#I don't even own clothes that go with dark grey and I KNOW they know

[hunnylagoon]

The Girl That Time Forgot

Ellie Williams x Reader

Find me in one thousand years, I will always be waiting here.

Premise: Ellie is the only time traveller who uses her uncommon gift to rewind time and constantly pester you-the only immortal who made a deal with death in 412 BC and is cursed to walk the earth for all eternity. Forever was promised but you never knew the price.

Warnings: death / murder / mentions of suicide / self-harm / toxic relationship /sickness / violence / angst / war / mentions of drugs / lovers?friends(ish)?enemies? it’s complicated / mild gore / things get nuts

ONE-SHOT | WC 18k (so you know what you’re getting into)

AID PALESTINE!

Athens, Greece- October- 412 BC

Come back in one hundred years, you'll always find me here.

Rain splashes against the skin of your face in lands of ancient Greece, where the winds themselves whispered stories of gods and heroes, neither of which you were. You were nothing more than a frightened woman running away from an unforgiving husband in the dead of night where your quickened heartbeat falls in rhythm to the ocean which is almost as angry as the storm that roars above.

Carefully you dodge the jagged rocks sticking out from the sand, you had memorized each and every one after days of burning your skin on the shores. Water surged against the rocks near your feet, white froth sizzling in the waves retreating like it was trying to drag you in and take you for its own.

Your heavy breathing was devoured by the heavy rain and cracks of lighting, the sounds of thunder so deep it was like Zeus himself was stomping in the clouds. Despite the night being dark you trusted the moonlight that glimmered off of the ocean to guide you. You have nothing more than the soaking wet clothes on your back, jewelry to sell, and the drachmas you had stolen from your husband tucked away safely in a wool tagari purse.

Someone grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks "Hey!" They say, though you can't quite make out the figure in the dark you know it's a woman from the voice alone. "You need to go home." Fear pushes adrenaline to course through your veins at the sound of an unheard tongue babbling in your ears.

Your eyebrows furrow, clutching the bag even harder in your free hand. "Φύγε από μένα!" You scream, trying to force your voice to be louder than the malicious storm that brews over your head. You try to pull your hand away but the woman stands firm hardly even moving.

"Fuck," She mutters, you don't understand a word. In this moment you feel like a rabbit preparing to get devoured by a wolf, whoever this woman was you were shaken to your core like you had just uncovered a dead body. "I forgot that you can't speak English yet."

You struggle under the grip of the woman, using the hand which was holding tightly onto the tagari and begin to hit the woman before you to pry her off your wrist "Δεν θα πάω πίσω, τον μισώ μέχρι θανάτου!" You shout voice loud as thunder.

"Ow!" She said wrinkling her nose and trying to apprehend the hand that was hitting her "Can you stop?" She asks, even though you can't understand her it's worth a shot in her mind.

This does nothing to stop your protest, you only hit her harder hammering your purse against her head until she finally lets go of your wrist to block your swinging. Lighting cracks and just for a moment you catch a glimpse of her. Short brown hair that falls at her shoulders, and freckles across her face, something you had never seen before. What frightened you wasn't the sharpness of her green eyes but her clothes, an alien concept to you. She didn't wear a tunic but a scratchy blue fabric tight on her legs and what to you resembled a baggy grey burlap sack with a piece of cloth hanging off the back. In recent years it has come to be known as jeans and a hoodie.

"Δαίμονα, μάγισσα, φύγε!" You smack her once more for good measure and turn quickly on your sandal-covered heel to get away from her. You were as wild and untamed as the ocean itself, with eyes that sparkled with a craving for more than honey dripping down your tongue and salt smeared across your lips.

"Remember I tried to help you this time!" She shouts, her voice is so far off in the distance that you barely heard it through the storm. Even if her words were clear it made no difference, you didn't speak her tongue, and any warning fell unheard upon your ears "Have fun being twenty forever!"

You ran even faster than you had before, you didn't even turn around to see if the woman was still on your tail.

The salty spray stung your cheeks as you ran, your breath ragged and steps unsteady. The wind howled in protest, whipping at the wet hair that stuck to your face and neck, tearing at your white peplos, turned translucent on your body by the water. But you paid no heed to the fury of the elements, for you were driven by a desperate need to escape.

As you reached the edge of a rocky outcrop, your leather sandal caught on a slick stone, sending you tumbling to the ground. With a sickening thud, your head struck against the unforgiving rock, and the world around you spun into darkness.

