gojo lick his dry lips, as he look in your eyes asking for permission to slide his hand inside that little skirt of yours. as if you knew what he wants you slowly place your hands on top of his- pushing it inside your skirt placing it on your upper thighs, his fingers gazing against your panties.

he groans against your lips, pushing against you more- because you just gave him the permission he needed so he won't have to hold back anymore.

you let a whimper when gojo squeeze your thighs hard, "you like that yea?" he darkly questions as he knead them harshly.

you nod eagerly, pushing yourself against him, pressing your boobs into him- and gojo finally snaps, picking you up from the counter, squeezing your ass between his hands, as he finally take your pretty mouth against his- finally.

you moan in his mouth and he growls in yours- fuck it tastes so good so good, your tongue against his swirling around together, he pulls back, a string of spit connecting both of your tongues.

"satoru" you mummer staring at him with high eyes and he pull back into a kiss again, wet kissing noises filled the hallway as he makes his way into the living room with you in his arms.

he doesn't make it halfway because he push you against the wall instead, rocking you against his hard cock. you break the kiss, throwing your head back moaning at how good his cock feels- dry humping you.

gojo trails his nose against the side of your neck, huffing as he whisper harshly. "you needy baby? you needy for my cock?"

he pushs harder- it felt to good for you because you thankfully wore a skirt so he's directly stroking his closed cock against your panties, it felt to good because the feeling of the harsh fabric of his jeans rubbing against your clit takes you on cloud nine.

he grabs your hair and turn you around, pushing your face and whole body against the hallways cold walls, he immediately start grinding his hard on against your ass- but the only difference is that you no longer feel his pants- he's only wearing his boxers.

"look what you do to me y/n, you feel this hard cock hm?" he says as he grab your hair pushing your head back to look at him.

but you were to out of it to answer to busy focusing on the way you're so close to cumming, you only snap out of it when gojo pushes your panties down your legs, and shove his finger in without any warming, causing you to yell out.

"I asked you a fucking question didn't i?"

he says harshly as he scissors his fingers inside of you, groaning in your ear from how tight you felt around him.

"ple- please please" this is the only words that managed to come out of your mouth,as you rock against his fingers, mouth half open.

"aw you poor baby you wanna cum on my fingers hm? you wanna squirt on them?" he coo at you sucking on your neck, as he shove them into you faster.

"yes yes yes" your eyes roll, as you roll your hips into him matching his pace. only to whimper when you feel him removing his fingers and licking them clean moaning at your taste.

you were about to complain but gojo already picked you up, throwing you against his shoulder as he makes his way toward the living room throwing you on the couch, freeing his cock out of his boxer, it sprungs out hitting his abdomen. your mouth water out from how big he is- fuck he was so beautiful, pinkish red, veins, and a trimmed white hair. he strokes his cock looking at your wet pussy, he was about to do what he has been fantasizing about till- a ring sound fills the room.

it was your phone laying on the couch next to you, gojo was quick to grab it before you smirking at who's calling- geto.

your eyes goes wide as he click the answer button and put it on speaker placing it next to you. "hello sweetheart, where tf are you? I have been waiting for the past 30 mins" as your hands made their way towards it, gojo shoves his hard cock inside of you.

you moan out loud, he was so big so big, gojo eye rolls, he's shaking, he doesn't know why but he's shaking so bad, after all it was his first time fucking a pussy this tight and the feeling of your tight wet pussy clenching so hard around him has him overwhelmed, "y/n?" geto on the phone confusedly ask.

but you were to busy staring at satorus shivering body, as he leans in placing his forehead on yours, eyes clenched shut, mouth opened.

you completely forget about geto as you slowly flip him and get on top of him. he holds you by the waist gazing at you with adoration. you slowly sink on his cock, he groans fingers digging inside your hips, to your surprise he whimpers. and it turns you on so much that you fully go down. whimper after whimper leaves him.

"y/n" he chokes out, you lean in giving him a sloppy kiss that he returns, "yes baby I'm here" you say.

"please move or I might lose it" he breaths out harshly, you slowly start rocking your hips, to scared to do anything more then that- but what catch you off surprise is when gojo lift you up and push you down hard against his cock, both of you moaning at the same, he repeats it lifting you and tugging you down, you're basically jumping on his cock right now, eyes crossed from how harsh gojo is handling you- like you're nothing but a fuck toy.

"gonna cum inside of you, gonna fill you with my cum" gojo groans out, as he sit up and hug you into him, just to push up your shirt, taking your nipples into his mouth, biting them, and swirling his tongue around them, as he fucks up into you. bouncing you on his cock, oh how much he loves this view.

"fucking hell-" a moan comes out- but it's not from him or from you, it's from the phone, it was geto, he was still on the line clearly listening to what's happening, but that does nothing other then turn you on even more.

"satoru stretch her ass out for me, make sure her little tight ass is stretched out for me" geto speaks out his dirty words, you thought gojo will be made at his friend for ordering him around but to your surprise his eyes sparkle at the idea.

"mm y/n im gonna stretch your second pretty hole for geto yea? we can't be selfish can't we?" he spit this venom out as a smirk slowly creeps out on his face from your shocked expression. "what are you-" his fingers spread your cheeks apart, trailing circles on your hole.

"awe dont tell me you actually thought I would be jealous of my friend-tch i thought u were smarter then that sweetheart, how can I be jealous of my own fuck buddy" you couldn't even react to his words, because geto already shoved a finger up your tight ass- it was a new feeling for you, to overwhelming that it had you squirting on his dick creating an embarrassing wet sound.

"fuck- did she squirt" geto groan out from the phone. your body was drained out from the shockness of both- gojos confession and the new feeling.

but that didn't stop gojo as he pick you up and push you down his cock, bouncing your body on it.

he feels you clenching around his cock tighter "is geto hearing me fucking you turn you on? huh sweetheart" you moan loudly at his dirty words.

"does it turn you on to know that you're fucking his friend?" he says setting you and himself on the edge. " fuck fuck fuck im cumming fuck ima turn your insides white, fill you in, keep you warm and nice".

and that makes you cum again, clenching so tightly around him as you feel his hot cum spilling inside of you, he keep rocking his hips as he bring his mouth to yours, sucking on your tongue.

"never came this hard from masturbating before" geto moans out, indicating that he also came. satoru stare at your sleeping figure as he slowly brush your hair out of the way, he was lying about not being jealous of geto- because of course he is, but was he lying about the fuck buddies part- no he didn't.

[bunslora]

i'll die anyway ᯓ★ bff.ᐟellie x reader

summary: lesbian yearning..

tags: suggestive , alcohol consumption , men dni .

wc: 618

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"never have i ever—" ellie looks at you, straight faced, fully serious. "oh fuck off, are you twelve?" you shoot back, trying to stifle a giggle. you pass her the shitty bottle of rum the two of you had swiped from joel while downstairs moments before. ellies space patterned bedsheets crinkle beneath her lap as she takes a swig of the liquor. her face scrunches at the harsh taste, and you notice yourself watching in silent endearment, something that is not an uncommon occurrence for you.

"fine—" you look at her intently, barely long enough for it to mean anything. barely long enough for her to notice. at least, thats what you tell yourself. what you've been telling yourself. "never have i ever.." you make an over exaggerated show of pondering as you pretend to think. "never have i ever been caught by my father looking at—you know what, im actually not going to recount it..however i am confident you can fill in the blanks—" ellie rolls her eyes, as you continue whatever monologue you've prepared for her. "while being at a family dinner." you make sure to emphasise each word as you attempt to hold back a laugh that threatens to spill out from your chest.

"yeah, no, its not funny if you're the only one laughing," ellie grumbles, trying to make an effort to look entirely unamused. "also—" she starts, apparently not done, "you can't say things you know i've already done." you catch her gaze, "well—shall i try again?" you tease. "uh, no, dickhead its my go" she says in turn. "okay, so stop whining and get on with it then." you say, stealing the bottle from her grasp.

you drink from the bottle, grimacing as the taste refuses to improve. "never have i ever been a pretentious asshole." ellie says, looking almost proud with her question. you smile at her, amused, and ask, "define pretentious." ellie glares at you, although there is no real malice in the action. "unfortunately, that doesn't answer my question" she retorts, as she leans impossibly closer, you could almost taste the liquor on her breath—a contradiction, given that the two of you were already practically sitting on top of each other.

the bottle, now getting awfully close to being three-quarters empty, rested at the curve of your smile as you bring it closer to your lips for another sip. you lean back, offering a sliver of distance between you both. the motion causes your shirt to ride up, allowing for a glimpse of your laced underwear to peak above the waistband of your jeans. too subtle to be an invitation, yet too deliberate for it to feel unintentional. feigning innocence, you pretend not to notice the way ellies gaze trails down from your face to your torso. her hand wraps around yours, gently loosening the bottle from your grip before bringing it to her lips for a swig of the liquor.

"ellie—" you look at her as you begin to steady yourself, the hum of alcohol becoming more prominent. you move closer, continuing whatever you had begun to say. "you're staring." you announce, like she wasn't already aware. theres a beat of charged silence before she responds—"am i?" she says, attempting to convey ignorance, but the implications are still laid out in front of you both.

you sigh, "you're impossible", and with that ellie looks at you—the atmosphere swims with something inescapable; adoration? love? desire? devotion? whatever it is, ellie smiles regardless, a look that could almost be catagorised as hesitancy before she speaks. "i think you like it" she says. "and i think you're drunk." you say in return. takes one to no one.

inbox ⤿ open

might do a part 2!!

link to moodboard ⋆˙⟡

[seilahdiaries]

𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗬 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞. 𓍯𓂃

IN WHICH the greasers mess up and regret it .

warnings swearing, tiny angst, fluff, the boys are down bad😭 𝓯! reader x the outsiders .

𓍼 i think i could eat avocado toast for the rest of my life and be okay. also i don’t get why ppl don’t like the self tanner smell or maybe it’s the fact my tanner smells like coconut idek.

now playing . . . baby come back - player

𝗗𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗡

you hadn’t even meant it that seriously when you said it—just a teasing little murmur.

“you’re never sweet to me y’know that?”

but of course—dallas being dallas— got verryyy defensive and he flinched.

he shrugged you off like a bad itch, your spot tucked under his arm and resting your head on his chest forgotten. he lit a cigarette and said something like, “you want sweet, go date a lil’ bitch.”

the warmth in the smokey room vanished. next thing you knew you tugged your little ballet flats on, almost kissed his cheek out of habit but just walked out. slamming the door just a little bit for dramatic effect.

he lasted two nights btw.🙏🏻

two whole nights of no contact before he was pacing his room like a gooner on no nut november. muttering under his breath like “i ain’t callin’ her. hell no. she’s the one who walked out.”

then five seconds later he’s in bathroom mirror like “be fr, dallas. what if she thinks you don’t care. what if she actually already got a new bitch?!”

he DEFINITELY stalks your house like a creep. he’ll “stroll” pass your house atleast five times a day hoping he’ll catch a glimpse of you, nonchalantly ofc.

when he finally sees you again, after two days of stalking, he doesn’t really say anything. just flicks the cigarette away and stares at you like he wasn’t just tweaking out last night.

“you done bein’ mad?” he asks, voice rough, arms crossed. but his eyes gave him away, the way he looks at your hands, your lips, your wrists— like it’s been years and he almost forgot how you looked. dramaticcc

“cause i cant do that again. the.. not talking shit. alright?” he doesn’t apologize, not exactly. but he looks at you like he wants to. like the words are caught somewhere between his throat and pride.

and when you don’t answer— just take one step closer— he doesn’t stop you.

he lets you fix the collar of his jacket, tuck the strand of hair behind his ear without flinching, lets you look at him. really look.

so maybe dallas winston isn’t sweet.. but he lets you touch the softest parts of him. sometimes! ☺️

𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗦

you guys don’t usually fight, you two are really mature. but on the rare occasions you do. it hurts so bad☹️

you got up early today, cut the crust off his sandwich because you knew as much as he refused he liked it, you knew better. you ironed his coat with care and even laid everything out for him.

you just wanted to lighten the weight on his shoulders, give him a peaceful morning where he wasn’t racing time.

oh were you wrong!

“why does it smell like pickles?” “you know i can’t stand that.”

then a second later— his voice sharp, short—

“did you use steam on my coat? it’s wrinkled as hell.” “christ— cant you do anything right?”

your heart immediately hurt, a quiet ache. and you didn’t say a word. you folded the sandwich in wax paper, into the brown bag and handed him his coat.

“sorry,” is all you say, “just go.”

and he does.

but who tf? 🤨you leave too. you didn’t answer his calls for about six days, and somehow managed to avoid seeing him too.

“i was wrong.” he spoke on your front porch suddenly, “i was..i took it out on you. and you didn’t deserve that.”

I KNOW THATS RIGHTTTTTT

darry had spiraled. he reorganized the kitchen cabinets. snapped at soda. started lifting at midnight. told himself you’d come back— trying to get his mind off you.

but on day seven, he showed up on your porch. hands shaking with flowers from the store, pink peonies.

𝗦𝗢𝗗𝗔𝗣𝗢𝗣 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗦

he would forget your guys date i’m sorry😭. but ofc not on purpose!!

your ballet pumps dug into the sidewalk, the small cardigan you wore barely clung shut in the cold— because you thought he’d come and warm you up. like always.

but he didn’t. he stood you up.

you stood there till your curls fell and your perfume started to fade. then you walked home in silence. you were so hurt.

you didn’t answer his calls, didn’t open the door when he came knocking. so he opened the window 🤗 like a literal criminal breaking in.

“i’m so stupid,” he blurted, standing outside with slightly flattened tulips he’d rip out of his neighbors front yard. “like actually. i swear i was just talking to steve and then it was dark out and i remembered and i—”

bro didn’t even last a day😭. at most a couple hours before he was crashing out realizing he messed up and IMMEDIATELY ran to your place after calling.

he cut himself off. you looked into his eyes and they were so glossy. “you got all dressed up for me,” he whispered staring at your makeup. “i’m so sorry.”

then he held out the flowers, palms trembling and sweaty.

“can you atleast be mad at me with the tulips in your hand? please? they’re stolen and..crushed. but they’re for you.”

FORGIVE THE POOR MAN PLEASE.😔🙏🏻

𝗣𝗢𝗡𝗬𝗕𝗢𝗬 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗦

you told him you finished the book he recommended you, unfortunately it wasn’t your taste. you said it was okay—just not your style.

but ofc you caught him on a bad day, ever since you guys left the school grounds he’d been moody. deriods.😒

he scoffed, “yeah well people like you never really get it anways.”

EXCUSE MEE??!?! he still walked you home, but it was quiet— and awkward.

you kicked a stone down the sidewalk while your chest burned. and when you got to your porch— no kiss, no goodbye. just a mumble under his breath and the soft crunch of his sneakers walking away.

you didn’t call. he didn’t either.

but he went crazy in that quiet, weird way.

would stay for at least 10 minutes just scrubbing at his hands, darry would have to PEEL him away from the sink. would also sit upside down on the couch and recite quotes from that same book. he spilt chocolate milk on his essay. and still turned it in.

then, steve caught him infront of the bathroom mirror, hollering apologies but throwing hands. hello?? 😭

“i shouldn’t have said that,” right hook. “i really—truly didn’t mean it.” jab to the jaw.

steve lost it.

“man are you apologizing or knocking her out??”

ponys face was red. he left mid-apology-roundhouse

but the next day, fallen out your locker— was a little folded note.

“i rewrote this three times. i’m sorry, i said something stupid and mean. and its not true at all.”

𝗝𝗢𝗛𝗡𝗡𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗗𝗘

you called. once. twice. five times. you even left voicemails after each one. but maybe the last one came off a bit aggressive.

“its fine. really. maybe you’re just too busy ignoring me.”

it was not fine. 😐

you knew his parents weren’t home. his mom was off at her family’s. his dad hadn’t been seen since wednesday. he was home and you were sure of it. but still— nothing.

you went to sleep dramatically, but mostly with your pride hurt cause why did you leave so many voicemails jeez.😓

turns out he wasn’t ignoring you! haha. he’d actually gotten a migraine so bad it made even the light in the room unbearable

johnny curled up with a damp cloth over his forehead, your voicemails playing faintly in his room while he drifted in and out.

and the next early morning, you heard your window click open. you slightly panicked for a second cause whattt before he climbed in with crushed wild flowers he ALSO stole from someone’s yard. cough. soda.

“i didn’t mean to ignore you. swear. i couldn’t look at anything. my head was pounding. but i kept your voicemails on loop. it helped me fall asleep. that last one kind of hurt my feelings though.”

you smiled in spite of yourself.

𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗩𝗘 𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗟𝗘

you were sitting on the curb while he fixed his truck for the millionth time. squinting your eyes from the sun and trying to keep your linen skirt from lifting with the breeze.

you giggled and teased,

“if you spent half as much time on fixing my bike as you do on that greaser hair, i might actually be able to come see you.”

DAMN GIRL.

he laughed— but short.

“yeah well, maybe if you focused on your chain instead of my hair, you wouldn’t be walking it everywhere.”

oh!

you didn’t say much after that—like at all. just walked your bike home when it came time. quiet, wheel clicking out of rhythm.

you didn’t hear from him after that. no calls at all. but two days later, you heard metal clicking in your driveway.

steve.

with his toolbox and a cigarette tucked behind his ear, already halfway through fixing your chain.

“can’t have you riding around on a broken chain. might not like my hair, but at least let me keep you safe.”

you smiled—soft. fixing the cigarette that threaten to fall.

𝗧𝗪𝗢-𝗕𝗜𝗧 𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗪𝗦

he always joked— but this time it wasn’t funny. 😔

you didn’t even remember what he said exactly, just that it hurt. and when your eyes started to gloss, he laughed.

what you didn’t know was that it wasn’t because it was funny— but he didn’t know what else to do. and so you left— face wet and rose-glossed lips pressed shut. and for once in forever, you ignored him.

the next day, you were mid-bite in a chocolate-covered strawberry, legs curled up on the linen couch in your lace pajama shorts. you heard the front door creak.

then two-bit suddenly sat beside you, like he hadn’t made you cry the night before.

“i’m sorry,” he said, holding up a plastic bag from the corner store. “i hate when you’re upset with me. even more when you don’t laugh at me.”

you stared, until he nudged your elbow to take the bag—and you did. “okay, ..now blink twice if you still love me.”

you didn’t blink.

[sp1d3rzz]

How about Shikamaru x reader who is possessive/jealous? Other characters would be great too if you feel up to it!

WARNING !! : Fluff, Kiba being a little shit. Lemme know if I missed anything!!

Featuring : Shikamaru Nara, and Kiba Inuzuka.

A/N : Most definitely, anon! Here ya go (*´꒳`*)

Shikamaru isn't one to monitor other people's lives and meddle in their business. In fact, he finds it annoying enough that his own duties take up most of his free time. So it makes no sense for him to keep close watch on you when he wouldn't bother to do the same for his other friends.

He spends the time he has off sparring with you—never bothering to ask since you somehow always beat him to it. Secretly, the favoritism you show towards him only makes his possession of you grow stronger. It especially doesn't help when you throw yourself onto him and shower praises of how generous he is for helping you, thanking him over and over again until he's forced to pry you off. He'll give you an unbothered shrug and claim it's the least he can do for someone so kind.

It doesn't take long for him to realize this small favor he commits to isn't just because you're an acquaintance of his, but rather he finds you special compared to the others. There's something about you that keeps him wondering when the next time he might be able to see you will be. Sure, it's a daily routine where you come and ask a favor, saying he's the only one you trust to help since he always gets the job done right. What is there to worry when he knows you'll come to him every time with no hesitation?

Wrong.

He waits all day for a knock at his door, your shy voice behind it as you ask him to let you in. Perhaps if he went on a walk through the village with a bored frown plastered on his face, you'd magically appear and give him a reason to turn it upside down. Though time passes by quickly, and he realizes that you wont be coming around after all. It hurts more than he believed it would, overwhelming himself with endless questions on why you hadn't showed up like you normally do.

Days go by where he doesn't see or hear from you, and thats when panic settles in. Have you found someone else to take care of you and keep you company? Or pick another guy to be one of your favorites? He grinds his teeth together at the thought of some loser stealing his place as your number one choice. Embarrassingly, he grows slightly insecure the longer about the matter. Had he not been enough to maintain your attention and satisfy you?

Finally, he decides to go search for you himself, not wasting a second before he's running out the house and all over the village. He checks all your favorite restaurants to eat at, all your preferred stores, and even at your own apartment. Each stop is just another block of worry building up in his body, leading him to go practically crazy.

Then suddenly it clicks in his brain that you must be at your usual training spot. Why hadn't he thought of that before? There isn't a moment where he doesn't have over 100 options mapped out in his head, especially when it comes to you. But pushing that aside, he jumps from tree to tree, scanning all over the forest to catch glimpse of you.

It's not until he reaches your reserved training spot does he hear the giggle he's memorized in his mind more times than he count. Though to his surprise you're not alone, because he makes out another figure beside you. He groans at the recognizable hair, never expecting his best friend Choji, to be there.

He jumps down from the leaf covered branch of a tree, landing steadily on his feet. The look on your face when you notice his presence is full of guilt. You seem scared that he's finally caught you, pressing your lips together and stiffening your body. It'd be cute if what he'd come across wasn't so aggravating.

"This where you've been everyday?" Shikamaru says nonchalantly, though his eyes tell a different story. Choji immediately turns toward him at his words, revealing stained teeth with a welcoming smile. It's clear his best friend has no clue of tension stringing between you and him with how normal he's acting. After all, he'd hate to ruin a friendship over a girl that may not even feel the same way he does.

He knows Choji means no harm because for as long as they've been friends, there'd been a strong sense of understanding. And with that being said, how could someone like him ever compete with someone 10 times better? With all due respect, of course. "Oh, Shikamaru! Hey man, how've you—" But the sentence is cut short by a now annoyed voice.

"Could you leave us for a moment? There's something we need to talk about." His eyes don't blink not once, rather remained glued to yours. Choji mumbles a small 'okay' and disappears into the forest, leaving you and him alone at last. Slight breezes of wind brush past your hair, lifting pieces up with it.

Aside from gentle gusts, it's quiet. An uncomfortable silence as you both stand still in waiting of the other to speak. "You didn't answer my question earlier." He mumbles, folding his arms against his chest. His eyes watch you swallow down nothing but air, probably out of nervousness. "Look— I haven't been avoiding you I've just been... well, busy." The look on your face screams bullshit, but he knows you've never been a good liar anyways.

"Busy running off and not bothering to show up and let me know you're okay? How considerate of you." He lets his arms fall to his sides as he slowly approaches you. His footsteps are meant to taunt you, to rush you for an actual honest answer. And of course it works, making you not so discreetly tap a finger against your pants while coming up with a choice.

He's gets closer and closer, fighting back a small smirk that twitches his lip upwards. The awkward silence coming from you doesn't seem to help that much either. "Okay fine." You clench your fist and face him head on, suddenly with bravery. "I didn't want to annoy you with my constant nagging for your help. You just come off as annoyed and uninterested, so I figured i'd give you some space."

Shikamaru had considered that being one of the possibilities, but it didn't make sense to him at the moment. Once he comes close enough to your body, it's easy to notice the way you flinch away. In spite of that, he reaches his arms out to pull you close into a tight hug. He can hear the little gasp that leaves your lips from how close you are to him.

"Yet I still do everything you ask of me anyways." He squeezes tighter. "I'd do anything you told me to. Don't ever try and avoid me again, alright?" Pressing a small peck to your forehead, you blush. He can't see it, but he can surely imagine. And deep down he hopes you never go as far as ditching him for another guy ever again, or next time he won't be as nice.

From the very beginning of your friendship, Kiba had always been overprotective over you. Staring down every boy who so much as dared to look your direction, picking a fight with sore losers that tried to make a pass at you, and plenty more. He'd always been territorial over the things he valued, so why would you be any different?

You'd been so nice to him, as well as everyone or anything. A part of him liked to believe he was special to you, someone who you could trust and turn to in any given situation. In fact, he'd say he was all you needed in life. He could keep you safe and happy, loving you with everything he had to offer.

Though after a while of his delusions, he soon began to realize he wasn't the only important person in your life. He realized this the day he took you out to eat at Ichiraku Ramen, excited that the two of you were basically on a date, despite you not knowing. But what he never expected was for someone to come in and ruin his evening alone with you.

Shino, his close friend decided on stealing the attention away from him and making it his own. You had welcomed him to sit next to you, insisting the three of you could enjoy time together as a group. And sure enough, the bug lover apathetically accepted and took the seat right of yours.

The whole time was essentially torture for Kiba, having to sit there and watch you giggle with the audacity of letting someone other than him entertain you. He swears a vein would pop out of his forehead every time you so sweetly smiled at another's words. It wouldn't help the anger flowing throw him when he'd make a snarky comment against his friend, only to be gently scolded by you.

"C'mon, be nice today. I just want to peacefully eat a meal without any problems." You'd sigh, picking up more noodles with your chopsticks to slurp up. The words left him frustrated, yet for the sake of you he managed to stay respectful the rest of the time. But how could you recognize his dislikes and still push it aside with no sympathy? The thought puzzled his mind.

A couple hours passed as you kept conversation with Shino, and he was beginning to grow impatient. How could someone so plain be getting this much attention from someone like you? And last time he checked, the two of you were never close before. It made no sense how a weirdo like his friend could ever pull someone like you, perfect in every way possible.

When you finally finish your meal and call in quits for the night, he slaps yours and his fee onto the counter and says his thanks to the old man, grabbing your wrist to drag you from the booth and away from Shino. "Wait— Kiba! Why are you rushing me out of there? I didn't even get to say bye!" He holds back a growl at your shouts, ignoring the people who stare and whisper at the scene. All that mattered was getting you far away from that ramen shop so he could at last spend one-on-one time with you.

"Let me go!" With a tug of your arm, his grip is released and you stumble backward. This time a noise does escape him, quickly turning around to bark out a complaint, but you beat him to it. "What's going on with you? This whole day it's like you've been so–" You stumble for words, rubbing the reddened mark on your wrist.

Kiba rolls his eyes and shoves his hands into his pockets, avoiding your gaze. "Annoyed?" He mumbles, finishing your sentence. You nod your head, keeping silent to await his much needed explanation. He resists at first, but shortly realizes your stubbornness wouldn't be that simple to overcome.

"Fine. It just..." A breath rolls into his lungs, is held, and then is released. "It pisses me off seeing you all friendly with another guy. Makes it worse with him being my friend too." The words aren't easy to admit, given the blushed tint that paints his cheeks with embarrassment.

He watches your furrowed brows relax and eyes soften, but he doesn't expect you to tilt your head to the side and giggle. Had he said something stupid? Is that why you were now tenderly laughing in front of his face? "What's so funny?" He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Y'know if you're gonna laugh at me like this every time I open up, then–"

His words are abruptly interrupted due to your arms being slung around him. You pull him closer to you in an attempt to soothe his frustrations, nuzzling your head right below his chin. His body stiffens up and heat travels up his neck, flustered from the sudden contact.

The two of you keep quiet to bask in the moment until he can't take the feeling of you pressed against him much longer. Clearing his throat to give you a hint, you pick up on it but hesitate. "I'm sorry I made you feel like that. Next time, i'll be more aware." you whisper into his chest, giving one last squeeze before pulling away.

Kiba remains standing stiffly, face redder than a strawberry. If he had a tail, it'd be wagging right about now.

[junibugs]

Saint Rocky

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Reader

Reader: afab! Reader, she/her pronouns

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12,231

Summary: Four years after a cure is found for the deadly sickness that destroyed the world, Eren and Reader are left in its aftermath. The world returns to its axis, and society rebuilds, but now that the sickness is a fear of the past, they’re forced to learn the fears of the present.

Content: Post-Apocalyptic AU!, Friends to Lovers?, Found Family, Religious Themes

Other Content: slight Jean/Armin if u squint, Pieck is disabled and has ehlers danlos syndrome because i do too and i said so, non-binary Hange, everyone who is alive early s4 is alive here, the dog does not die, Gabi defender until i die

Content Warnings: Dark Content (Mentions of SA, Religious Themes/Trauma, Mentions of Pedophilia, Implied Character Death, Violence, Weapons, Animal Death,

Notes: This isn't truly complete i just didn't want to write it anymore but wanted to give it to you guys so if in a few months it's a little different and actually edited thats why.

He’s careful with his steps, but not fearful. 

Everytime you hunt, you can see the part of him that was molded into perfection by his father. He knows what to do, how to do it, and he never hesitates. He holds his bow with a confidence that isn’t loud, but silent and sure. You trust him enough to refrain from telling him to slow down, so you let him remain a few yards ahead of you.

After a while, after times of repeating this routine over and over, you’ve learned to prefer it that way. He’s quick, gets his job done. He gets tunnel vision when he enters this headspace, so letting him move ahead of you allows you to watch his back, look at the wider picture, catch the little things that slip past his vision. 

You trust him enough to lead the way, and he trusts you enough to fall behind.

“I have one set just a bit farther up.” You say softly. He turns his head just enough to catch your eye to give you a nod.

He slows his steps without you having to ask and lets you catch up so you can lead him to the trap. He keeps his head up, scanning his eyes over the thinning treeline until you reach him, then he looks to you, waiting for you to step ahead. Here is when you take lead, patting over your pockets to check for your knife and tools, feeling out the lumps of metal beneath your jeans. 

Just in your sight, beneath a large tree and atop it’s skirt of fallen leaves, is the trap you set a day or two ago. Caught inside it, still shuffling about the metal bars of the bottom, is a large jackrabbit. A part of you is filled with relief, and another part is filled with guilt. Rabbits are difficult.

You catch a glimpse of auburn fur to your left, followed by a curious nose that presses itself to the cold metal bars of the cage. She sniffs deeply, puffing out clouds of heat into the winter air with every exhale. The rabbit jumps back and startles her, and her ears perk up as she steps closer.

“Ness, no,” You say softly and tug at her collar. She looks up at you with big brown eyes before awkwardly stepping back. 

You look back to the rabbit.

Everytime you see them you wonder what it’s fur will feel like beneath your fingers when you pull it from the trap or how it’s little heart would beat frantically in your hands if you took the time to hold it while it’s alive. You wonder if it knows that it’s never leaving the cage with it’s life, or that in mere hours from now it will end up in the stomachs of your friends or salted heavily and wrapped in butcher’s paper to be prepared on a later day.

It’s last moments alive are spent being thanked by the same person who has caused it’s death. 

“I can do it.” Eren says as he reaches you. He sets down the things in his hands and reaches for an arrow.

Possums are the easiest. Something about their faces and tails make it less difficult for you to give the final blow. Foxes are the hardest; with their yips and barks and big eyes and puffy tails, they’re too much like a pet for you to kill them, let alone be near them when they die. 

Eren has to do it. He almost always has to. 

He fiddles with his bow and then nocks an arrow, draws back, and fixes the head into one of the holes at the top of the cage. His fingers are tight on the bowstring, tendons straining, arms flexing. The arrowhead is in line with the rabbits skull; it will be quick, quiet.

Every time you’re tempted to call out and stop him. Every time there is a part of you that wants to feel it’s heart flit beneath your hands, or it’s paws kick at your forearms, before you let it go and watch it scamper off into the woods.

But you don’t. You turn away before he releases. There’s a thump, and then a clink, and it’s over. Ness flinches.

You turn back around to retrieve the rabbit from the cage, careful to not damage Eren’s arrow as you remove it. The fur sheds off onto your jacket sleeves and wisps about the air as the arrow is pulled from it’s skull, but you’re still gentle with it as you hand it to Eren, like you’re afraid to hurt it… even now. 

You reset the trap and bait it properly, then stand to brush the leaves off of your pants and the fur off your sleeves. You shove your tools back into your pockets and bag, and then look to Eren solemnly. 

He gives a curt nod and then continues forward, his eyes scanning the treeline. The rabbit is still in his grasp, his grip around it’s ears. It hangs alongside a squirrel that was in an earlier trap. He won’t make you touch them until he needs both hands. 

It’s beginning to get darker earlier on in the day, and it shows in the way the sun has sunk beneath the trees when it’s not even yet five o’clock. The blues of the sky darken, and the clouds shift to a deep coral, then they will both blend to purple and fade into midnight blues as the moon replaces the sun.

“How many more?” He asks.

“Just two,” You answer.

“Think we can get a turkey, maybe a pheasant?” He glances back, just for a second.

“Don’t ask me that. Aren’t you supposed to be tracking?” .

“Can’t track shit with this snow piling up.” He scoffs, kicking lightly at the ground to send some spinning through the air, “and she’s no help.”

You look at Ness as she digs at the base of a tree, upturning snow and frozen dirt and kicking it behind her. You used to think she’s found something when she would do this, but after falling for her antics over and over with no fruition, you realized that she just does it when she gets bored.

“We got a squirrel and a rabbit, that’s not horrible.” 

“You got them. I didn’t do anything,” He turns on his heel, faking a pout, hands on his hips. His thick brows are drawn together, but his eyes give him away. 

“Didn’t know this was a competition,” You raise your brows and cock your head, mirroring him with your hands on your hips.

He smiles, then immediately straightens out his expression, “Oh, did no one tell you? It always has been.”

“Whatever. Even if it was, I’d still be winning.” 

He rolls his eyes, then brings up an arm to push his hair away from his face. When his arm drops back down his eyes catch something just to your right. He blinks twice, then looks to you quickly, then back to whatever is behind you. You turn your head, only your head, and then over your right shoulder you see them. 

With their bald heads and red gobbles, there walks a handful of turkeys maybe thirty yards away. They must have been too far to catch your eye as you walked past them the first time around, and Lord knows Eren wouldn’t have seen them until they’re right in front of him. 

Ness is already staring.

You keep your eyes on them as you reach your hands out to Eren, using your touch as sight, and waiting for your to fingers touch the fur of the game and the warm of his hands. You grab your catch by their ears and tail. When you look back to Eren, he’s already nocked an arrow and is slowly toeing past you.

“Agnes, come.” You whisper to the dog. She obeys, coming to your side. You take a firm hold to her collar.

You mirror him again by crouching low, and then you seat yourself down on your heels as you wait and watch.  

This part fascinates you; the speed, the efficiency, the accuracy, the way his focus is so sharp that nothing can draw his attention away from the prize in front of him. He makes his bow is no different than the gun on his hip. He’s been hypnotized by the hunt. You’ve been mesmerized by his kill.

He keeps his fingers pressed around the string as he closes in. The turkeys remain unaware. The sunlight streaks past them, showing their movement in the shadows. And even when you cannot bear to watch him kill the small game that get caught up in your traps, you can’t seem to look away as his arrow slices through the still autumn air and lodges itself into one of their chests. The other turkeys become a flurry of feathers and noise, and they’re up and gone as fast the arrow killed.

Eren straightens out, tall and broad-shouldered, and lets out a deep exhale. You can see his shoulders relax, even beneath the thick of his jacket, because the jokes will only go so far. If he had returned with nothing, he would beat himself up for it, and not because of faux competition.

You follow him after the kill, your fingers still tight around a pair of ears and a tail. When you get to him, he’s already pulled out his arrow and grabbed the bird by it’s ankles. You hate the way its head hangs so limply and its long neck bends so easily as he pulls it from the ground. You have to look away.

“Lead the way.” He says.

You bring him to the final two traps, finding only a squirrel caught within one. As the sun dips below the horizon and the sky darkens, you return to the church with full hands and empty stomachs.

***

Niccolo meets you in the kitchen. His excitement had gotten the best of him, and he had pulled out an array of spices and seasonings with the hopes of you returning with game.

He allows you to skin and gut them inside, as long as you keep them away from the vegetables and canned goods. So you grab a cutting board and decide to work on the metal table that is separate from the main countertops. You shed your jacket and roll the sleeves of your thermal up to your elbows. Your knife is grabbed from your pocket and you switch it open before starting at the neck. 

You zone out. 

Just because this part isn’t as hard as the hunt, doesn’t mean it’s easy. It’s bloody and gross and warm and it makes weird sounds and has weird smells. You let your eyes fall out of focus and you try and keep your attention on Niccolo preparing the rest of the meal rather than the feeling of insides on your palms. 

He cuts quickly, skillfully, in a way that never lets anyone forget the work he did as a professional chef. You remember him sharing that he had worked banquets and galas for the affluent; the kind of people who were so wealthy, so powerful, that you didn’t even know their names. A part of you had thought he was lying, comforting himself with successes that used to be his dreams and should have been his reality. But then he would use these elegant terms to refer to the simplest of techniques, or make dishes that made you question your skepticism and finally believe him.

Your skinning and gutting is halted when Eren slips into the kitchen. He has also shed himself of his overcoat and pushed the sleeves of his thin crewneck up his forearms. His boots clunk heavily against the rock-tiled floor as he makes his way past Niccolo and over to you.

“Go wash up. I’ll do it,” He gently nudges you aside with shoulder, strong body pressing against yours to take over your job of cutting and emptying. 

You don’t push back, not caring to dispute over blood and guts. He doesn’t look up before taking your knife from the counter and picking up from where you had left off. You don’t have to say ‘thank you’ for him to know, so you shuffle around Niccolo with your hands in the air out of caution of the blood on your hands, and make your way to the bathroom.

Eren does your former job much quicker, but more careless, and Niccolo has to stern him twice about being sloppy when bagging the entrails because he’s getting drops of blood on the floor. Eren chuckles when Niccolo reminds him that, “This is my kitchen.” Because this is the farthest one could get from an industrial sized kitchen; with it’s old cabinets and wood burning stove. 