You were dead. Body limp on the plethora of rocks, the tide slowly lulling over your body until it swallowed you whole and sucked you in deeper. Ropes of hair twist before your dull eyes, unmoving into the deep.

You sink further in and open your eyes though you are still deceased, your body still falling cold. Selene stands before you in the form of midnight. Her body was ebony and deep blue, half woman, half moon. Long black hair like ink tipped with moonlight spills down her breasts and her hips, she watches you with her pale eyes imploring.

The goddess before you turns to lead the way, enticing you to follow. Each step sends knives through your limbs. Your mouth tastes like blood and your lungs burn red hot though every time you try to breathe you choke and sputter of nothing, still, you follow Selene into the nothingness ahead.

Finally, she turns, one finger pressed to her lips, signalling you to be quiet. Beside her, a pale soldier appears in fine silver armour chiselled against his muscular body. The areas that the armour does not cover, his arms and an area of his legs between the middle of his thighs to just below his knees, tattered bandages hang around his limbs, They sway in the nothingness and shed by themselves. You see open wounds deep and red, beginning to bleed but his pasty skin sews itself up, leaving no scar behind, nothing but smooth flesh. Wings larger than the man himself sprout from his back. Thanatos.

Thanatos bows his head, hiding his deep sunken eyes beneath a Corinthian helmet. You should be afraid that you face the god of death but you aren't. This is a better fate than being hauled back to your husband.

He takes his helmet off, long dark hair falls onto his shoulders and he regards you. Thanatos is wordless as he stares at you, taking in every of your face, every curve of your body. He doesn't speak but you understand him well, too much beauty to go to waste.

Selene has left you to take her place back in the night sky, she watches you were she hangs on a beam of moonlight. In one hand Thanatos holds a silver knife. Your voice betrays you, for once your loud screeching voice is lost.

He holds out his hand, pitch black at the fingertips. You can tell he is trying to strike a deal as if he had put his words into your mind without ever even moving his lips.

You look at his hand and then at his face, death was less frightening than you had imagined, handsome for a god who took so many lives. He lets his offer sit and settle within you, he doesn't try to sweeten the deal, he offers you another chance and that is that.

The second you shake Death's hand, he pulls away from your grip and takes the silver dagger to your heart. With ease, he slices back layers of flesh in one swoop leaving your bones exposed before him. Using what seemed to be little effort for the god of death, he breaks your ribs and pulls out your heart.

You watch it beat in his hand, the blood drifting out of it like ribbons that hook around your limbs, you know you have made a mistake. For the first time, Thanatos smiles. Oh, how the wolf wore the sheep as a wicked disguise. he squeezes the heart and at the crush of his hand, you feel ice shoot through your veins.

Your eyes open, properly open. You were alone. You wake up in nothing more than a metre of water and immediately cry out in pure terror at the horrifying images that your mind has conjured up. You run through the salty ocean and back to the shore.

The storm hadn't subsided which helped to camouflage your sobs as you frantically felt around your body with shaking hands to be sure that the god of death hadn't ripped out your heart. Surely enough, your rib cage was intact. You fall onto your hands and knees heaving up all of the ocean water you had swallowed.

The purse that held your resources for escaping had either been devoured by the ocean or stolen off your body. Your wirey hands touch the back of your hand, you expect to shudder under the pain of the open wound that knocked you unconscious. Instead of pain shooting from a gash in your head, you are perfectly intact.

You look down at your hands, no trace of blood.

Maybe it was time to start believing in myths because you were in one.

Rome - July- 116 AD

Don't they know it's the end of the world?

At the center of the world, you had been buried alive for three years after switching places with a Vestal Virgin who looked remarkably identical to you in exchange you gained a large sum for your alleged death. When you were buried you hadn't thought much about how you would get out, you just knew that you wouldn't suffocate or starve.

After the second year passed you were beginning to think that offering to get enclosed in a stone tomb with bread, water, oil, a candle, and a bed wasn't a great way to live your abnormally long life. The air grew stale, and the silence of the tomb echoed with the whispers of the dead that surrounded you on all four walls.

Before sleeping every single night, you prayed to the gods to take your life but they never listened. What you once thought to be a blessing had turned out to be a curse, no blessing would make you crave death the same way you craved sunlight and cream. You had given away the gift of aging for a sweet pleasure that quickly became bitter on your tongue.