Finding the monastery was pure luck, and being welcomed in by it’s inhabitants was even more so. Eren guesses that in a way it is Niccolo’s kitchen, for he was here before the rest of you were, and no one else has a clue about cooking for upwards of twenty people. 

But before Niccolo was Historia. From what you’ve heard through hushed whispers, from a distance, and under the cover of darkness, she was here before it all happened. Everyone had come from other places, had other homes, other families, other friends, but not her.

“She was baptized here,” You remember Armin saying softly, “when she was little.”

You figured that is why she is so hesitant to leave. She must have lived here, grown here; ate, slept, and breathed here. She’ll birth right here too. And in the Church, perhaps, she’ll lay her child in the manger that stands on the altar like the Virgin Mary herself did. And maybe on the eighth day, she’ll christen the child the way she once was, with the still water that has remained in the pool since the start.

You bet the water is soft with age, in a way that is too difficult to explain. It wouldn’t be like the water that you now wash over your bloodied hands. This water is too cold, too sharp, it would make her baby cry. Within that realization, you turn the faucet to the right and wait patiently for the water to heat up. Goosebumps erupt up your forearms and over the back of your neck as your hands, cold from the winter’s air, are warmed slowly.

The cuffs of your sleeves are damped by your wet fingers as you pull your shirt back down to your wrists, but you don’t fuss with them, planning on changing your shirt to rid yourself of shedded fur and feathers. It’s traded for one of your father’s sweatshirts that you find buried within the drawers of the wardrobe you share with Pieck.

She was lucky enough to arrive to the monastery before you, giving her the choice to pick the bed away from the cold of the window on your side of the room. You were lucky to arrive later, able to avoid the loneliness that would be rooming alone within a building so big. If the world had given you the luxury of going to school, you would want a roommate like her. For most of the day she keeps herself curled into the part of her bed where the corner of the mattress meets the corner of the wall, but you don’t mind. When she’s awake she’s charming and soft-spoken, funny and intelligent; she puts in work when her body gives her the chance.

She’s not in her usual spot, so it’s safe to assume she’s wrapped herself in a blanket and tucked herself before the wood-burning fireplace to watch the old Christian movies that have been spun into VHS tapes by the people that were here before. It’s only those movies; with their poorly done special effects and actors that hadn’t done another film before and never did another after. You’ve found a handful of CD’s that have more mainstream films burned into them, but the television here is only VCR, and the luxury of DVD and cable is long in the past.

***

Eren’s gaze is pulled away from the bones and entrails before him and towards the soft voice of his best-friend. Armin stands in the open entryway between the kitchen and the dining room with his hands clasped in front of him, watching Niccolo as he cooks, checking in politely.

Armin only does this when the others get antsy. They must have heard about today’s success and let their stomachs speak before their heads. He can hear the faint sounds of the television playing in the living room, alongside the occasional stern voice that follows an eruption of giggles. He doesn’t have to peek around the corner to know who sits on those aged couches and faded carpet to crowd before the buzzing screen.

‘They’re watching that one movie’ He thinks, ‘with that one scene of Jesus fully nude’

“I think he’s almost done…” Connie says hesitantly, getting up from his spot at the island to peer over Niccolo’s shoulder and sneak a glance at the meat on the stove.

“Eren’s just cleaning up.” Niccolo adds, “But yeah, almost done.”

“Even with all that meat?” Armin asks, giving Eren a grateful glance.

“I’ll have it wrapped for another day.”

Armin steps farther in, sliding himself beside Eren, cautiously watching as he shoves the rest of the mess into a trash bag. “If it didn’t exhaust you both so much I’d make you guys go on every run with the amounts you bring in.”

“We’re fine, just send us.” Eren says, “Or I could go alone.”

Armin huffs, “You wouldn’t get half as much done without her.”

“Would too.”

“No, and besides, you would complain if I sent you by yourself.”

Armin was right. The thought of going alone sounded dreadful. Hours upon hours of scouring frozen terrain with no one to carry his game, to reset the traps, to listen to him complain about drawing his bowstring with frozen fingers over and over until his fingertips are red and raw. But it was the thought of going without you that sounded even more upsetting.

When you two were away from the camp, away from the lives you were forced to live, he was able to finally think. You let him say things that he can’t say to the others; let him pour out all the nonsense that’s piled up in his brain throughout the day, you get to talk about your past lives without the fear of being reprimanded for it. It’s like he’s writing in a diary, but the pages are you.

He decorates you with pictures, receipts, trinkets, all sorts of things that he usually keeps to himself. He’ll peel apart the pages of your mind and glue parts of himself onto them. He shows you the things he hides in the box that’s tucked beneath the clothes in his dresser; his fathers broken compass, and his drivers license, and polaroids of his friends and family. And then you’ll ask about Grisha, and laugh and tease him over his short hair and the scowl on his face in all of the pictures. 

He opens himself up for you too, when you let yourself. You’re like a jigsaw puzzle, and you give him pieces over time, and with each piece he’ll compare them to the rest and try to see where they fit into the bigger picture that is you.

He truly wouldn’t want to hunt with anyone else, not even himself. Because when the two of you are miles out after trudging through the frosted foliage with runny noses and watering eyes, when you’re smoking old cigarettes and ashing them into the snow, talking until the sky goes dark and you’re both so tired that you wonder if you’ll even make it back, he feels more than normal. He feels alright.

***

“Dinner’s ready!” Gabi shouts, slightly out of breath after flying up the stairs and around the corner of your doorframe. Ness jumps and nips at the hem of her shirt, and Gabi’s hand pushes at her snout to let her know that they’re not playing chase.

“Okay, I’ll be just a minute.” You tell her with a smile, and she goes bounding down once again, feet thumping loudly against the hard wood stairs. When you hear Levi stern her for running in the house, you finally get up.

Before entering the kitchen, you’re greeted by the savory smell of seared turkey and roasted corn, and you think you can make out the scent of Campbell’s canned vegetable soup, which is confirmed shortly by the large pot you see still simmering over the stove.

The kids have set the table, you can tell by the mismatched plates and plastic cups, something Levi would’ve never let slide if he had done it himself. But he sits contently at the head of the table, his plastic cup replaced with a teacup and filled with freshly brewed black tea. He prefers English Breakfast, but you ran out about a month ago.

Niccolo has Sasha and Connie bring the food to the island, but they don’t do so without sneaking a few bites, and once everyone has gathered into the kitchen, they’re allowed to grab their plates and are first in line for their servings. You and Eren are last to get up for food, letting your appetite return from the hunt before giving the turkey a glance.

He nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands occupied by a plate, and you look up to him. He has a smile on his face and his eyes point to the turkey before looking back at you.

“Yeah yeah, shut it.” You groan over his gloating. The size of the thing is impressive, you’ll give him that, but you won’t let him forget how he whined and complained about the weight of it with every step back to the church.

He lets you go first, helps you when a slice of turkey is stuck to another and you can’t get them apart, then he takes that slice for himself. When you sit beside each other at the table, you pour him water from the pitcher, and he stares at it intently like he’s waiting for it to turn to wine. 

You sit at the far end of the table, and although you’ve aged your ways into your twenties the older bunch are still sat at the kids table with Gabi and the others. None of you mind, you get to whisper amongst yourselves and tell jokes that are a little too mature for the kids and say things that are a touch to vulgar for the real adults. You corrupt Colt with your antics; who’s just a little too young to participate, but old enough now where Mikasa no longer feels the need to cover his ears.

You giggle over spilt soup and steal from each others plates so you don’t have to get up for seconds, and when Connie says something particularly crude, you cover your mouths to try and keep your drinks in, but water slips through your fingers with your laughter and the table is a mess before your meal is done.

Everyone finishes one by one and take turns rinsing their plates before stacking them in the sink, returning to the table to finish conversations before leaving the kitchen. But you never get the chance to leave, because Levi, Hange, and Erwin are standing up at the head of their table and Armin follows short after realizing what’s occurring.

“Alright,” Levi begins, and gives everyone a moment settle down before continuing, “As we can see, the snow hasn’t melted.”

It takes you only a second before recognizing where this conversation is going to go.

“Given that it’s early November, this means it won’t be going away.”

“It also means we’re closer to Christmas.” Hange adds with an excited whisper.

Levi ignores their statement and continues, “There are a few things we need to go over, a few changes that are going to happen since last year.”

You know what this means. Fall and spring give you the luxuries of harvest and game, but the extremes of middle America’s winter and summers will freeze you tough and burn you dry. 

“Myself, Erwin, Hange, and Armin have discussed how we’re going to adjust for this winter.”

Beside you, Eren holds his head in his hands. This discussion has been held every year since you’ve been here and he hates it every time. He’s never agreed with how they decide to handle the cold months, has never shied from sharing his opinions, but it only seems that the rules get stricter and stricter as time goes on.

As much as he hates to do what he’s told at this time, the rules getting tighter makes more and more sense. The longer you stay here, the less you have, the more you go through, and more people come along.

You only half listen to Levi speak, because your job will always remain the same. Go out when you’re told, to get what you’re told. You hear him talk about cutting down on runs, something about rationing, how the radio’s are going to be finicky as always, that the lake is completely froze over, and to not leave unless you have to. His voice is white noise as you watch Eren out of the corner of your eye. He only moves to absentmindedly pet Agnes as she sits beside him.

He does this every year. He’ll tune out Levi’s voice, work himself into unrest, take it out you and Mikasa, blame Armin, then yell at Levi in the middle of the night before storming off towards the moon. No one chases after him, Agnes will bark at the door for a while, then lay down in the foyer and wait for him to return. You do the same, only you lay in your bed and turn to face the cobblestone wall, staring at the grooves, and listening closely for the sound of returning footsteps.

He argues the same thing every time.

“So we’re just gonna hide in here like sitting ducks waiting for someone to jump us or kill us or worse…?”

And he always gets the same answer.

“It’s not hiding, Eren, it’s being smart. We’re playing the long game.”

The moment the conversation ends, Eren’s getting up and walking out of the kitchen. He doesn’t push his chair in. You don’t care to follow him, but you watch where he goes. He heads up the stairs without looking back, and then you hear the door to his room shut just a little harder than usual. You look to Mikasa with wide eyes and pursed lips, she looks back and rolls her eyes in acknowledgement, shaking her head at him. She rubs at her eyes and runs a hand through her dark hair, and that’s how you know that she’s determined its a ‘tomorrow problem’. You listen to her cue, and start your own way up the stairs to your room, following behind Pieck.

“It’s too late for his games,” She says softly from behind you. You smile even though you know she can’t see your face. 

Pieck always takes a little longer to get up the stairs, but you never mind. You’re always far to exhausted to ever think about wishing that she couldn’t go a little quicker. You watch the foot of her crutch knock against the wooden steps, and the monotony makes your eyes heavy with sleep. 

You tell Mikasa a quick goodnight before following Pieck into your shared room. You change out of your clothes with half open eyes, and stumble as you toe your boots off. The beds are small, could only fit two people if you tried to sardine it, but they somehow always manage to feel like the greatest expanse of clouds after hours of walking.

Your curled beneath the sheets with closed eyes before Pieck has even turned the lamp off, Agnes curled at her feet. Once she does, you only stay awake until you can hear her soft breathing, and that lulls you to sleep.

***

The blankets are warm and soft when you wake up, and your eyes are still heavy. When you pry them open, you expect the soft light of sunrise streaking through the window, but instead its only the moon. It’s only a bit more than half full, with a swelling belly and dark craters. It shines though the window panes and patterns across your beige sheets.

Your confused for a moment, staring up at her as she’s in the middle of the sky. Then you feel a push to your shoulder, and it takes a second for you to realize that it wasn’t the first.

“Hey…” You hear a whisper along with another push. You turn from facing the wall to see who wakes you.

“What?” You mumble, irritation slight in your voice. Your eyes are still heavy with sleep and you hope that whoever beckons your consciousness is quick with it.

“Can we take a walk?” The voice asks. 

Your brain associates the question with a person before their voice. He does this sometimes; wakes you up in the middle of the night when the stars are the brightest and the air is the coldest.

“It’s so cold.” You argue, but there’s not enough strength in your words. You’ll give in, you always do.

“Please,” He adds. You begin to  make out the gray of his eyes in the moonlight.

You huff, “Alright.”

You nudge at his bottom with your knee to give you room to get out from the blankets. The wooden floor is cold, you can feel it even through your wool socks. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps and you quickly reach for a sweatshirt before addressing him again. The floor creaks beneath your quick steps and you know Pieck will stir awake. Your eyes flit to Agnes, she’s awake but she doesn’t sit up, she only stares with her beady eyes.

You slip the sweatshirt on over your sleep thermals as fast as possible, and then slide on sweatpants over your long johns. You cover your socks in a second pair and seal them over the ankle hem of the pants. You glance at Eren.

“‘so confident that I’d come with that you already dressed.” You murmur, tugging snow pants atop of the two layers you already have.

“I was gonna go whether or not you joined me,” He says.

You don’t respond. Instead, you pull on your boots and sling your coat on. You pull a hat over your head, one Historia knit in her free time, and zip your coat all the way up to your neck. Gloves follow.

“Okay.” You say, letting him know you’re ready. 

He stands, his windbreaker rustling and boots knocking against the floor. You wonder how you didn’t hear him come in. You glance to Pieck. She’s awake. You can see the glisten of her eyes, but can’t make out her irises or pupils. Agnes is as well, sitting up now.

“Sorry,” You whisper, “don’t tell.”

Her hand slips from under her blankets and to her mouth, and you can just make out her make a zipping motion over her lips. She tosses the key.

You leave with Eren behind you, trying your best to navigate the darkness of the church, toeing softly down the stairs, carefully maneuvering around furniture throughout the halls, then grasping Eren’s bow from the front entrance with gentle fingers. The quiver is grabbed with your other hand. You turn and hand them to him before heading towards the back entrance. The front is too loud with its hefty wooden doors and thick metal locks, it would wake the whole camp. The back door is across the church from where everyone sleeps. You slip out with ease.

You’re not supposed to be out past ten for ‘safety reasons’ that Levi deems important. Eren believes it’s more for his own comfort than anything; you agree.

A new layer of snow flurries softly to the ground and you both press your boots into it as you trail off into the woods. You walk in one direction and one direction only, not risking getting lost. Agnes isn’t there to guide you home if you do.

You don’t have to ask Eren what he wants to talk about, you already know. You also know he isn’t looking for a conversation, he just wants to go on knowing that someone is there listening. You make it almost a mile before he talks.

“I just think it’s stupid. I don’t know.” He says quietly. You can hear him perfectly fine as the snow muffles the sound of everything besides the crunch of your footsteps. “The benefits they claim are just so pointless. We should just keep doing what we’re doing and how we’re doing it instead of going through all the damn trouble of fixing for winter.”

“Yeah,” You murmur, half listening.

“‘and Levi’s just gonna be harder and harder on rules — he’d probably beat the shit out of us for being out here if he found out.”

“Probably.”

“I just don’t understand why we can’t keep it the same and if we find out someone’s creeping on us or planning a raid or getting too close then we just go after them first.”

“Exactly,” You toe at pine cones and leaves, kicking them ahead of you as you walk, meeting them and then kicking them again.

“Or we could just go find and kill everyone else before they even have a chance to think about it.”

You pause behind him and furrow your brows.

“‘cut down the problem at the root.”

“Well, that’s not—” You start.

“Why not?” He stops as well, turning around and stepping up onto what you believe is one side of the train tracks.

You’ve come out here before, walked on the rail lines, followed them until minutes turned into hours which turned into days. Once you went so far you had made it to an old station you would guess to be 50 miles out. You slept at a mattress store in the town that day; back-to-back under sheets that smelt like moth balls.

Eren stands tall on the track, slightly swaying back and forth to keep his balance. He looks down at you with stony eyes and arms crossed over his chest. The moon is right behind him, covered by his head. 

“Interrupt me again, thank you,” You roll your eyes.

“Sorry, go ahead.” 

“It just seems a bit much,” You laugh softly, “very dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” He questions, “I don’t think it’s dramatic. Actually, I think this is a very serious issue that needs serious measures to.. you know… deal with it.”

You watch him as he continues on, talking with his hands, pacing back and forth on the tracks. You stand there bundled in your layers, hiding from the cold behind the neck of your coat, feeling the cold zipper touch your lips.

He goes on and on about things you hear every year that you don’t need to hear again to understand. You don’t necessarily agree with him, but you don’t think he’s wrong. You make sure to respond every now and then, ask him questions, give him reactions, doing what you can to let him know you’re still listening. 

You get tired of standing and choose to sit on the same track he paces and balances along. His voice fades to the background as you fiddle with the little rocks before you, collecting ones you think are pretty and then stuffing them in your pocket. 

Eren’s always had this weird carnal desire to protect. It’s almost animalic, like a sheep dog guarding its herd; sniffing out creatures in the woods and going after their necks. He keeps careful eye on everyone but keeps closer on those he cares for the most. You know he keeps the closest eye on you, always watching you out of the corner of it. What you don’t know is what to make of it. He confuses you sometimes, and you find yourself questioning him.

Are you his litter mate? Does the animal in him see you as his sister?

You feel a push to the back of your head, “Hey!” You look up.

“You’re not even listening.” Eren stands above you with annoyance on his face.

“You bitch,” You reach to take a fistful of snow and dirt and throw it towards his face. It smacks him in the cheek and the second it makes contact he begins to wipe it off furiously.

“If you were listening you wouldn’t be saying that. You would’ve heard me say that I’d bomb this whole country if anything happened to you guys,” He flicks the snow remnants from his cheek toward you and it specks across your face, melting into your warm cheeks, “You specifically. I’d probably want to do it all by hand if anything happened to you.” 

“Well now that’s just a lie.” You mutter.

Eren’s face gets hot at his own words, “‘s not.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I’m here.”

“Well why do you think you’re here? You’re the best — the only one I can talk to about this stuff.”

You believe him then. Eren would probably get far too annoyed or far too bored without you. You’re quiet enough where he doesn’t have to listen much, but do enough where conversations don’t grow stale. You make him laugh, let him talk, give him space but never too much and never not enough. You have his trust and he has yours, you’d give him your life and he would do the same and more. 

But you can’t figure out if his distress would be most rooted in selfishness or selflessness. Would he be upset because he’d miss you, or because he’d miss what you give him? Would he save your life because he loves you or because he loves how you make him feel?

Does the animal in him see you as a means for survival more than the human in him sees you as a means for life?

You stand up, “Very sweet of you.” 

His eyes meet yours and you can see his cheeks blush in the moonlight, “Stop.”

“I’m just saying that’s very sweet of you to say. You don’t say nice things to me a lot; I’m trying to give positive reinforcement; like Pavlov’s dog.” 