The first few moons after you had slipped into unconsciousness you truly believed it at all been some strange hallucination caused by smacking your dead until you took a steep tumble and fell on your husband's hunting knife only to pull it out of your body and watch the skin over your stomach fix itself up, leaving no evidence behind that it had ever happened aside from the blood on the knife.

All you know to do is survive.

It's not like you hadn't tried to find a way out of it, some loophole that would shatter the deal and set you free. You had 527 years to try and make some sense of it, but you had given up and resorted to trying to find a way to end your life. Every time you did that, Ellie always showed up to help but you were back together.

You didn't understand the words that came from her mouth, all you knew was that her name was Ellie and she was cursed like you. What was she cursed with? You weren't sure but she seemed a little less miserable with you.

Ellie would come into your life now and then, usually an unwelcome surprise, she always knew where to find you. The only consistent face that you've seen for 527 years. She seemed to know more about you than you knew about her.

Overhead of the tomb, you see a crack of light slip through one of the stones that sealed you in. A tremor shook the earth, and the ancient stones of the tomb began to crumble. Light spilled into the darkness as the walls collapsed around you.

Surely enough Ellie's head looked down at you. She smiles and extends a hand to help you out "Sorry I took so long, I had to time it right with the earthquake, you picked poor timing to get buried alive." She hauled you up, and you stepped over the rubble with bare feet, careless of whether you gut them on the freshly shattered stone or not, you knew that they would heal over regardless.

Despite still not understanding her tongue you were for a change, glad to see her. As you suspected, your feet had been sliced up, leading a little trickle of blood in your wake. The moment you reached the surface, you collapsed to the ground. The city was crumbling around you but they were the ones who locked you away in the first place. You ignored Ellie's unknown words and felt the lush grass for the first time in three years, the heat of the sun resting on your skin.

Beside you, Ellie wrinkles her nose. "You've definitely smelled better," This is one of the times when she dresses appropriately for the era, a toga slung around her toned figure. "Oh, I thought you might be hungry so I brought this, I know you don't have to eat but I figured it would be nice," She unfolded a piece of cloth beside her revealing a small stack of round pastries that had little brown dark spots in it, nothing you had seen before.

You furrow your eyebrows, partly in confusion, partly because your eyes were still adjusting to the light after being enclosed in darkness for three years. "Τι κοιτάζω;"

"They aren't bad I promise," She says, she had made an effort to learn Greek for you but it proved too difficult, all she knew was the odd word. "They're cookies and don't tell anyone because I'm pretty sure they don't get invented for six hundred years."

Ellie speaks freely like you comprehend every word that she says. You make a face that almost resembles a snarl as you eye her and the cookies suspiciously.

"In a few more centuries we're cool with each other," She eats one of the cookies, slowly taking a bite to show you that they were edible. The cookies are a little too good however and she eats the entire thing in mere seconds, speaking through a mouth full of crumbs "Maybe more than a few centuries," She corrects herself "It's like a thousand years and then some but you come around."

She looks once more at the confusion on your face and gives up on trying to verbally communicate, instead she just holds the cloth holding the chocolate chip cookies towards you and looking into her eyes as sharp as a wolf, you hesitantly take one.

Norwich, England- November- 1327

I can't take my eyes of you.

In the dimly lit streets of the town, where the stench of death hung heavy in the air and fear gripped the hearts of its inhabitants. People no longer walked freely around town, they were either sick and on the trek to become puss-filled corpses or they locked themselves away and observed the demise of friends and foes from their windows.

You had seen civilizations rise and fall and witnessed the ebb and flow of history itself, but nothing could have prepared you for the horror that awaited you in the plague-ridden streets of the town. As the death toll rose with each passing day, you donned the garb of a plague doctor, your face concealed behind a grotesque mask adorned with beak-like protrusions filled with aromatic herbs that helped to cover the sickly sweet smell of rotten corpses.

Armed with little more than your knowledge of ancient remedies and a desperate desire to ease the suffering of the afflicted, you ventured into the heart of the epidemic, where the sick lay writhing in agony and the cries of the dying echoed through the night like they were eating themselves alive.

"Jeez, this isn't good," Ellie appears beside you, out of thin air like she tended to do. Now she was wearing a green dress, long bell sleeves and a golden trim around the dress, she wore a white vale pushing her hair back. Though she was dressed for the time period she looked out of place in the garb of a noblewoman, surrounded by the sick and dying peasants. "I can't stick around too long because an official vaccine for the bubonic plague isn't developed until 2072."