“That makes it sound like I’m mean.” He avoids eye contact, “I’m very nice to you.”

“Yes, you are,” You nudge his shoulder with yours and turn back to the path you came from stepping backwards into the footprints you made on the way there.

He follows behind you, “You do think so?”

You pretend to hesitate momentarily, but take the time to cherish the nice moments you manage to think of on the spot. They always seem to come out of nowhere, and are always a bit out of character; like making you tea when you’re sick, or scraping the mud off your boots after it rains.

“Yeah, I do.”

He feels slightly conflicted with your answer. He’s pleased with knowing that his typically aloof nature doesn’t hide his care for you, but he’s uncomfortable with it being addressed. He doesn’t like it being said out loud, it makes the silence that follows it quite claustrophobic

He watches you walk ahead of him. You’re all puffed up by coat layers, swaddled by cotton and wool, legs wrapped in sweatpants and snow pants so bulky you waddle a bit through the snow. He regrets not wearing as much as you; the cold still bites at him through his jacket, while he can see the finer hairs of your hairline sticking to your forehead from the warmth of your hat.

“Do you think he’ll let us go out tomorrow?” He asks.

“‘should probably wait a bit to even ask him,” You say.

“How long?”

“I don’t know. A week maybe?”

“That’s too long.” 

You press your lips together, thinking, “couple days then.”

You continue walking. The moon is so bright in the sky that there’s no need for flashlights; there’s no light pollution anymore. You can see the stars go on forever, deep into the horizon. They glow so bright that the constellations would be traceable through paper if you had held a sheet up to the sky. 

You see short, shadowed figures in the front window when you return. Their bodies are lit up by the candlesticks they hold in their hands; fingers wrapped around brass holders. Gabi and Falco, awake in the dead of night. You must’ve woken them. It forces you to enter through the big double doors, and you both groan internally at the thought of waking anyone else. The lock on the door rattles as you key it open, and the metal door knockers clank against the wood as you tug at the handle. You wince.

You’re greeted by a nudge at your knees, Agnes wiggling back and forth, nosing at your shins. You reach down to grab her snout, not trusting her to not bark.

“What are you doing?” You whisper at Gabi as she sits on the floor, tying up her boots. Falco stands over her, blatantly hesitant. It obviously wasn’t his idea.

She looks up at you with big brown eyes, if they were gray you could’ve mistaken them for Eren’s.

“I saw you guys leaving. I wanted to make sure you were okay. You shouldn’t leave without anyone knowing, it’s dangerous.”

You want to snicker at her hypocrisy, but instead you press your lips together and smile at her feigned worry. She’s just curious, you know it. She’s just recently been allowed to tag along on runs — only close ones, albeit. 

“I told her it wasn’t a good idea. ‘swear I was trying to stop her.” Falco babbles, but you see his boots were already tied. He had already decided that if he couldn’t stop her that he was going to join her.

“Falco shush. Gab, jus’ go to bed.” Eren says, quiet but sharp.

She stops lacing her shoes, but doesn’t take them off, “Only if you do.”

“We are.” You release Agnes and pet her head in apology. You appreciate her attempt to stop them.

You pat Falco on the back between his shoulder blades, ushering him upstairs. Gabi follows, shamefully holding one boot in her hands, and following Falco with the other on her right foot; the left decorated in a green sock that you know is mismatched from the other.

You and Eren trail them. You give him a look, you don’t know what kind, but you know he gives you the same one back.

You get to close their door behind them, watching Agnes follow them in. When you turn back around, Eren sits in a rocking chair that rests in the corner of the bed hall, lit by the waning candle in the sconce. You pull your hood and hat off your head as you tiredly walk towards him. 

He looks up to you with his elbows resting on his knees. He rocks back and forth so slow that you barely notice.

You fight the urge to bring up the conversation from earlier. It teases at your tongue, pushes at your lips. But you don’t. He looks mean under this lighting. 

You tug at the fingers of your gloves next, taking them off slowly. Your hands are sweaty beneath the wool. You set them on a narrow side table. Your hand outreaches to it and you lean against it. He’s not mean.

“What was that?”

His brows furrow, “What was what?” He gets nervous. He’s afraid you’ll ask about his soft spot.

“That weird little freak show at the tracks. You sound like a school shooter.”

His shoulders drop in relief, “My plan?”

“You mean your manifesto…” You sneer.

“Not a big fan, I take it.”

You step closer, crossing your arms over your chest, “I’d consider myself more so a skeptic.”

He scoots forward in his seat, taking off his own gloves.

“What would you change about it?”

You give a soft laugh, “Personally, I wouldn’t be so for all the… killing of people. But that’s just me.”

He lets you keep the high ground as you critique him, looking up at you from the chair. He doesn’t get angry, he only listens. 

“Didn’t take you for a member of the peace corps.” He murmurs.

You’re getting tired of his misdirections. You’re not looking for an argument, but you are looking for an explanation. 

“Dude, seriously, you’re gonna freak people out if you go around saying that.”

He looks down to his shoes. He tries to not let the guilt of disagreeing with you show on his face. He never feels like he has to explain himself to anyone. With you, he wants to, just so you can understand him. This time he doesn’t have the energy for it.

“Tomorrow conversation.” Is all he says.

You exhale heavily, treading carefully.

“‘kay.” You give up. You purposefully give him a poor excuse for a smile and turn away to head for your room. You hear him rise after you but you don’t look back.

He looks at the back of your head solemnly. He wants to tell you he’s made up his mind.

***

There wasn’t a ‘tomorrow conversation’. In fact, there wasn’t even a ‘later this week’ conversation. You waited for him to bring it up during a run, or for him to wake you in the night again to explain, but the explanation never came. A part of you thought he wanted you to be the first to mention it, so the other part of you refused to.

It’s like an insect bite, the way you want to scratch at it. No. It’s like a cigarette. You only want one because it will relieve the feeling the last one left you with. You don’t smoke, but you hope to find a pack of Marlboro’s during the run. You already have a lighter.

You’re two days in when you start hitting land you have yet to hunt to extinction. This is one of those big trips, where you have the privilege of taking the truck.

Actually, privilege is generous. You’re forced to siphon aged gasoline out of safety cans and into the tank by mouth. The gas burns your lips and tongue, gathers thickly in the back of your throat to where your hacking and spitting it up into the snow and staining the white all purple and green with oil. When you blow your nose the snot is stained black. And then, you’re only allowed to drive it in the mornings. You drive ten miles during the morning, walk it’s radius, and then sleep in the seats, warmed by old sleeping bags and worn blankets. You wake up and do it again until you either have enough game in the bed where you wonder if the truck will even move, or those red gas cartons are getting low enough to cause trouble.

The truck is backheavy when you settle for the night. It covers your east-end, leaves you both to cover the west; the land yet to be explored. You stare at the bones of the rabbit that was dinner, watching the grease and spit glisten under the low embers of the fire it was roasted over. You’re wrapped in layers of wools, furs, and fleece, but still… sometimes when you look at the bones too carefully — when you think about what part of the body you consumed, when you try and piece them all back together in your head like they’re prehistoric fossils — you get a shiver that runs so deep down your spine that you tremble.

Eren stares into the dwindling fire. His pupils are lit up. Amber bleeds from the grays and reflects deep in the black of his pupils. You stare at him through the corner of your eye. He sits three to your six. You watch carefully as the shifting air runs through the stray hairs near his face. 

He feels your eyes on him. He’s thankful the nip of the cold and the glow of the flame have already turned his face red. He tongues at his teeth to distract himself. He doesn’t like the brazen of your staring, he never has. It’s as if you know he’s weak to you, and you enjoy watching him squirm. There’s nothing sensual about it, in fact, it almost always comes off as predatory. 

If anything, that makes him far more uncomfortable. 

He looks at you, right into your eyes, and you don’t look away. His stomach lurches.

There’s a gross, tangible tension that rests in the four feet that are between you. You’ve talked about the subject less than twice, and there’s already and underlying animosity. There’s no argument regarding who’s right and who’s wrong. The fight is in who’s most mad about the fact that you two aren’t on the same page. You’re afraid he’s winning.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

You hear his voice but it takes you a second to realize he’s actually speaking. It catches you off guard. You break eye contact and look into the fire.

“What you said… I know you were serious, but were you like serious serious?” Your resolve weakens. 

He doesn’t speak. You can still feel his eyes on you, scanning over your face, checking for sincerity.

“Why do you ask?”

You groan, “Can we quit answering questions with questions?”

He sits up a bit at your volume. He doesn’t like it one bit. 

“That’s literally a question.” He tries to calm the situation.

“Eren.”

He says your name right back to you, not in combatance, but in mercy.

“I just want to know if you’re going to go through with that if things don’t change. And if you do, is it going to be… like… something that’s soon or something that’ll be like… years in the future.” You don’t want to stop him. You don’t ask for information to aid a prevention of his plans from happening. You want to know if he’s going to be placing his own life at risk for yours sooner or later. You’d like to prepare.

“Years in the future,” He waits for you to look at him again, “I want to figure out which one would be worse for us before I do the other.”

“Okay,” You say hesitantly. A chill runs over your skin.

***

You stir in the passenger seat. There’s a biting breeze at your cheeks and you go to pull up the neck of your coat. Your reach is obstructed by warmth — soft warmth. You try and push it away. You realize the warmth is also at your jaw, wrapped around your neck, pressed against your back. Your eyes fly open. It’s barely visible, just out of the corner of your eye, lit barely by the sunrise, but you the outline of a figure beside you. It’s gripping your face and pulling you towards it, pressing something cold to your neck.

A knife.

Even if you had the gall to yell, their fingers were squishing your lips shut, and then you realize there’s no one to yell to. You don’t see Eren in the drivers seat as you’re tugged out. You fail to catch your footing beneath you, and your heels kick up the snow as you try and find it but keep slipping. 

There’s a sting at your throat as you thrash, and warmth that leaks down your neck and into your undershirt.

You try and speak, but it comes out all slurred and jumbled, “Our game — you can have our game it’s- it’s in the bed. There’s a mag with 15 nine’s in the glovebox — I have a compound, by the fire, a bow,”

“Be quiet. Talk anymore and you’re dead, I promise.” It says, voice gross and nasally; it sounds like a teenager. but the beard scratching at your neck and it’s height says otherwise. 

Your eyes scan, and scan, and scan the snow and trees for any sign of Eren as you’re dragged further from the truck. You can’t find him. Your pupils are blown huge with adrenaline and you can’t see him. The sun blinds you as you’re pulled directly from it, and you think it’s on purpose. You can’t see the truck anymore even when it should be in your sight.

You grip at the forearm around your neck and push at it, scratch at it, dig your nails into the skin, you’re convinced you’re being rough enough for it to release you, but you’re not. You don’t know where all your strength went. The blade digs deeper and another gush of warmth coats over your chest. You want to lurch away, but that would mean running into the knife. Any act of defiance cuts you deeper, sends another sear of pain over your skin and through your nerves. You realize that, for now, walking backwards with it is better.

“There you go.” It grumbles. 

Tears swell in your eyes from the pain. Your neck burns hot like you’ve been pressed to the coals of your fire by the throat. You keep your hands on the forearm and bicep of it. You feel it’s muscles flex beneath your fingers. You breath heavy as you step back with it. 

You’re too far from the truck now. You’ll only sound like an echo even if you yell for him. You don’t understand how you’ve gotten so far so fast. It feels like you’ve fallen down a tunnel.

You’re too far from the truck. You’re too far from Eren. You’re too far from Eren.

Get up. There is no one coming to save you.

Your jaw clenches, teeth grinding into each other so hard you can hear the sound vibrate throughout your skull. Your dominant hand drops from the arm and it’s on your hip with fingers grasping around cold metal before you even know what you’re doing. 

Your jaw opens.

Your gun is tugged from your waistband.

You take flesh between your teeth, an entire mouthful. You gag as your tongue tastes fabric of it’s sleeve.

The metal warms beneath your fingers, slips perfectly into your grasp. You move fast. One hand reaches for the knife, grabs it, and then grabs at it even harder when it slices at the bends of your fingers. 

Your jaw closes. 

There’s resistance at first. Your tongue presses against cotton. You worry you won’t get through it. And then, 

And then, you’re reminded,

It’s only cotton.

And there’s warmth on your teeth, warmth on your lips, warmth over your tongue. And it’s wet. It’s slippery, and hot, and tastes like you’ve taken a bite out of aluminum. And the gun is warm, and hot, and it’s in your hand and reaching behind you to throw it off kilter.

You squeeze. 

And it slips.

It slips out of your grasp like a bar of soap in the shower. And before you can even think of how, your face is in the ground. There’s a fistful of snow in your mouth and you try and sputter it out but you can’t. It’s in your throat. You try and push up against your hands but they hurt. They hurt and they’re hot. The snow is in your mouth, on your throat, in your eyes, scratching your face, on your throat, stabbing into your hands, melting on your tongue, and on your throat.

It’s on your throat and the cold feels so nice. If you could breath proper, you’d want to lay in it. But you can’t breathe. You push against your palms again and let them burn. Your vision is white. You think you’re blind.

When did they get my eyes?

But there’s a deep maroon puddle melting away at the white. And the warmth on your neck keeps dripping into that puddle. You stare at it, and you realize you’ve looked just a second to long far too late.

A splitting pain cracks against the back of your head, and you don’t have to see it to know it’s your own gun being whipped across your skull. 

The snow becomes fire, and you become the snow. You melt into it; slowly at first, and then so fast you feel as if you’re falling. It washes over you in waves. 

***

The road is so bumpy. It makes everything hurt even worse than it already does. You’re conscious before you open your eyes, and when it’s too bright even with your lids shading you from the sun, you decide you’re not even going to try. You cover your face with the crease of your elbow, your coat acting as a mask. Your neck burns as you bury your face into the sleeve. 

Your head feels like it could explode. Your hands and neck are on fire, and your stomach hurts so bad you think you’re going to shit it out of you.

You’re not going to shit it out of you, but throw it up. And theres not enough strength in your body to sit up. Rabbit spills over your sleeve, and neckline, and infests in your wound, coats your jacket. 

“I know, I know. Almost there, I promise. I promise.”

You try and catch the second surge of it in your hands, but it pours into your lap. And you’re so disgusted you begin to cry. Your head hurts so bad you’re convinced you’re dying, and the pressure from sobbing doesn’t help, and you’re covered in sweat and vomit and blood and piss. And more tears flow down your cheeks in a steady stream because you want to shower.

You want to shower.

With soap.

***

There’s only pictures between puking and now. Pictures that flash through your head like someone is spinning through an old carousel projector. The thing is, they aren’t pictures from your perspective. You didn’t see them. You were there, but that point of view isn’t yours. 

You see them from above, like there was a camera in the corner and now you’re looking at it’s film. You see yourself from its view; watch as you’re picked up from the passenger seat, ran inside and spread over the dinner table like a cadaver. And then the film skips, there must be a scratch in the DVD, and you’re in the snow again, face deep. 

But they’re tearing off your coat, throwing it aside.

That was your grandmother’s coat.

You’re stripped to your grey thermals. And you see yourself laying there like you were game that was brought in; tied at the ankles, sweaty and glistening, covered in blood, pissed wet at the britches in fear, defeathered, chunks of hair absent from your head, and cut at the throat like you were shown mercy. 

You watch them poke at you, cut at you, string together your seams, baste you with wine. They wrap you in cloth, anoint you with herbs, soothe you with salves. 

And then christen you with water.

It does not feel merciful.

***

He hates the way you look. You look empty, misshapen, warped.

He hates it so bad.

Your eyes are fat and puffy, and your cheeks cave in, and your wounds are all red and raised. Your skin is covered in bandages that are always dirtied with your blood even when he and Pieck change them to be fresh thrice a day. Even if you were awake, he doesn’t think you could open your eyes.

They’re so swollen. Like two black and blue golf balls stuck to your face. 

He doesn’t want you to open them. Hange says the whites of them have turned red from the blows.

He’d be sick with himself if you did. 

Sometimes he has to step out. It’s not you, no matter how battered you look, It’s not truly you that he hates or that he’s scared of. When he thinks about it too hard, there’s an overwhelming amount of rage in him, and if he doesn’t step away he gets scared he’ll throw a lamp at Pieck.

She’s the only other one allowed in there.

She was the first one allowed in other than Hange, Erwin, Levi and Armin. If anyone came close to loving you as much as he did, it’s her.

She’s much more gentle than he is. His hands shake too bad, he gets too angry, thinks too hard. She can detach herself just enough to think straight; Eren doesn’t have that skill. He couldn’t detach himself from you if it was between life and death.

Pieck brings him back to reality a lot. She keeps him from spiraling. She can see when he gets lost in his head, just like you do. Usually she’s far more kind, but right now she’s not as nice as she was. Where she’d used to call him out with words so soft you wouldn’t dare to argue with them, she now slaps him across the face open-palmed. 

It takes everything in her not to hate him.

When they sit at the edge of your bed, holding your bandaged hands, she falls asleep last. When Eren has nightmares while asleep, Pieck is tortured while awake. She looks at him with dark eyes, lids so low they’re barely slits, pupils small as pinpoints, and she blames him. She lets herself, and she doesn’t have shame. When they’re awake, she stares him down and waits for him to look back at her so she can see him feel her eyes to the core of his being.

Often, she lets herself wish it was him.

***

You don’t have to be in the room to hear the screaming from the kitchen. You hear voices you recognize, but there are so many different ones that you can’t number how many are truly in there. You could get up to see the commotion, but you really don’t want to. It involves you, but you don’t want to be involved. So you pretend your head hurts and fake sleep.

You hear Armin negotiating.

Hange is giving half-snarky side comments.

Eren is yelling mostly nonsense and Levi is yelling back,

and Erwin just jumps in here and there to tell everyone to shut up.

It’s a sweet little voice that takes you off guard, and obviously everyone else as well. You can only hear Historia’s voice when she talks. She’s firm and loud, and upset. She’s upset and she’s fighting for you, which is strange. She had been there since the beginning, and only favors Ymir and Erwin. Hearing her not only agree with someone other than them, but Eren, and shamelessly fighting for you, takes you back just a bit. You wonder why, and then you wonder if you want to know the answer.

And then there were a few scuffles; shoves and punches exchanged, followed by brief and insincere apologies.

You don’t know what to think, or who to agree with, and you don’t know if there’s a right answer to the conversation. You don’t like how there’s weight put on your thoughts because of what happened. You want it to go back to how it was; Armin, Erwin, Levi, and Hange making decisions with Eren always complaining and Connie always confused and Gabi not giving a damn as long as she can explore.

The next day goes the same way. You don’t want to go downstairs; you don’t want questions, answers, looks, no looks, conversations, quietness. You don’t want any of it. Someone brings you food every meal; Pieck, Eren, Mikasa, or Armin often eat with you. When they don’t, you feed it all to Agnes, because when you’re left alone you think too much and that always ends up with dinner on the floor.

When sitting doesn’t hurt, and then when standing doesn’t hurt, you take a bath and scrub at the scabs on your palms and neck and everywhere else until they’re fresh and bleeding again. You make the kids heat the water until it boils; when it’s so hot on your feet that your body reads it as cold. You let the water tinge pink. Zofia brings you a towel she warmed by the fireplace.

You do that a second time that day. And then a third time the next day. And then again, and again, until you’ve lost count. 

***

Eren sits in a chair at your bedside. He’s cut his hair. You had told him to almost a week ago after picking leaf fragments out of it and flicking away pine needles. He had visited you after going on a run with Jean. He complained and you had let him. He said he misses you.

You need to cut it. You’ll get burrs in it. 

He had taken a dull razor to it in the bathroom, cut at it until it was choppy and rested above his shoulders. You told him you’d fix it with shears when you can get out of bed. 

He insults your hair next. It’s a nest of knots at the back of your head from where you tossed and turned on your pillow. He says he’ll comb it out when you’re better.

For some reason it makes him angry.

***

Anger is exactly what Eren felt. Pure, unbridled, unadulterated, anger. It got worse when he looked in the mirrors. He wanted to take a knife to the person staring back at him.

He tells Connie this, and only Connie. Connie is the only one he can trust. He’d never tell anyone, and if he did it would be Sasha. Sasha would only tell Jean. Jean doesn’t care about him enough to tell anyone else. And even he did let it slip one night between the linens to Armin, it wouldn't be enough, and it would be too late.

He woke up early that morning.

***

All the doting, the sympathy, it makes you feel weird and pathetic. You let yourself rot in the sheets until you’re bored of it. 

Two weeks later, you get up. You take Gabi and Agnes with you, and tell no one else.

“How far are we gonna go?” She asks eagerly. Her knuckles are turning white as she holds her Daisy branded BB gun excitedly. 

“Couple miles, I’m thinking. Or until you get tired.” You smile.

“That’d be you first, you haven’t done shit in almost a month.” She laughs and knocks at Agnes’ hip with her own.

“Bitch.” You smile and kick at her butt with the sole of your boot. She stumbles forward with a giggle. 

Her carelessness is admirable. It lets you feel normal, and in a way, vengeful. She’s told you before that you should go find them and kill them; more specifically ‘do what they did do you but with a gun and then make them beg for Mother Mary’s mercy’. You agreed with her. It wasn’t in a way to make her feel smart, or make her feel like she fits in with adults, or to acknowledge her maturity in knowing about the subject, but because you truly agreed. 

Unfortunately, you couldn’t do what you wanted.

When you woke, fully woke — when you didn’t just open your eyes and then fall into unconsciousness again — , it was almost dusk, you could tell by the way the sun stretched over the sheets. The first thing you asked is where they were. Usually, the rule is that enemies are kept not killed. But Pieck had told you that Eren had taken them out back the night they were captured and shot them point-blank execution style after having them plead for their lives for hours. 

You cursed him out for days on end. He cried, apologized, pleaded, and you didn’t care. That was supposed to be yours. Pieck tried to explain to you that he probably saved your life, and that your anger is misdirected. 

You told her she was wrong. Just because you’re anger isn’t at the expected person, doesn’t mean it’s misdirected. One thing about anger is that it’s a secondary emotion, and it never comes first. Which means, anger can be towards anyone, or everyone. Anger spares no one.

With Armin and Erwin and Levi, you felt betrayal first.

With Mikasa and Annie you were ashamed.

With Pieck you felt lost.

Jean, Connie, and Sasha annoyed you.

And Eren, 

Eren…

You were embarrassed.

Not by what happened, or what was done, but by what wasn’t done.

In those weeks you laid in bed — when you laid there in silence and stared at a the shadow of a moon you wish was there — you ground your molars together in frustration. You thought over, and over, and over… where were you for those 20 minutes?

Where were you for those 20 minutes?

And you ask him, every time you ask him, ‘Where was I those 20 seconds?’

Where was I in those 20 seconds where you decided that you’d get to kill them and I wouldn’t?

***

Eren left when he couldn’t find you. He has too many things to do with not enough time.

He wrote you just in case.

He brought too many weapons for himself to carry. They stuffed his backpack, lined his pockets, were clutched to his side, slid into his boot. Brass lined his knuckles, barrels sawed off of shotguns. His compass pressed against his chest, the cold metal sending goosebumps against his skin. He tied Agnes to Pieck’s bedpost, knowing she’d follow if she could. There’s no place for her here. No one will be guided home.

Where was I in those 20 minutes?

He can’t remember. It’s all gone from his head now. He thinks he was looking for dry wood. He’s not sure. How is he not sure?

First thing he remembers is seeing those hazel eyes peering over a mound of snow, eyes almost yellow; crouched over behind it. He remembers an open mouth, a pink tongue that was slobbering down it’s chin. Panting. And there was another one beside it, gripping your gun in it’s hand, pointing it beneath where the other one mounted.

That’s your gun.

He knows. He doesn’t know how but he does.

He remembers tying knots so tight his fingers blister, he remembers tying their hair into the knots, gagging them so hard they puked and choked on their tongues. He remembers cutting things off, shoving things into faces. And blood, pouring, oozing, puddling blood. Gushing, and gushing. 

And he’s covering you with an old quilt, sewn together with bible verses in the squares. Strapping you into the passenger seat, wrapping cloth over your neck, driving one handed as he holds it in place.

The truck was soaked.

He sees them in his rearview mirror. Hog-tied. Apples in their mouths. Their coats getting shredded into nothing but feathers over the gravel, their skin getting grated by the stones, faces torn apart by wood slivers. It’s in their eyes, their noses, buried into their gums, dust in their lungs. They’ve lost all their pink from either blood loss or cold he doesn’t know and doesn’t care. They’re tied out back to the crucifix.

He goes farther than you went that day. Taking that blood soaked truck with him. He drives until the sun rises the next morning.

***

You almost knock Gabi over when she stops abruptly in front of you. Your hands go to her shoulders to steady her to keep her from toppling over. She grips her gun with eager hands, and is raising the barrel before you can see what she’s looking at.

Her pupils swell, flooding her entire iris with black ink. Her fingertips are pink as she flips off the safety, even in the bitter winter air. Adrenaline surges through her body. The hair framing her face flutters about and wisps at her cheeks and brows. She doesn’t seem to notice. 

You step to her side and watch her carefully. She stares down the scope, brows scrunched, eyes narrow, hold so steady you could balance a coin on the muzzle.

You tilt your head, stretch your neck, and make binoculars with your hands to try and see what she’s got in her eye. When you finally crouch down to her level, with healing palms against rough jeans that send shockwaves through the mangled nerves in your hands, you see what she does.

200 meters away you see a triangle of yellow in a field of white glimmering in the morning sun, and beneath it, a base of umber. With it’s bald head and sharp eyes, it stares the two of you down. It sees you, you know it. You let it watch.

Gabi waits on an inhale. And it takes you a second, but you realize she’s waiting for you.

You look up at her. Her fingers wait near the trigger, and you don’t think she’s blinked since she’s seen it.

You look back at the bird.

“Get him.”

And before her exhale is complete, her clip is emptied between its eyes.

[w4ndal0ver]

Members Only (Agatha x Reader) [Part 3]

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: milf!tennis!agatha x student!lifeguard!reader

summary: When Agatha notices you've been watching her play tennis every day from your lifeguarding chair, she offers you tennis lessons, an offer which you can't refuse.

content warnings: making out topless, toxic agatha again, possessive, thats about it

word count: 2500

Members Only (Agatha x Reader) [Part 3]

You woke to your alarm the next morning, yawning loudly as you didn’t think you’d managed to get much sleep that night. You’d spent the entire night replaying every moment of your encounter with Agatha in the bar, the possessiveness in her voice, her jealous grip on your arm. There was no doubt that everything in your head had shifted, and god she was your Mother’s best friend, and here you were about to head to work for another lesson, and you had no idea whether the lesson was going to be for tennis or something else. You were still trying to process it when a sound from outside pulled you from your thoughts. 

A soft knock. 

Then the rustling of a package being dropped outside your bedroom door, your mother too busy to deliver it to you herself. You sat up in your bed, heart racing as you glanced at the time, it was way too early in the morning for post. 

Your curiosity got the best of you as you reached for the parcel, neatly wrapped in brown paper, the shape of it unfamiliar. There was no return address, just a single letter written in elegant, cursive handwriting: A. 

Your mind spun as you tore open the package, unwrapping it carefully. The first thing that caught your eye was the pristine, white tennis skirt. It was exactly like the one Agatha had worn, tiny, form-fitting, and undeniably revealing. Beneath it lay an expensive-looking tennis racket, wrapped in its protective cover. You ran your fingers along the smooth handle, the quality of it sending a thrill through you. 

But it was the note inside that caught your attention most.

“See you at 6pm. – A”

You giggled to yourself, your breath catching as a wave of disbelief washed over you. You had to be dreaming, right? Agatha? Sending you gifts? You stared at the note for a moment, processing what it meant, and then shrugged.

With a small smile, you packed the new tennis outfit into your gym bag, your mind buzzing with thoughts of what the evening could hold. Whatever it was, you could already feel the excitement building in your chest.

The rest of your morning was a blur as you got dressed and headed to the country club. The anticipation of the evening, and the outfit you would be wearing, made it hard to focus on anything else.

You took your usual spot on the lifeguard chair, the pool spread out beneath you as the day slowly heated up. You checked the time: nearly noon. It would be another couple of hours before Agatha showed up for her tennis game, but you couldn’t stop your eyes from drifting toward the courts.

And then, there she was.

Agatha stood in the middle of the tennis court, her back straight, her posture perfect. Today, she wore a different tennis skirt, just as tiny as the one from last night, and her legs, toned and strong, moved effortlessly as she warmed up. But it wasn’t the elegance of her form that made your pulse race; it was the deliberate, almost exaggerated way she moved, knowing you were watching.

She bent down to pick up a tennis ball, her skirt riding up just enough for you to catch a glimpse of her toned thighs. Your eyes followed her every move, not just because she was beautiful, though she was, without a doubt, but because you could feel the performance in the air. Every bend, every stretch, every subtle motion seemed like a challenge, an invitation, a promise.

Your gaze lingered on her for far too long, your breath catching in your throat each time she looked over in your direction. You caught her eye once, just for a moment, but it was enough. Agatha knew. She knew you were watching her.

Your heart rate quickened as she turned back to her opponent, playing with precision and speed, as if she were flaunting it for you, her movements becoming sharper, more calculated. Every time she bent to retrieve a ball, it felt like a small tease. Your gaze never strayed far, and though you tried to focus on your duties, it was impossible to keep your attention off of her.

There was something undeniably magnetic about her, something that seemed to pull you in deeper each time she glanced in your direction.

Your shift ended as the sun began to dip low in the sky, painting the horizon with pink and orange hues. You made your way to the locker room, your mind racing as you thought about what you’d be doing later, what Agatha had planned for you. The anticipation only made your heart beat faster.

The room was quiet, and you knew that there wouldn’t be anyone around. The few others who worked at the club had all finished their shifts. It was the perfect opportunity for you to try on the outfit you’d been given.

You quickly peeled off your lifeguard uniform, leaving it in a heap on the bench. Your new tennis skirt slid on easily, hugging your hips perfectly. You gazed at yourself in the mirror, a mix of excitement and self-consciousness flooding over you. You tugged at the hem of the skirt, knowing it was short, probably a lot shorter than what you were used to, but there was no denying that it felt good.

As you adjusted it, you caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of your eye. Your heart stopped.

Agatha. 

She was standing there, just inside the door, watching you with an unreadable expression on her face. Your body went cold, the sheer shock of her seeing you topless, in the tiny skirt she’d given you in the middle of the country club's locker room. 

“Agatha!” You yelp, instinctively pulling your hands around your chest, trying to cover your breasts in a desperate attempt to not embarrass yourself further. 

“You look perfect.” She purred, stepping closer. Her voice was so deep, so smooth, you could almost taste the tone of it, her words lingering on your lips. You couldn’t help but try to cover your body further, but Agatha was already stepping towards you, her eyes hadn’t once met yours, instead they remained firmly on your covered chest. 

Her lips parted slightly, her voice lowering as she approached, “Do you really think you need to hide from me.” Despite her reassurance you were frozen, unable to form words. Her presence was overpowering, her eyes on you so full of intent it was almost suffocating. 

“I said don’t hide.” Agatha ordered, her hand lifting to gently remove yourself from your chest. You gasped as she pushed it aside, her fingers trailing down your arm as she stepped closer, “I want to see you.” 

Her eyes glazed over your body, and you could feel the heat in your chest, in your cheeks, between your legs. She was taking her time in admiring you, almost getting drunk in the sight before her. She still had a grip of your wrists, this only tightened around you as her eyes looked down at your lips, then back up to your eyes, then back to your chest. 

That's when she kissed you. But it was more than that. She was devouring you. Her lips crashed with yours, pulling your wrists above your head as you were pushed against the tiled wall of the locker room. She was possessive, pulling you into the kiss with a sheer intensity that you weren’t sure if you’d even taken a breath. She pulls your lips between her teeth, biting down hard enough to make you wince before softening the blow with her tongue, dragging it along the indents her teeth had made. 

You melted into her, one hand keeping your hands above your head as her other hand brushed accidentally against your chest, your nipples hardening to her touch almost immediately. You’d kissed people before, but never like this. You knew at this moment you would do anything to have her. She felt your body react, this time purposefully brushing against your hardened nubs, over and over again until you couldn’t help but whimper into her mouth, earning you a small chuckle from the older woman. 

When she finally pulled back, there was a huge glint of satisfaction in her eyes. She wanted nothing else but to corrupt you, she wanted to make you hers and mould you exactly how she wanted you. She could tell that you were desperate, she could practically feel the heat radiating from between your legs. You were silently pleading for her to feel how wet she had made you, gather your arousal and drag it across your lips, letting you taste how desperate you are for her. She could see it in your eyes, begging to be touched. 

“You’ll have to impress me first.” She said, her tone teasing, but there was something darker that had replaced the softer tone she had spoken with yesterday. You smile bashfully as you grab your top, actually wearing the full outfit before she spanks your ass in a silent way to get you to hurry up and follow her out onto the courts. 

The sun hung low on the horizon as you found yourself standing in front of the tennis courts again, the new racket in your hand, the freshly fitted tennis skirt making your legs feel exposed. You hadn’t dared question Agatha's desire to dress you up, but you couldn’t even deny to yourself that you were enjoying it. 

Agatha stood on the opposite side of the court, watching you with a smirk playing on her lips. Her posture was perfect, relaxed, but there was an edge to her gaze that was making you unable to focus. The gaze, and the aching between your legs. 

“Let’s see if you can keep up this time,” she purred, her voice dripping with anticipation.

You nodded, trying to steady your nerves, but her gaze was like a flame, setting you on fire from the inside. As she tossed the tennis ball into the air and hit it over the net, you instinctively ran to meet it, racket in hand. You swung, but missed. The ball sailed past you with ease, and you winced, frustration building.

Agatha raised an eyebrow, her lips curling in a teasing smirk. “Not a very good start. You need to focus, sweetheart.”

Your face flushed at her words, her sarcasm cutting through the air with ease. You wanted to impress her, to show her you were capable. But every time you swung, every time you tried, the ball either flew past you or landed awkwardly in the wrong spot.

Agatha wasn’t letting up. She was all focused now, and her presence was making it harder for you to concentrate. Every time she called out corrections, she was right there, her body close enough that you could feel her breath on your neck as she adjusted your form.

"Don't just swing, darling. You need control." She was behind you now, guiding your arms with hers. Her fingers slid over yours, her breath warm against your ear as she spoke, the proximity making your pulse quicken.

“Move your hips. Pivot.” Her voice was soft now, but there was no mistaking the way she spoke, like she was trying to teach you something more than just tennis.

With each correction, her body was closer. Her hands were on you more. And the longer you stood there, trying to concentrate on the lesson, the harder it was to ignore the growing heat between your legs, the way your body responded to every touch.

Agatha watched you carefully, her eyes never leaving you. She was in control. And you? You were struggling. You felt like you weren’t improving at all, and the more you failed, the more agitated she seemed to become.

“I told you,” she said, her voice low and cold now, “Focus. Do you want to impress me or not?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from muttering a soft curse under your breath, frustration and embarrassment burning in your chest. You gripped the racket tighter, your fingers beginning to ache from the tension. You missed the ball again and you could feel the rage inside of your building. 

“You’re not even trying.”

With that you threw the racket to the ground, sighing in exasperation and defeat. This didn’t go down too well with Agatha. “Pick it up.”

You did as she said, bending down seductively in front of her, knowing that the curve of your ass was visible to her, and you swear you heard a moan escape her lips, but you weren't sure if you’d imagined it. 

“Throw the racket again, and you’ll regret it,” Agatha warned, her eyes narrowing. There was a hardness in her tone that made you freeze.

You quickly adjusted, trying to focus on her words, on the way she was guiding your body with hers. But you were growing more and more flustered as the lesson went on, her every movement, every touch, driving you to the edge.

When the lesson finally finished, Agatha’s eyes softened, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You did better than I expected,” she teased.

You nodded, grateful for the praise, even if it felt faint in comparison to the tension that still lingered in your chest.

“You need to cool off after all that?” Agatha asked, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“The pool’s closed,” you muttered, your mind still foggy from the lesson, from everything that had just happened.

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling up into a grin. “Well, mine isn’t.”

And with that, she took a step closer, her eyes locking with yours.

“Come with me,” she said softly, her voice a low invitation, a promise.

The words hung in the air, thick with implication. The pull between you two was undeniable now, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

[tinylilacbun]

OMG HIHIHI now I can pciture like, a dark!jj starting to feel his obsession be born in the very moment he lay his eyes on her from affar. And he watches her all the time, to how long she takes to take sip after sip of her drink until random things like who she talks to people around her and walks. And it scares even himself (at least at the begining), this new.. dark and delicious feeling he can't name it, he just knows it increases every time he sees her. Maybe it's the contrast of their nature, it's what he tries to tell himself. Maybe it's how his is so full of anger and complications and hers is so... pure. Full of light. All he knows is that the feeling inside him is growing and turning into a sentence in the back of his head that gets louder and louder: he needs her. He has to have her. One way or another.

Geez sorry the delulu in me got the hots and just went with the flow I guess

THATS EXACTLY WHAT I THOUGHT!!

He doesn't know why he's so intrigued with you, why he's interested in a kook of all people, but you're different, not all bitchy and spoiled or thinking you're something better than the pogues.

You're sweet, almost too pure, and he just can't help himself but keep his eyes on you the second he catches a glimpse of you at a keg party on the beach.