"How many people will die from this?" You ask, voice somewhat muffled from the leather mask, stuffed with herbs.

"About fifty," She trails off "Million."

You were not a god's chosen but a god's cursed. You had already suspected her to say something along those lines. Your voice failed as you watched the searchers who had been employed by the city, dragging dead bodies off into a pit to be buried in a mass grave.

"Look on the bright side-

"There is no bright side," You turn to walk away from her, shoving Ellie into the back of your mind.

With each patient you tended to, you felt the weight of your immortality pressing down upon her—a burden too heavy to carry, yet one you could not escape. You watched as the plague consumed the bodies and souls of those around you, leaving nothing but death and apathy in its wake, a dream that this would be over soon.

Immortality was a mockery, you thought yourself to be a spectacle to the gods above, nothing more than cruel entertainment. As much as you run, you get nowhere, you always end up in the same place, watching those you developed bonds and memories with die.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, you fought tirelessly against the tide of death, your resolve unyielding even in the face of overwhelming odds. But with each passing day, her heart grew heavier, burdened by the weight of countless lives lost and the knowledge that she alone would bear witness to their suffering for eternity.

A boy on his porch cries for his mom and dad who will never be coming home, his sobs echo through the narrow streets like a wolf's howl.

As the moon cast its ghostly glow upon the desolate streets, you stood amidst a sea of bodies, your gloved hands stained with the blood of the fallen. The plague had taken its toll, claiming the lives of all those you had sworn to protect, leaving you alone in a world consumed by darkness.

Henry, a stonemason who had no family aside from his little brother now cries over his body. Sam, the young boy had been hit hard with the disease, the sores covered almost every inch of his body and turned black upon his ebony skin. You had watched every stage of his sickness, there was no cure other than comfort, the only thing you couldn't offer to Henry at that moment.

You could turn the brothers into poetry but you couldn't offer up the immortality that you carried like a cross you had to bear.

He held Sam's corpse in his arms, hugging him close and sobbing. Henry was freshly infected there was no way he would make it out alive though you weren't sure that he even wanted to after watching his baby brother's hands turn pitch black and seize up.

How strange that you, someone who was not deserving of eternal life, was the one burdened with it. People are dying and you can't get a grip.

With a heavy heart and tear-streaked face, you cast aside her mask, the symbol of your futile efforts to defy the inevitable. For in that moment, you realized that no amount of healing could undo the damage wrought by the plague, and no amount of compassion could ease the pain of those who had been lost.

You turned your back on the town that had become your prison, the echoes of its suffering fading into the night. For though you were immortal, you were not invincible—bound by the chains of your own existence, condemned to wander the earth as a silent witness to the fleeting moments of life and the relentless march of death.

Salem, America- April- 1692

Immortal she, return to me.

The paranoid colonial Massachusetts was not the place for a woman who never ages. You grew careless of covering up your secret and lived on the outskirts of Salem, seen by few but that didn't aid the treacherous rumours whispered about you.

You had been there when they settled in 1626 and hadn't aged a day from the time you settled. This had spread into rumours of you dancing with the devil, practicing witchcraft, and bewitching townspeople.

Though many denied your existence, all fingers pointed towards you when two young cousins began acting erratically and were given the diagnosis of being under an evil hand.

The courtroom was a hallowed chamber of unjust judgment, where the accused stood trial before the watchful eyes of the magistrate and the hushed voices of the gathered crowd. You stood, with your hands bound and your head held high, faced your accusers with a steely resolve, eyes burning with a fire that refused to be extinguished.

As the trial unfolded, it became clear that justice was but a mere facade—a thin veil masking the insidious machinations of those who sought to rid the town of its perceived evils. Witnesses were coerced, evidence fabricated, and lies spun like silk until the truth became little more than a distant memory lost to paranoia and skepticism. In the crowd, mixed in with the townspeople, you saw Ellie.

Her steady gaze on you was unmoving and ever-focused, a small smile played on her lips while she watched you face the accusations, anger simmering deep inside you like a curse.

Despite protestations of innocence, you were found guilty of witchcraft—a verdict as unjust as it was inevitable. With a silent prayer upon your lips, you were led to the gallows, where the noose awaited you like a taunt.

You had still been bound by your hands in front of your grime-covered dress from being imprisoned in a dark cellar for a month which felt like mere hours in your lifespan.

A man named David, one of the wealthiest residents of Salem and the first to seek warrants against the accused innocent aided you into stepping onto the back of a cart. The crowd surrounding you cheered while a church member slipped the noose tied to a tree around your neck.