He studies how you don't really drink from your cup, only taking small sips as if you're scared to get caught, clenching his jaw when he sees Rafe draping an arm over your shoulder as you giggle at something he said.

That psychotic drug addict should be the last person you stand close to, but it's not surprising, you're a sight for sore eyes but JJ knows that the kook prince only looks for a little fun, not for the interesting person you actually are.

JJ thought it was just the alcohol that night that made him so obsessive over someone who he never really talked to, but somehow he finds himself coincidentally seeing you around Kildare more often...

It gets so bad that he even starts to sneak onto your family's property, hiding behind some bushes as he gets a clear view of your room from your open window, watching you get ready for bed.

You turn off the light of your vanity mirror, getting up and stifling a yawn as you walk towards your bed, carefully slipping under the soft covers and making sure that none of your plushies fall on the ground.

JJ is about to leave when you suddenly reach under your pillow and pull out a small Lovie, but what really gets his attention is when you push the attached pacifier past your lips, getting more comfortable on your bed.

Now that's even more interesting.

A few more weeks of watching you and doing his own research on his phone he thinks that he knows what this is that you're doing, that state you seem to revert to for whatever reason he hasn't figured out yet.

Normally he would just ask Pope, but he doesn't want any of his friends knowing or thinking about him being some creep that's been watching you for about a month now.

His obsession only grows the more he finds out about you, not being able to control himself anymore as he quietly climbs in through your window one night, that small voice in his head being more prominent every time he sees you and getting the better of him.

He feels completely out of place, the clean and neatly organized room mocking his appearance, but it's oddly calming with the fairy lights that adorn the headboard on your bed and the faint scent of the lavender candle that's lit up on your nightstand.

Finally his gaze lands on your sleeping figure, all snuggled in your sheets and a bunny plushie tucked under your chin as the pacifier slowly bobs in your mouth.

He knows this is sick, that he shouldn't even be here, but a part of him doesn't even care, only thinking about satisfying his need to be close to you to make that voice finally shut up for a while.

Standing beside your bed he tilts his head to the side, almost cooing at how adorable you look and completely unaware of him right next to your bed, cautiously reaching out to caress your cheek.

"I'll take care of you soon...just gotta prepare everything." He whispers more to himself. "I just need some more time but don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you until then."

You will be his, no matter what it takes, you'll understand one day and thank him for saving you.

But who's saving you from him?

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu @mylettterstoyou @sunf1ower16 @sweetstars-posts @rafecameronsloverrrrr @rafenroostersgirl

For JJ:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @flora-eva

[popeabbot]

Evil In Bed

note: omg I haven't posted on here in like a year, I'm trying out a new thing by doing charactrer x reader stories so feel free to leave constructive feedback! :) 2.8k word count

~your favorite regular at the diner you work at turns out to be an interesting character

CW: violence, gun violence, sexual assault, harassment, hurt/comfort, fluff, cursing but thats not that crazy, wound care, age gap (You're early 20s he's late 30s), Frank being calm until someone lays hands on his favorite waitress

Frank Castle x fem!reader

You weren’t sure when exactly the stranger who always sat at the back of the diner became a regular. Or more specifically, your regular. Being not only a collage student but a student nurse meant you worked the job that paid your rent, at night. It was a small diner in a busy part of Brooklyn but it was a surprisingly good gig, you liked your co-workers and most people that came in were regulars so easy to work with and they’d always leave you good tips.

A few months ago a guy started coming in around the beginning of your shift, and he’d stay until you left. He always wore all black, kept his baseball cap pulled down where you could only see a small glimpse of his face. He’d sit at the back of the diner, facing the door and nurse a pot of coffee the whole time. No food, just coffee. Like clockwork. After a pretty light start to your shift you noticed your regular at his normal booth. You grabbed the coffee pot from its stand, a bowl of cream and sugar and headed his way. 

“Evening stranger. Just coffee as usual?” You questioned with a warm smile, you caught his smile as he curtly nodded his head. The two of you had built a small relationship, sometimes he’d ask if he needed to rough up a weirdo after a bad shift. You’d always laugh, but he was serious and you knew it. “Well looks like it’s gonna be a boring night, got any jokes for me? Or hot gossip from wherever you come from? Something to keep me going?” 

You’d asked for his name several times but he never gave one. Which would probably seem weird if you didn’t live in New York, so you just called him Stranger. 

He quietly mulled over a few ideas in his head as he sipped his coffee. He drank his coffee black but you always brought the cream and sugar for yourself, in case you joined him. You scanned his face and noticed some new bruises and an ugly gash across his nose. 

You couldn’t see his face very clearly with his cap but you did catch his big brown eyes gazing up at you before he finally answered. “Boss is callin’ your name sweetheart.”

You cursed under your breath as you were pulled away from him. You turned on your heel in the direction of your nagging boss, a group of bikers had come in and were also beckoning you over.

“Sorry about that folks. Welcome to Casey's. I'll be your waitress. What can I get everyone to drink?” 

Each man made some form of a lewd joke about you being on the menu before giving their actual orders. You smiled through grit teeth and quickly went behind the bar.

“I’m going to murder them. Can you please please take these guys Joey?” You begged the head cook as he flipped some pancakes on the grill. 

“And you cook? Sorry sister but no. If it’s that big a deal, make Casey deal with them.”

“Casey will tell me to suck it up and flash them if it means getting good tips! Joey please! I’ll never ask for free food ever again!” That’s a lie. After another hard ‘no’ you huffed and took the group of brutes their drinks. 

“So what’s a fine piece of ass like you working in a place like this?” One of the men asked, referring to the slightly dingy diner you’d come to love. 

“Just trying to pay the bills.” You replied curtly, trying to keep your eye from twitching. “Does everyone know what they’d like to eat?” 

Before they could make another joke about you being on the menu, a sharp whistle cut through the air, you whipped your head around to see your favorite regular holding up an empty pot of coffee. 

“If you’ll excuse me I just need to step over to that gentleman’s booth for a moment, take a couple more minutes to look over the menu.” You smiled before practically bolting to the other side of the diner. “Thank god for you and your caffeine addiction,” you sighed, wiping his table down and picking up the empty pot. “Want another one?”

“Those guys bothering you?” If looks could kill every man in the booth on the opposite corner would be dead. You looked back at the men and then to your stranger with a soft smile.

“Nah, Joey may act like he hates me but if they get too mouthy he’ll kick em’ out. Promise.” You placed your soft hand on top of his rough knuckles, the murderous look on his face flickered to a softer one for just a second. “Look at my favorite regular being worried for me!” Before he had the chance to reply you were being called back over, you sighed and took a moment to fix your hair. “Duty calls! I’ll be back.”

“Don’t worry about another pot, I'll be fine!” 

You nodded as you pulled your order book back out.

“Sorry about that guys, what can I get started for ya?”

As each man gave their order they were surprisingly…nice? No lewd comments, no smart remarks, no staring directly at your boobs while you took orders, until the last man who was sitting closest to you ordered.

“Yeah I’ll take the burger all the way, with curly fries and a soda and for dessert I’ll have a piece of you!” Before you could even react his hand flew up your skirt and firmly gripped your ass, you screamed, dropping your order book. As you raised your hand to smack him, a tall shadow hovered over both of you and the man instantly let you go.

“That’s not how you treat a lady.” It was your regular. “Now apologize.” He stepped in between you and the man, his broad body covering you completely. It was then you realized just how large he was. His shoulders were broad like a man who spent his whole life working, his jacket smelled of leather and gunpowder, something you’d never noticed until he was right up against you. The men argued and in a flash the group was headed outside, your regular having the perv that grabbed you by the throat. 

“Oh my god Joey!” You yelped as a hand gently grabbed your arm. “He’s going to kill him!” You practically squealed. Joey shrugged and dragged you behind the bar.

“Wait here.” He mumbled before turning to follow after the fist fight waiting to happen. Joey was much older than you, he’d been working at Casey’s since it opened. 

He thought you were an annoying brat when you first started working. Eventually you stopped asking for free food because a plate would be waiting for you at the end of your shift, he’d become a father figure of sorts. But you two still butted heads so of course instead of doing what you were told you ran after him.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Your boss asked, stepping out of his office. You yelled something about a fight as you ran past him, he quickly followed behind. You threw the back door open to the sight of your regular dominating over the gang of bikers, most of them were on the ground but two of them had him cornered. He moved swiftly and efficiently to knock them on the ground, yelling about how their mothers should’ve raised them better. 

You covered your mouth in horror, eyes wide from shock. Joey stood to the side with a toothy grin as he recorded the massacre.

“Joey!” You shrieked, slapping his arm. All the men turned to look at you, including your regular who was now splattered with blood. The man he had beaten slowly stood with a gun in his shaky hands, and fired. Joey and Casey both pushed you to the ground, your ears rang sharply even though you’d thrown your hands over them at some point. When you finally pushed the two burly men off of you the bikers had scattered leaving your regular bleeding on the ground. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” You ran to him, picking his face up gently. “Hey, I need you to talk to me. Please, please talk to me!” You slapped his face lightly before moving to lay your head on his chest, it moved up and down but his breathing was ragged. You moved to assess the damage as Joey dialed 9-1-1, the bullet hadn’t gone through all the way and seemed to be lodged in between two of his ribs. You let out a sigh of relief but yelped when he grabbed your hand. 

“No hospitals.” He spat through gritted teeth.

“Are you crazy?!” You sat back on your heels in disbelief as he began to stand, and caught him before he hit the ground again. 

“You're a nurse aren’t you? You fix me.” 

“I’m a CNA, that’s not a nurse.”

“Well I’m sure you can figure it out, I’m running out of time here sister.”

You gawked at him like he was a pure mad man before saying something you’d never catch yourself saying. “Joey tell him everyone ran off. I got this.”

Joey now wore your gawked expression. “Now I knew you were crazy but I didn’t think you were this crazy! Absolutely not!” 

“Joey. Trust me.” 

He stared at you before hanging up the phone, grabbing Casey and going back inside. Maybe he was just as crazy as you were. But deep down you knew this guy wouldn’t hurt you. 

“I only live a few blocks from here. I walk to work every day. Just stay with me and we can make it.” He nodded, screwing his eyes shut at the mere movement of walking. “You know, I could’ve handled those guys without making it a fight.” 

“No darlin,” he grunted. “Not when that asshole had a gun.” He gripped his side tightly as you hobbled through the streets of Brooklyn. You couldn’t believe you were taking this man you didn’t really know to your apartment because he’d insisted on no hospitals. Who was this guy? He grunted at every step as you climbed the stairs to your apartment.

“Why do you have to live on the third floor?”

“It’s good cardio, sue me.”

You finally reached your door without leaving a bad trail of blood and as you fumbled with your keys your elderly neighbor stepped out from her door across the hall. You lightly laid your hand on your new companion's chest to let him know not to make any noise.

“Mrs. Dabney? Is everything alright?” 

“Oh darling I was just about to ask you the same thing, I could hear you struggling up the stairs and had to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh Mrs. Dabney thank you for asking, I’m perfectly fine, Joey sent me home with a big box of cooking supplies so it was a pain to bring up the stairs with the elevator not working. I’ll be there to help you with your grocery shopping tomorrow!” Your lovely neighbor wished you goodnight and went back inside, you quickly pushed your regular inside and locked the door behind you. 

“She’s blind,” You seemed to answer his question before he even had the chance to ask. “She’s blind but I have a feeling she knew you were there..I’ll come up with an excuse later.”

He stood in your studio apartment awkwardly, not wanting to sit and get blood on your couch but also losing blood at an alarmingly fast rate and trying to not fall over. You quickly grabbed your medical kit and helped him to the bathroom. 

“Shirt off.” You demanded, setting him on the seat of your toilet. 

“Hey now sweetheart, at least buy me dinner first!” He partially laughed and partially grunted at the pain that shot through his chest. Except you didn't laugh like you normally would, you shot him a look that had his shirt hitting your bathroom tiles in an instant despite how much it hurt.                                                                     You stopped for a moment to really take in the sight before you. His cap was off and his hair fell just above his eyes, but the sides were shaved, his face was perfectly chiseled like it had been handcrafted.

 His nose had clearly been broken multiple times but for you it just added to his charm. Your eyes trailed down to his equally sculpted chest, he wore a pair of dog tags with a gold band threaded in them. He was a soldier, which made so much more sense. His abs rippled with every tense breath, his right side was drenched in the blood that seemed to be oozing from his 8th rib, in that  moment you remember why you were here. He’d been shot and he wanted you to fix him.

“Don’t care if you drool over me as long as you get the job done darlin,” He grunted, snapping you from your daze. You ran back to the kitchen and returned to him with a bottle of whiskey.

“Drink.” You raised the bottle to his lips and he gratefully took it from you. You pulled your hair back tight and sighed as your work uniform would be totally trashed. After washing your hands and sanitizing your tools you got to work kneeling between his legs and resting your arms on his upper thighs. “I’m not gonna lie, it’s pretty nasty, I’ll do my best.”

He said nothing as you worked to clean the wound, you silently prayed that the bullet was lodged in his rib and not somewhere worse. Either way this wasn’t going to be fun for either party involved. You tried your best to feel for the bullet, but you didn't have the right angle with him sitting upright.

“Hey- wait what is your name anyways? I've been trying to get it out of you for ages but you’re always so mysterious at the diner.”

“Frank,” he grunted, taking another swig of whiskey, “Castle.”

“Well Frankie, I’m gonna need you to slide your hips forward I need a better angle.” He nodded and slipped his hips closer to you until you were practically face to face with his hip bones. You had to drown out the hisses and groans that he let out as you carefully sliced his skin and removed the fragmented bullet and the pieces it left behind. Despite the situation you were in, it was hard to work with him being so close to you. He was so caring, and so fucking hot. It was going to be hard to keep him out of your bed.  You finished suturing the cut you had to make and sat back on your heels wiping your brow. 

“Need anything else patched up while I'm sitting here?” You looked at the gash in his nose and lip and then to the cuts on his knuckles. 

“Nah I don’t think it’s anything major, but you could always kiss it to make it better?” You shot up to look in his eyes, and at the big shit eating grin on his face. Was this his plan the whole time? You couldn’t help but giggle as you took his hand and slowly peppered kisses on his knuckles, before slowly moving up to his rib, he hissed at the contact but didn’t pull away. You perched yourself on his lap and peppered kisses, intertwining ‘thank you’s’ between the kisses. You helped clean him off and wrapped his hand and nose before bringing him to your room.

“I have some of my brother’s old clothes, the shirt might fit.” You helped pull it over his head, pulled his boots off and helped him lay in your bed. He laid down but was tense as you changed out of your bloody work uniform.

“I’m so sorry,” 

“For what?” You asked, crawling into the bed.

“For dragging you into this whole...mess.” He sighed, dragging his bandaged hand over his face. You sat in front of him frowning. 

“I may not know you Frank, but if I didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be here. I don’t know your situation but get some sleep, let your wound heal up for the night at least.” You caressed his face, he leaned into your touch and you sat with him until he fell asleep. After a few hours you got a text from Joey, the headline read:

The punisher of New York attacks a biker gang in a small Brooklyn diner - ‘This your guy? Nice.’

You turned your head to face the man whose face was nuzzled in the cook of your neck, how could someone the world saw to be evil be curled up in your bed? That would be a question for another day, for now he was all yours.

note: AHHH this was so fun to write I have a couple more im working on as valentines day approaches so stay tuned! I hope yall enjoy! Muah ;)

@ebodebo @fun-k-boards @jjenthusee @sceletaflores @starsofang

[tarnishedsilverjewelry]

I’ll be dumb for you (Johnny Cage x reader)

A/n: Most of the kharacters in MK are pretty complex butJohnny Cage and Kung Lao are some of the most complex of the bunch. Argue with the wall<3

Warnings: possibly ooc Johnny, angst if squint, Johnny Cage is a lovesick fool (affectionate)

She turned her head down away from his eyes. Her face was red and her eyes were already brimming with tears, her arms wound around her torso in a reflexive fashion. “W-what’s wrong? Is it something I said?” Johnny asked fearfully, his larger hands rested on her hips, squeezing gently.

Peering up at the actor, he caught a glimpse of her eyes. Her eyes were usually so expressive, filled with mirth and mischief. They drew him in like a moth to a flame, watching them flicker through emotions and expressions. But now, they were shadowed with a crippling insecurity and hurt. “I’ve always been last. In my family, in my study groups, even when they don’t realize it..I’m last with my friends too—“ she cut herself off, hunching down and taking a soothing breath.

She had bent down at the waist, and dug her nails into herself. Then, without looking at him “Everyone has always loved someone else more than me.” She spat the words out, like they pained her. And a part of him knew they did.

She’d been last place her whole life, always in a shadow and never allowed to shine. Never allowed to grow beyond the darkness that she lived in, always stuck behind her friends and family. She had never basked in the light of the sun, never had to squint and glare at the light.

“Thats not true.” He said quietly, but firmly. She scoffed angrily at him, standing straight with tensed shoulders. “It has and always will be you, for me. I can’t love anyone more than you.” The words fell from his mouth in one jumbled and tangled breath.

He continued by saying “Everyone wants me to be the incredible Johnny Cage…but with you—I’m just Johnny. Your Johnny. I’m whoever or whatever you want me to be. I know that I’m cocky and I’m probably annoying and that I’m rambling right now, but you..you shine without realizing. I will find you in every corner of every room in every party. I will find you in every life, every realm, and I will see you in every sunrise and sunset, and I’ll remember what flowers you like and don’t like. Your drink orders, your favorite restaurants, everything.” Johnny paused to catch his breath, relishing in the feeling of her hands glide up his chest.

“Because you are my safe space, a place where I’m not forced to project this mask of superiority. When i was without you I feel like I’m lost stumbling around in the pitch black, but then you showed up and suddenly it was like I could see. I know I’m not perfect, far from it but never say that someone has always loved someone more than you because that isn’t true. You are my end of all ends, my ultimate destiny and the love of my life. And I will drag you out of whatever shadows you live in because you deserve to see the sun.” Johnny felt her arms wrap around him in a hug. Instinctively his arms pulled her closer to him.

“You’re it for me. And I’ll be whatever you want me to be. As long as you let me” gently, she laughed into his shoulder. He felt the vibrations against his skin when she muttered “You’re dumb, Johnny Cage.” With a big lopsided grin spreading across his face he replied “If you want me to be that..I’ll be dumb for you.”

[tiredofthehumanlife]

haunted house hookup

barbie dolls: Anthony Lockwood x reader

word: on average 3692 with smut (more specifically intro is 1800, fem smut is 1800, and masc smut is 1900) its like a choose your own story book so like the first part is the expostition and then you click on a link to get to the smut part when i say masc/fem version i just mean you have male or female gentalia but they are both written gender neutrel so boy pussy and girl dick havers welcome

summary: while gossiping, the rest of Lockwood & co learn that you might find having sex in a haunted house while on the job slightly attractive. George and Lucy think you are peculiar and Lockwood can't sleep thinking of you, and then he decides to act on his fantasies

warnings: talks of sex, who would’ve thought, you’re worried that Lockwood will fire you, inappropriate boss-employee relationships, oral in a haunted home, exhibitism undertones that aren’t really undertones, Lockwood’s a little bit of a cocky little bitch but he has his pathetic moments, Lockwood laps your cum up like a champ, heavy on Lockwood having pretty eyes, questioning your relationship a lil

female genitalia version warnings: you’re wearing shorts, its actually not that crazy now that im thinking about it he just gives you head thats about it

male genitallia version warnings: you’re wearing pants, lockwood gives you gentle sloppy, Bon appétit

Gossip was frequent in 35 Portland Row. Usually, it was just reporting to Lockwood because he enjoyed it the most, but sometimes you and Lucy would have hushed whispers. This morning was no different. You were still staring sleepily into your mug as Lockwood's spoon tinked against the sides of his cup while he stirred his tea at the counter. Lucy was slurping loudly. Everyone was still to tired to speak up, a gentle blanket of quiet thrown over you four. George was still pantless while reading a new book from the library. You heard Lucy gasp, everyone looking up to see the cause.

“I just remembered something.” George sighed and looked back to his book. You kept your attention on her although your eyes were still drooping.

“So I heard about this couple and they went on a mission, right, it was super simple like a type one.” You hummed, rubbing at your eye.

“And apparently they locked themselves in the bathroom and hooked up while the rest of their team was outside in the garden, you know doing their job.” Lockwood spun around at the sound of drama and quickly slipped into his chair at the table leaning forward on his fist.

“Did they get caught?” Lockwood asked, his tea left forgotten on the counter. Lucy squinted.

“Well apparently one of the coworkers overheard them but didn't interrupt and so they thought they got away with it but then the person who overheard snitched” Lucy explained. Lockwood dropped his jaw before closing it again.

“Did they get fired?” Lucy nodded. “Do you know who they were?” Lockwood pressed.

“No,” Lockwood's shoulders dropped. “But I know they were Fittes' agents.” Lockwood smiled brightly. George looked up from his book.

“That's so filthy, Let's go smash in the bathroom of a haunted house,” George said with a mocking tone. You shrugged and yawned.

“Kinda hot.” You muttered as your other two roommates agreed with George. The table went eerily silent. You looked around for a glimpse of approval.

“No like not the bathroom part, that’s gross.” You said, trying to backtrack. Lucy shook her head at you.

“That's not the part we're confused with,” George muttered. You shrugged again, feeling even more tired.

“In a haunted home? Really?” Lucy grumbled, feeling like she might've picked the wrong friends.

“Well, it's a type one. So like you're not going to die probably but like it's still like the chance of danger that would be exciting and then also like the possibility of your friends catching you, so like it's more like the idea of it. In practice though I see how that would be gross. Like there's dust and then your equipment would be heavy and uncomfortable, there's a higher chance of infection probably-” you pointed to your fingers as you babbled on. Lockwood reached out and grabbed your hand. You stopped talking and looked at him.

“You don't have to continue to explain yourself.” You squished your lips to the side at his odd tone. You distracted yourself with your tea. Lucy stared at you.

“You're such a weirdo, dude,” Lucy muttered. You scoffed, glaring at her.

“I was just voicing my opinion on the matter. Yes, it's gross, bathroom sex is nasty in my opinion. The situation is a different story though.” Lucy handed you a muffin.

“Stick this in your mouth and stop talking please.” You rolled your eyes, taking a bite out of the muffin. You watched George scribble on a piece of paper nearby as he looked back to his book. You felt a gaze on you. You peeked at Lockwood through the corner of your eye. His chin was resting on his palm, gazing at you. He sighed wistfully, keeping his eyes on you. You reached across the table and placed a muffin in front of him on the table.

You entirely forgot about that conversation within hours, A: you were quite tired, and B: it wasn’t all that interesting. It slipped your mind entirely. However, for Lockwood, it was all he could think about. He lost sleep although there wasn’t much left to lose. He’d lay awake staring up at the ceiling imagining himself on his knees in front of you. Every time he saw you he’d stare at you with wide eyes. You’d look at him before chalking it up to his sleep deprivation. Lockwood lost the ability to read gossip magazines entirely lost in thoughts of you.

You were off in your own world. You only took notice of his odd behavior when you got a new case, a type one. When you were researching Lockwood was lost, staring holes into the side of your face. You slowly turned to him, making eye contact with him. You pointed at the paper in front of him. Lockwood pulled the paper up, turning his head towards it but keeping his eyes on you. You nodded awkwardly and focused back on your own work. You grew adjusted to his stares, he’d been doing it for a while. You assumed he’d tell you eventually what was bothering but that wasn’t really your business.

Eventually, you were all lugging in all your equipment bags into the small cottage home of Mrs. Mckinney. She was an old lady who walked with a bedazzled cane and a limp. She explained to you four where the ghost was before quickly, well as quickly as she could, leaving the house. She left in a car driven by her niece off to her niece's house to spend the night.

You sighed, dumping the heavy bags onto the wooden floor. It had two floors. Downstairs was the library, kitchen, dining room, and bathroom. Upstairs was a master bedroom with an attached bathroom, another bedroom although this one was converted into a sewing room, and another bathroom. As the sun set you noticed Lockwood was getting more and more attached to you. Lockwood was suddenly standing next to you every time you turned your head. As you made him his tea he was next to you, talking to George. Although his eyes were on you most of the time. You thought he was just anxious about you messing up his drink, although he’d never cared before.

Finally, Lockwood split the team up to search the house. George and Lucy were to search downstairs while you and Lockwood were upstairs. Lockwood seemed excited more than usual to search this home. When you both made it upstairs you felt like this was it. He was acting weird, like a lot.

“So what’s up with you, why are you being all weird?” Why sugarcoat things when you can just ask your boss personal questions? Lockwood turned around to you with wild eyes. You reeled back, holding your hands up in surrender.

“I’m just thinking a lot.” He muttered. You nodded. You squished your lips picking at a nearby dusty fake plant.

“About?” Lockwood stayed silent, kicking the baseboard of the wall. You felt dread hit your stomach. You understood being an up-and-coming business is hard on him. It's stressful and expensive. paying for 3 employees must be a lot on his shoulders. Maybe that’s why he’s been acting so strange to you, he’s been planning to let you go.

“If you’re firing me, I understand.” Lockwood’s head snapped up. He raised his hands shaking them back and forth.

“No, no, no, no, no, no. that’s not it, that’s honestly more like the opposite.” Lockwood huffed and turned away from you. You racked your brain, trying to connect all the pieces in the right way. You sighed.

“Well alright then, out with it.” You demanded, tired of him beating around the bush. Lockwood turned back around, avoiding eye contact with you.

“Do you-yeesh-do you remember that conversation we had, a few mornings ago? We were talking about that couple who hooked up in a bathroom. in a haunted house, and you said it was-well-attractive?” You stared at the floor, skimming your mental timeline for such a conversation. You remembered Lucy’s disappointed face.

“Ah yeah no I did say that didn’t I?” You placed your hands on your hips. You weren’t totally shocked that you said that but you were a little upset that you made your boss uncomfortable.

“Hey, listen man. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

“I liked it.”

The hallway went silent for a moment. It felt colder, and you couldn’t take in a breath properly. You raised your eyes from their spot on the floor to stare at Lockwood. He looked like a wax statue, frozen in his shrunken stance, a hand pressed over his mouth. You processed what he said, realizing now his stares weren’t ‘I want to fire you’ or ‘I want to leave this room with you in it’ they were ‘I want to fuck you’. This whole time.

“Ah.”

“yeah.”

Another moment of silence passed between you. Lockwood was still standing there, his shoulders pulled in towards him.

“Well, I mean, you know, we could-“ You started, avoiding his eyes, instead looking at the dust on the plant next to you.

“Really?” Lockwood asked. It left him like a gasp, breathy and barely audible. You glanced up at him.

“Well as long as you’re comfortable with it.” You babbled. You were just trying to fill the awkward silence, missing when you could both laugh comfortably.

“I’m more than comfortable with it,” Lockwood said, already shrugging off his long coat. He flung it onto the nearby table holding up the fake plant. Next, he reached for his tie, pulling at the knot. You felt like a man seeing a woman’s ankle in the 1800’s. Lockwood threw the blue tie on top of his coat before rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. You clenched your jaw, noticing again how attractive he was. Lockwood looked back to you. He moved closer to you. Although it was hard to see his face in the dark, the closer he got the easier it was to see his loving gaze. Lockwood nudged your chin with his knuckle, leaning in towards you.

“You’re sure?” You decided to answer his question by jolting forward. You met his lips. Lockwood gently wrapped his arms around you, pressing his hands into your back. You felt warm in his arms, even though he ran cold. He was kind and…hot. You nipped at his bottom lip. Lockwood sagged against you, pressing his body fully against you. Lockwood gently pushed you back against the wall. You slipped your tongue past his lips making him shudder. Lockwood pulled back. You slowly opened your eyes, worried you’d find it all a dream. Lockwood was still standing in front of you. Your shoulders relaxed.

Lockwood dragged his hands down your body, stopping at your stomach. He kept eye contact with you as he slowly sank to his knees.

turn to page 129 for pussy owner

turn to page 295 for dick owner

[greenparker]

Silent worries| Tasm!Peter Parker x reader

Tasm!Peter Parker x reader. Summary: You wait for Peter’s return from a dangerous night. When he arrives injured, your concern deepens, strengthening your bond as you care for him. Warnings: Bruises, cuts, fluff and a little angsty but thats pretty much all.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

3:30 AM

It was 3:30 AM, and Peter was still gone.

You knew you should be used to this by now—the late nights, the unexplained absences—but tonight felt different. A knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach as you lay in bed, the rhythmic rattling of the air conditioning filling the silence of your room. You stared at the ceiling, heart racing, the shadows dancing around you like ghosts of your worries.

Every instinct told you that he was okay; he always was. But still, doubt crept in, whispering unsettling thoughts. What if tonight wasn’t like the others? What if something had happened?

You turned your gaze toward the window, half-expecting him to swing in at any moment, that familiar grin lighting up his face. Usually, he’d slip inside quietly, just enough to reassure you before he had to leave again, a promise that Aunt May wouldn’t worry. But this time, the stillness stretched on, heavy and oppressive.

You bit your lip, trying to calm the storm of emotions brewing within you. His absence felt like a gaping hole in your night, and you found yourself wishing more than ever that he would pull that window open and step into the safety of your shared world.

Just a few minutes, you thought. That’s all you needed—to see him, to know he was okay, to feel the warmth of his presence beside you, if only for a fleeting moment.

You grabbed your phone, anxiety gnawing at you. You rarely called him—not because you didn’t want to, but because you’d never felt the need to. Not until now. Your finger hovered over the call button, hesitating as a wave of uncertainty washed over you.

Just as you were about to press it, the shrill sound of your window sliding open startled you, making your heart leap in your chest. You jumped, your breath catching in your throat as you turned to see him silhouetted against the moonlight, the familiar figure that always brought you comfort. But as soon as you saw him, he tumbled through the window, landing awkwardly on your hardwood floor with a loud thud. A groan escaped his pink lips as he struggled to gather himself. “Peter!” you shrieked, panic lacing your voice.

You flung the covers off, ignoring the chill of the night air against your bare legs as you rushed to his side, your heart racing at the sight of him.

Peter looked utterly exhausted, more than usual. His usually bright eyes were shadowed, and there was a weariness about him that made your heart ache. You rushed to his side, instinctively reaching out to help him up. The moment you caught a glimpse of his face, your frown deepened. He was battered, cuts and bruises marring his skin, evidence that something terrible had happened.

“Hey, bub,” he muttered, his voice a mix of exhaustion and casual indifference, as if falling through your window was an everyday occurrence.

Despite his attempt to downplay it, you couldn’t ignore the worry gnawing at you. You felt his hands find their way to your face, his touch gentle yet grounding. “You scared me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “What happened?”

His thumb brushed against your cheek, and for a fleeting moment, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in this small, intimate space. But the reality of his injuries pulled you back. “You need to tell me the truth, Peter. What did you get into this time?” There was a hint of resistance in him as he sighed, rubbing his thumb against your cheek in a gesture of comfort. You felt a heaviness in your heart, the frown deepening as you wished you could see his eyes, usually so full of life, now hidden behind the mask.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” he tried to joke, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, though it lacked its usual brightness. The sound sent a wave of concern through you, and you couldn't help but bite your lip, the worry pooling in your stomach.

“Try me,” you insisted, your voice steady despite the fear creeping in. “I’ve heard some pretty wild stories.”

His smile faded, and you could tell he was struggling to answer under the mask, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on him. “Well, it’s not every day you get tackled by a giant lizard, right?”

Your heart sank as his words settled in. “A lizard?” you echoed, disbelief mixing with concern. “Peter, how badly are you hurt?”

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut—this was no simple scrape or bruise. He had faced something dangerous, something that could have cost him more than just a few injuries.

“Let me see,” you urged, your voice firm yet gentle. “We need to check how bad it is.” You shifted closer, determination pushing aside your fear as you reached for the edges of his mask.

Peter hesitated, his body tensing for a moment before he relented, nodding almost imperceptibly. “Okay, but promise not to freak out.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you began to peel away the mask. Beneath it, the truth lay bare: bruises marred his skin, and a deep cut traced across his brow.

“I won’t freak out,” you promised, though your heart raced as the sight of him struck you. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

He gave you a nod, and in one swift motion, you slowly take his mask off, revealing a face that was more battered than you had anticipated. A slice marred his cheek, and a black eye darkened his normally bright expression. But it wasn’t just his face that told the story of his ordeal; it was the silent pain in his eyes that cut deeper.

You felt your breath catch as you noticed the four large slashes across his chest, angry red lines that stood out starkly against his skin. It was as if he had faced a monster, and part of you wished you could have been there to protect him from whatever had done this.

“Peter…” you whispered, your heart racing as you grasped his arm gently, leading him toward your bathroom. The darkness of your room faded behind you, replaced by the harsh light of the small space, illuminating the extent of his injuries.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked, your voice laced with concern as you guided him to sit on the edge of the tub. The sight of him, so strong yet so vulnerable, made your heart ache. “This looks bad.”

He shrugged, a half-hearted attempt at humor. “I’ve had worse. Just another day in the life, right?” But the tremor in his voice betrayed him as he slid the top half of his suit off, and you could see that he was trying to downplay the severity of his injuries for your sake.

“No more jokes, Pete,” you said firmly, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for the first aid kit. “This isn’t just a scratch. We need to clean these up and make sure they don’t get infected.”

As you rummaged through the supplies, you could feel the weight of the moment—the urgency of his wounds, the fear that he might be hiding more than just physical pain. You returned to him with antiseptic wipes and gauze, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Just breathe, baby,” you instructed softly, trying to keep your own fear in check as you cleaned the cuts, your hands steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay.”

He nodded, his gaze flickering to you, and for a brief moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift as he leaned into your touch, seeking comfort in your presence. You worked carefully, your heart breaking a little more with each mark you uncovered, determined to show him that he wasn’t alone in this.

“Why do you always have to play the hero?” you murmured as you tended to the gashes on his chest, your voice thick with emotion as you bandaged one of the deeper slashes. “Can’t you let someone else take a turn?”

Peter’s lips quirked into a faint smile, a flicker of his usual charm returning. “What can I say? It’s in my nature.”

But the joking tone faded, overshadowed by the stark reality of his injuries. “Just promise me you’ll be more careful next time,” you urged, your gaze locking onto his with fierce intensity. “I don’t want to see you like this again.”

He sighed, frustration flickering in his eyes. “You know I can’t promise that, Y/N…” His voice softened, and he reached out to cup your cheek with his hand, thumb brushing gently over your skin. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, grounding you in the moment despite the chaos around you.

“Peter, it’s not fair,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “You’re putting yourself in danger, and I can’t just sit here and wait for something bad to happen.”

He leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I get it. I really do. But this is who I am. I can’t just stop being Spider-Man. I have to help people. You know that.”

Tears threatened to spill as you searched his eyes for reassurance. “But what about us? What if—”

He interrupted, gently placing a finger on your lips to silence you. “Hey, look at me,” he said softly. “I promise to be as careful as I can, but I can’t make guarantees. What I can promise is that I’m here with you now, and I want to be here for as long as I can. You mean everything to me.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and the weight of your fears felt a little lighter in that moment. You nodded, trying to absorb the comfort of his presence. “Just please, be safe,” you whispered, leaning into his touch, desperate to hold onto the warmth of the moment.

“Always,” he replied, pulling you into a gentle embrace. You felt the tension in his body, a reminder of the danger he faced, but also the strength of his resolve. In that closeness, you found solace, knowing that, despite the uncertainty, you would navigate this together.

A comforting silence settled between the two of you, a welcome reprieve from the chaos outside.

You were bent over on the toilet, the cool porcelain a contrast to the warmth radiating from Peter, who sat on the edge of the tub with his legs crossed and a hand resting gently on your knee. He needed to touch you somehow, to feel your presence grounding him amidst the pain. Every once in a while, he would wince as you carefully tended to his wounds, and each flinch twisted your heart with concern. “Thank god you heal fast. I hate this,” you murmured, your voice thick with worry.

Peter hummed softly in response, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Even in pain, he found solace in your care. He loved you for it—your sweet, nurturing nature was a balm to his bruised spirit. You always took care of him, even when his reckless heroics left you an anxious mess.

As you placed the last patch on his shoulder, you let out a sigh of relief, sitting back to survey your work. “All done,” you said, a touch of pride swelling within you. It wasn’t like he could go to the hospital; that would open a whole can of worms and risk revealing Spider-Man’s identity.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he said, his voice soft and sincere, the warmth in his gaze making your heart flutter. “You really are amazing.”

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you bit your lip, unable to suppress a smile. “It’s just a bandage. Anyone could have done it,” you replied, trying to downplay your efforts.

“Not like you,” he countered, leaning slightly closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “You always know how to make me feel better, even when I’m at my worst.”

You looked away, suddenly shy under the intensity of his gaze. “Can you stay tonight?” The words slipped out before you could second-guess yourself, vulnerability lacing your tone.

Peter’s expression softened further, and he nodded. “I’d love to.” His thumb gently brushed across your knee, sending a comforting warmth through you. “I’d feel better knowing you’re close by, too.”

Relief washed over you, and you couldn’t help but lean into him slightly, craving the closeness. The world outside seemed a little less daunting with him there, a shield against the uncertainties that threatened to creep in.

“Just try to be more careful next time,” you said, a playful yet serious note in your voice. “I don’t think I can handle another night like this.”