"Hang the witch!" Ellie shouts and you lock eyes with her, feeling nothing more than bitterness and resentment. She still seems unfazed and somewhat amused like she's seen this a thousand times, she likely has. You know she had already watched you 'die' over and over again, Ellie was desensitized to it.

"Hang her!" Another man yells, following Ellie's act in tow. They scream all around you, jeering for your death which would never come. David and the churchman step off the wagon and the crowd gets even louder, anticipating a broken neck and lifeless eyes. David gave a command and the horses pulling the wagon were off, leaving your feet to flail helplessly over nothing.

Even as the rope tightened around your neck and the crowd jeered and spat their curses. Though you couldn't die the pain of the rope restricting your breathing still ran you ragged. For just a brief moment you pretend to die, and those around you cheer. There is so little hesitation in their voices, they were glad to see you dead.

You begin to thrash around, kicking your feet. When the townspeople realized you weren't deceased their cheers of victory fell into silence as you coughed and sputtered on the build-up of saliva and blood choking you. An eery silence falls upon the land while they watch in horror, waiting for you to die. Ellie bites back a smile from where she watches you. You bring your hands, bound together by the wrist to reach up and grab the rope that you hung by. Gathering all the force you can you yank it harshly, over and over again until it finally snaps and you fall to the ground.

David's face falls completely. You had known him to not truly believe in witchcraft but the murder of innocents and threatening women. The look in his eyes when he saw you stumble to your feet. "Witch!"

"Ay, I am the witch!" You shout, the townfolk backing away. You slip your hand where the rope strangled your bent neck, the moment the noose comes loose you pull it off over your head, holding it in one hand. In only seconds the broken bones in your neck heal and you bring your head up, chain raised tall, the wound where the rope dug into your neck disappearing "I am older than your oldest god, I am more ancient than the winds, and more sacred than your cross." You say, only to frighten them.

"Kill her!" David shouts to which no one answers, they are either running or frozen in terror, saving themselves before anyone else.

David isn't fast enough to run, you grab him by his hair and drag his struggling body back beneath the tree where he had hung you. In the blue hour of the day, you hooked the severed noose around his neck and began to walk, dragging his trashing body back to your home on the outskirts of the town. David's body eventually fell limp, still, you dragged it over the rocks and lumps of cobblestone. You had succeeded in making him as afraid of you as you were of him.

You were the first woman who hung in the trials, far from the last. "Headed west now?" Ellie asks, walking beside you, utterly unfazed by what she just witnessed.

Boston, America- March- 1770

In the darkness I will meet my creators, they will all agree that I'm a suffocator.

In the cobblestone streets of colonial Boston, where the talks of revolution were murmured, propaganda poured. There you resided, someone once worshipped as a god whose true name had long been forgotten by history.

But amidst the fervour of the American colonies on the brink of rebellion, you found yourself drawn to the heart of the struggle after the church bells had been rung sending confused people onto the streets covered with snow and out of their homes.

It was on the night of March 5, 1770, that tragedy struck with a swift and merciless hand where a pull of a trigger would be written into history textbooks—the night of the Boston Massacre. As tensions between the colonists and the British soldiers reached a boiling point, you stood amidst the thronging crowd.

The air crackled with tension as the soldiers, emboldened by their orders to maintain order at all costs, faced off against the angry mob, assaulting them with snowballs, chunks of ice and oyster shells for hours on end. With shouts and hollers ringing through the night, protesting the raise of tax brought by King George.

Before the rage-filled crowd stand nine English soldiers holding their ground while the mob grows more and more impatient. This had started when a wig maker apprentice got in a spat with a private stationed outside of the customs house who in turn clobbered the boy with his musket.

The eight soldiers and the captain endure the jeers of the crowd led by Crispus Attucks. The Captain, Preston, refused to fire upon the crowd though as he commanded them from the front, in the line of fire.

You push your way up through the crowd, interweaving through hundreds of people. You watch the nine men stand tall against the sea of angry colonials. One of the men is hit hard in the head with a jagged rock, he falls back to the ground his musket clattering neck to him, just then, behind them in the darkness shouts a voice "Fire!"

With little to no hesitation, the man who fell over quickly scuttles to his feet, firing into the darkness of the evening. Then, in an instant that seemed to stretch into eternity, the first shot rang out—a deafening explosion that shattered the silence of the night and sent shockwaves rippling through the crowd. The other men follow, firing a volley one at a time. Beside you, you hear the thuds of heavy bodies hitting the ground, you don't have much time to process it before a bullet lands right in your head, the bullet finds its mark, striking you down with a force that seems to rend your immortal body asunder.