He chuckled, the sound light and warm, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. “I’ll do my best. But you know me—I’m a magnet for trouble.”

“Yeah, but you’re also my favorite troublemaker,” you replied, your smile widening.

In that moment, the air between you felt charged, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging delicately in the space. You found yourself drawn to him, the way his eyes sparkled even in the dim light, the warmth radiating from his body. You hesitated for just a second, then leaned in closer, heart racing.

“Peter…” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

He met you halfway, his hand moving to cradle your cheek, thumb grazing your skin as he closed the distance. The kiss was soft at first, a gentle meeting of lips that quickly deepened, filled with the unspoken affection and connection you both shared. You melted into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the taste of relief and love lingering as you lost yourself in the moment.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and slightly dazed, you looked into his eyes, feeling a contentment bloom in your chest.

“Guess I’m stuck with you,” you teased lightly, your heart still racing from the kiss.

Peter grinned, his eyes shining with warmth and mischief. “Good. Because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

In that fleeting moment, the chaos of the world faded, leaving just the two of you, suspended in time, bound by unspoken promises.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

[stories-and-stars]

Traveling Paramours

Pt 4 of Traveling Mages

" Dare" He swallowed hard. She tapped her finger on her chin almost taunting him.

" I dare you to show me your tattoo, I only caught a glimpse of it before" She did genuinely want see this tattoo but she had another reason behind it. He grabs the collar and pulls the shirt off over, Using every bit of self control to keep herself calm on the outside. She studies the markings, Her fingers rising to trace them but she keeps her hand in place. He catches the slight movement, His eyes begging her to.

" It feels like something is missing " Her eyes linger on the open space in the middle. His heart feels the words,

" Thats because there is, My family - My guild crest should be there" His fingers reach to feel the empty skin.

The mood shifts and she leaves it be,

" I hope I get to see it return there, It's probably best if we get some rest. The bed is yours. "

A small smile returns to his face,

" I don't think so. You paid for the room, You get the bed"

" Don't you start this with me" She giggles lightly, Reaching for her bed roll from her bag on the other side of him. He grabs the other hand she's supporting herself on and she falls on top of him. She gasps lightly at the contact of his still shirtless self under her now. He places his hand on her lower back and hooking his finger under the hem. Dragging the fabric up slightly, Her breath hitches and her nails dig into his side. The deep grunt elicited in response was enough to send a wave down her spine.

" I'll take the floor, unless you want to keep arguing" He smirks. She laughs lightly, Shaking her head as she sits up. Not before dragging her nails down his side to his waist band. His eyes squeezed shut and his mouth falling open. He just laid down where he was and laid his arm over his face. She crawled into the bed, Pulling the blanket over her face and tried to get some sleep.

[billluver0124]

"Even My Bones"

synopsis: bill falls inlove with y/n after meeting her at a gas station, a month later; after a moment of passion something is revealed about her.

WARNINGS: cannibalism, blood, makeout scene

authors note: this story is inspired by the movie 'bones and all', i immediately thought of a plot after watching the movie. but this story does get gorey, so please scroll of you are uncomfortable reading. thank you to @rottinglilys for helping me with this story<3 enjoy my lovies, mwah!

BILLS POV: it was like yesterday when i met her. i was at a gas station, my brother tom waiting in the car as i bought myself a pack of skittles and a pack of cigarettes. then there she was, the love of my life; i didnt know it then but i know it so much now. she looked different then other girls, her eyes were as big and doey as a deer, her smile was as bright as the sun. there was something unique about her, she was almost inhuman-like, but so beautiful. i caught myself watching her every move as she walked around the station..

Y/NS POV:

i walked into the gas station, using the amount of money i had left to get myself some snacks and water for the journey that was to come. "that'll be 13.74 please" the cashier told me, i gave him fifteen bucks and he gave me the remaining change, and the stuff i bought of course. i thanked him, before catching a glimpse at the boy who was staring at me the entire time; and leaving to continue my walk. (the rest of the story is now in third person !)

bill mentally slapped himself for not talking to her at the gas station, but he shook it off as he walked back to the car, continuing his drive with tom back home. "why do you look so gloomy?" tom asked, with small concern. "nothing, im just tired" bill replied, giving tom a small smile as he continued to drive him and tom.

after bill dropped tom off at his house, he now drove the route to his house. when he saw her again, walking on the road all by herself, with nothing but a backpack. "hey!" he shouted, catching her attention. "are you okay miss?" "uhh yea, im okay" she replied, not very sure about her answer "well, why are you walking alone? its late and its not safe at this hour" bill asked, concerned for her well being. y/n looked around the area, the boy was right, it did look pretty dangerous out here in the dark "w-well, d-do you think you could gimme a ride?" y/n asked, slightly nervous about her surroundings. "yea, come in" bill opened the passenger side door for her, allowing her to come in. she puts on her seat belt as they continued the drive. "you live around here?" bill asked, y/n looking at him for a small moment before answering "actually i dont, im not from here" "where were you gonna stay?" bill asked, curiousity filled his senses. "i was just gonna sleep at a bus stop" she said nonchalantly, bill turned to look at her once again, wide eyed "are you crazy? nonsense, you can stay with me at my place!" "n-no, you dont have to-" "i insist, no pretty girl like you should stay alone like that" bill immediately blushed after he realized what he called her, y/n blushing to herself as she took the compliment. after a small moment she spoke..

"im y/n" she looked to him as she spoke, bill replying soon after "im bill, its a pleasure to meet you" y/n softly smiled. sitting in a soft and peaceful silence the rest of the drive home. they finally reached his house, bill leads her inside, helping her take off her beat up sage green converse and hanging her backpack on a hanger. "you can sleep in my room if youd like, i dont mind sleeping on the couch" "no, its your house, ill sleep on the couch" y/n insisted, not willing to negotiate anything else. and thats what happened, y/n slept on the couch...for most of the night. bill wakes up to the sound of y/n panicking, he rushes out of the room and holds her in his arms "you're okay, everything's okay" he soothes her as she cried in his arms, after she calms down a bit she speaks "i-i had a nightmare.." bill softly smiled at her, even in such a panicked state; she was still so beautiful to him "do you wanna come sleep with me in my room?" "i-is that okay with you?" she asked, bill smiled even more "its more than okay with me" bill takes her to his bed, holding her in his arms as they both slept. he knows he shouldnt move this fast with her, he didn't even know her for gods sake! but something about her was so, addicting. A month goes by, bill and y/n began to know more about each other, both sharing their feelings in the process, sharing a few intimate nights with each other too. bill knew she was the one, the missing puzzle piece in his life, the filling of the void he had for so long. bill knew it was always her. and y/n felt the exact same. they loved each other.

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

bill held her waist as he kissed her neck, hearing her sweet moans for him. he smirks, going back up to her lips; their tongues dancing with each other in one anothers mouths. y/n had her hands in dreads, melting in his addicting touch. "god i love you so much" bill groaned, "i love you too" y/n moans back.

then all of a sudden, y/n had this violent urge of hunger, her skin began to crawl as she drooled for bill. she needed to feed. she goes down to his neck, mumbling an 'im so sorry' before sinking her teeth in bills neck. bill yells in pain as a response.

BILLS POV: "liebe! stop, i-its me!" i cried, trying to push her off but she was too strong. i felt another wave of pure agony as i watched her dig her nails into the flesh on my chest, feeding it into her mouth, another scream of pain as my response. but after a moment, something made me accept this. it was her beauty, she was literally ripping me apart and eating me. but even with my blood all over her...still, she looked so beautiful. "i love you y/n" those were my last words, the last things i needed to say as i watched her, tear me apart piece by piece. consuming my existence, eating my entire body... even my bones. Y/NS POV: after i ate him, i snapped out of my trance and realized what i just did. i just killed...and ate the love of my life. he was my everything, my soulmate. and i just ripped him apart and consumed him so selfishly. what is wrong with me?, there was nothing but a pool of blood and his hair, his beautiful black hair with white dreads, that was the only thing i had for memory of him. i got up to go to the bathroom, catching my reflection in the mirror. i looked so disgusting, his blood was all over me, there were pieces of him stuck in my teeth. all i could do now, was cry. i felt myself falling to my knees, screaming out all my regret in cries, why did i have to be like this? and out of all people... why did it have to be bill?

[ants-personal]

i hope we get to see eli trying to apologize to demetri and of course at first it doesnt work demteri isnt answering him barely looking at him argued about sitting next to him for the trip he tries offering demteris favorite snacks or they can watch his favorite movie he even shares news on something he knows would normally have demetri light up and talking for the next hour but he gets a snide remark and then more silence which even at the hotel finding they are sharing a room eli can tell demetri is holding back another argument since johnny already told him of he has to hear another stupid argument there will be violence

so in the room they both lay there tension thick and eli breaks first frustrated he doesnt know what demetri wants from him hes already apologized hes tried to make it up what else could demetri want for him to beg for forgiveness then please forgive me for not telling you about mit and for calling yoy annoying all mighty demetri and that seems to do something cause demetris rushing out of the room even though they arent suppose to leave which just alarms eli cause when has demetri broken rules and in a place they both dont know

Rushing into the halls and past Daniel who apprently had just caught miguel,sam,and robby all sneaking around who has to grab him by the shoulder to slow him down and reminds him they aren't suppose to leave their rooms turning him to lead him back but eli pushes him off he needs to go do something very important he has to make something right he will go back as soon as its over please and Daniel ponders for a moment staring at eli who is giving his best desperate puppy eyes and so daniel gives in makes it sound like hes yelling at eli to go back and whisper if he isnt in 20 hell send johnny to get him instead

And so hes off running and jumping down flights of stairs the elevator taking to long he doesnt know where demetri would have gone and the hotel isnt too massive but itd take longer than 20 to search the whole thing fonally reaching the lobby he paces eyes scanning the small crowd he wouldnt go far as to not get lost (or kidnapped dont you know the how high the rates of boys like us getting snatched by some creep)

Thats when he spots a sign for some sort of garden courtyard and some part of him is certain that's where hell be so he makes his way pushing the door into the cooler night air its a decent size area lined with benches and seating areas all under canopy of trees and tall bushes blowing gently in the wind litering the ground in shadows theres two lamp posts on either side leaving the corners as thr perfect hide away he knows to keep quiet or demteri will run off before he can get close and theyll be back to square one

He squints into the darkness looking for any sign it isnt until he catches a glimpse of demteris red snoopy pj bottoms he stops in his tracks he hasnt been seen yet he can hear sniffling and knows demetris hugging himself curled over his knees as he tries to keep his sobs quiet hes seen it plently of times when hed get injured by whoever decided to beat them that day or when his parents were first going through their divorce maybe he hated eli seeing him as weaker or maybe he just didnt want eli to feel bad either way it always made elis heart hurt to see his friend like that and its devastating now that he is the cause of it

He takes a deep breath before calling out his name gently but it doesnt matter demteris jumping up and backing away quickly wiping his face of any evidence telling him to go away and leave him alone throwing in a your not suppose to leave the room after dark which eli cant help the tiny chuckle as he points out neither was demetri which as them both standing there demteri looking down at glancing occasionally at eli and any exit he can find adding onto elis mountain of guilt he thinks i could still be a threat so he stay in the same spot but begs demetri to please just tell me how to fix this

And course demetri whos hugging himself shrugs theres nothing to fix everythings fine course he has to be difficult thinking eli is like his mom who would believe him rather than push and get into a round bout argument he never did find out what he told her about his broken arm and so eli stands his ground presses only getting biting remarks back until they are both yelling staff members and sensis and karate war be damned

and soon it finally comes out demetri yelling that eli doesnt even want him in elis life again so whats the point in fixing things which tales eli by surprise demetri taking his silence as shameful agreement he lists off how eli thinks hes better how he thinks demetri doesnt even deserve to be here or how hes closer to the gang than demetri so why would he even need to hang around nerdy loser demetri or go to the same school when he can go off and be mister cool wherever he goes without demetri dragging him down how demetri will end up .. all alone without his best friend again who wants nothing to do with him and is fine without him and he just doesnt understand how after everything theyve been through to just throw him away again when its convenient for him all the while demetris the fool who loves eli though it all anyways

and they both just stand there in stunned silence only disrupted by a security guard coming out calling out to whoevers been making all the noise to come out and before eli can even turn to look towards the direction of the voice demetris grabbing his arm and pulling him after him exiting the yard from the otherside the gaurd yelling after them and soon they are running through halls and hiding around corners to try and make it back up to the room dodging staff and even Johnny and Daniel who are certainly looking for them now

after demteri shoves them into an elevator leaving them both panting as they ride up eli can help but ask love? causing demetri to huff cause of pf course thats what he focuses on and before he can say anything else the elevator dings and they are jogging back to their room eli getting there first they can hear the sensis aruging and thats when eli realizes he doesnt have a key demetri calls him an idiot harshlely under his breath producing a key as they spill into the room turning the lights off and standing by the door both jumping when Johnny bangs on it yelling that they better be in there nerds

They both share a panicked look before they are rustling eachother up to make it look like theyve been sleeping and demetri is opening the door squinty eyed acting very confused and stubbornly innocent eli coming up behind playing his innocence up as well Johnny can only squint at them while eli and Daniel share a knowing look and soon they leave telling them they better not be out again its only when after the door is shut they both sigh in relief and soon find themselves giggling the air lighter between them

Its demetri who turns away first stating its late and they should go to sleep if they plan on actually winning tomorrow climbing into his bed barely getting under the covers before eli is jumping onto of him smile big on his face as he leans over his body demetri scowls and tells him to get off and go to bed but elis too giddy to happy it makes sense now all clicking and he probably is more brawn than brains at this point cause how could he not see maybe he didnt want to at somepoint but its always been there demetri loves him which is a given but this is different kind and its suddenly the only thing in elis life that makes sense after everything demetri was still there for him going out his way to check up on him to make him laugh to include him even in his future the way he looks at him during training even now as demetri still lays theres not pushing him away and telling him he looks stupid and to get off again and the answer is so clear and he knows hes looking at him like he always has like he was the his earths sun stars and moon

And demetris gone quiet watching him closely with baited breath and eli leans down they are almost nose to nose whispering if he really meant it that he loved him he so vlose he can see the tears slowly well up in demetris eyes thinking eli is being cruel hell make fun of him soon enough use it against him whatever part of hawk survived scares him so all he can do is nod taking in a shaky breath as the tears run down eli cupping his face gently wiping the tears with his thumbs smiling softly as he shushes him and whispers reassurances neither sure who closed the distance as lips meet tentatively and softly at first turning into much more confident eagerness demetris sitting up to run his fingers through elis hair eli clinging to demetris t-shirt only pulling when both desperately need air its only then that eli with the sight of a flustered demetris pecks his cheeks and whispers love into his ear

[delopsia]

Peaches | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Your peaches are missing.

And you know they haven't grown legs and walked off down the road because you just brought them home from the market yesterday. You'd bought a dozen of them because the lady selling them had more than she knew what to do with; an overly bountiful crop can be just as stressful as one that doesn't produce at all. Eight remain in the fridge, right where you left them, and you had one last night, so where have the three in your fruit bowl gone? 

There's movement out your back window. 

Someone walking past; a glimpse of a blue flannel and a white straw cowboy hat. The hat you bought Rhett in the spring because his old summer hat was falling apart, and his favorite felt one is far too warm to be worn when the temperatures creep above sixty. 

He stops just short of the sliding door, tosses his beloved hat onto a patio chair, and doesn't seem to notice that a pair of eyes are on him. No, he's too busy reaching behind his head, pinching his flannel where it rests between his shoulder blades, and tugging it upward. 

And you cannot say you're complaining.

That blue plaid is drenched with sweat, a wondrous contrast to the pale, milky white skin that it clings to. Slowly revealing that gently defined stomach, soft lines that flex as he pulls the shirt further. The gentle swell of his chest and the faint outline of ribs that have suffered more than enough breaks and cracks over the years. Deep-set ink of a bull and its rider higher on his broad chest, resting beneath strong collarbones that lead to even wider shoulders. 

Even paler scars catch in the light; one beneath his collar, a gift from a bull with a knack for kicking right where that protective vest ended. Another rests low between his ribs, and carries a tale of a drunk bar fight with a man willing to use shattered glass to his advantage. That ER visit was anything but fun.

Oh, well, would you look at that?

Rhett's got one of your missing peaches in his hand. 

Shiny and wet from where he's surely rinsed it off using water from the hose, glistening in the sunlight, much like Rhett does. He raises it to his lips as he settles into one of your chairs. 

 And that is a sight to behold.

Your beloved cowboy biting deep into a peach, his eyes happily shut, smiling to himself because of something that crosses his pretty little mind. Uncaring of how the juice of the peach drips from his thin lips, dripping from his chin and rolling down his already shimmering chest. 

Until now, you've never considered yourself the type to drool over such a simple thing. But as you head back to the refrigerator, plucking another one of those delightful little fruits from its resting place, you think you'd pay to see him eat these. 

He doesn't pay you any mind, as you slide the door open and step out onto the half-finished deck. A home project thats been slowed by the heat, and you are not one to complain about the delay.

"I was wondering where my peaches wandered off to," you chirp, holding out the chilled fruit and placing it into his open, dripping palm. 

"'m sorry," but there's no shame in his mumbled words, as he bites into what you've handed him. Humming to himself all along, silently thrilled by the cool juice on his burning tongue. Dripping like a fountain, past his unshaven jaw and down his neck. Even has the audacity to run down his arm, dancing across the protruding veins that you would really, really like to feel against your tongue, right about now. 

Rhett's eyes flicker up, meeting with yours, but only briefly.

His ears redden, a flush that reaches down into his cheeks, and he looks away with a quiet giggle. 

"What?" You're smiling, unashamed of how you've been caught red-handed. 

Rhett can't bring himself to speak, covers his smile with the back of his hand, but it's futile. The corners of his eyes wrinkle with his grin, and his eyes flicker to everything but you. 

 You're stepping closer, bending down until you're face to face with him, "something the matter, cowboy?" Reaching out to curl your fingers around his sticky jaw, lifting him to look at you.

"Naw," there's that drawl of his, "jus' thinkin'."

"About what?" Tracing down his neck, chasing a rogue bead of juice, following as it crosses his beautifully muscled chest. 

His eyes drop, looking down to your soft summer shorts as he reaches for them, playing with the hem of them. When his gaze lifts once more, its darkened, sparkling with a twinge of excitement that he can't quite hide. 

Licking your lips, you lean forward, taking a bite of his peach for yourself; juice running down your lips like its being paid to do it. "Something you want?"

"Uhuh," nodding dumbly. 

You're thankful that the two of you settled on a house out in the country, where the neighbors are far and few between. That your home is hidden behind a long, winding driveway and that you're not expecting any deliveries today. Because as his peach-flavored lips hungrily collide with yours, and he rises to push you into a patio chair, you don't you'll be making it inside.