For a moment, time stood still—the world around you spinning in a dizzying blur of pain and confusion. "Hault!" Preston the captain orders, the soldiers cease fire at his command, confused as they believed him to be the one who ordered fire.

You used the rising surge of anger and fear emanating from the people around you to disappear into the crowd. Men grew even more angry at this, some dispersed but many stayed put. There were only a few women in a horde of hundred, it was difficult to go unnoticed with a bleeding gash on your head, you looked more monster than human, skin on your face replaced by a mass of flesh and blood. You brought your hands up to rest on the top of your head, arms out in front of you to cover what was once your face so your already scared neighbours wouldn't see a breathing corpse.

You stumbled around on your feet, pushing yourself through the mass of people, all moving in your opposite direction, making it harder for you to keep your head down. "Is something wrong?" A woman asks, you disregard her, shoving her away from you to keep moving. Your head rang with a high-pitched whistling, echoing through your brain, and you could hardly see straight with the one eye you now had, eyesight fuzzy. Each person ahead of you blurred into the next, blood gushing down your face, so much that it trickled into your eye and tinted your vision.

The wound wasn't clean by any means, not a neat through and through. The gunshot had got you right up the cheek and into your forehead, half of your face entirely blown off. The close impact of the shot caused your right eye to burst, you were scrambling away with no face and one eye.

Already you could feel your body working to put itself back together, still blood flowed down from the horror that was your face, down your neck to soak into your stay and your once grey skirts. You leave a trail of blood in your wake, dripping into the snow that is sure to be found my morning.

At last, you finally pass the crowd, though you don't stop. You stumble into the dark streets, running until you tumble on cobblestones slick with snow and slush, eyesight heavily impaired. "You've seen prettier deaths," Ellie sucks a breath through her teeth, she isn't in the dress that a woman would wear in that decade, instead, she's clad in a red coat, the uniform of a British soldier, her hair tied up and tucked beneath a black cap that all of the soldiers adorned.

She stretches her hand out to help, you take it. Instead of being gracious that she came around to help you off the ground, you take a swing at her face, and when your face makes contact with her cheek you hear a crack. Ellie takes a step back, shocked as you haven't hit her since the night you first met, 2181 years prior to that moment. "Why would you scream fire?" You cry. The second you heard the voice, you knew it was Ellie though you hadn't had time to process it before your face was blown off. "Those men are dead, Ellie, they will never go home to their families or take another breath!"

"They die anyway," She retorts, one hand hovering over her now broken cheekbone. You look at her now, your skull re-intact, eyeball sewn itself up and found its place back in your socket, flesh weaves and stretches over your bones to its rightful place. "Fuck," Ellie mutters, wincing as she touches to fingers to her newfound injury "The second that soldier gets hit with that rock, he gets back up and starts shooting, every single time."

You freeze "Every single time?" The very moment the words fall from your lips, Ellie curses herself "How many times have you been here, on this day?"

"Maybe like," She raises an arm in defence the other still cradling her cheek as she winces"Thirty-seven times give or take."

"You've never stopped it?"

"I have," She says, eyebrows furrowing with a certain longing "It ruins everything, if those men don't die, the American revolution never takes place." Ellie's gaze softens "I know that it's awful but it happens whether you're here or not, it was meant to happen."

Ellie reaches out to hold one of your blood-covered hands, but you are quick to retract it, pulling it away. Your eyes move from where her hand waits for yours to intertwine with it to her freckled face. "How many lives have we lived together?"

Her outstretched hand falls to her side. "I don't want to answer that."

"I want to know."

She shakes her head "You'd hate me."

"I already hate you," Your mouth acting faster than your head.

Ellie doesn't seem shocked by this statement, just a little hurt. "We've had good lives together, you don't hate me every time."

"Who have I been to you?" You ask, new questions surging through your scrambled mind, questions you were sure you wouldn't like the answer to. You knew Ellie had the ability to jump between time periods, though you hadn't known that she'd met you in other timelines.

Looking deep into her downturned eyes your mind runs rampant with who you could've been to her in other timelines that defined what you meant to her now. It was like trying to recall memories that didn't belong to you, but another version of yourself- what could've been.

The hushed silence finally dissipates when Ellie opens her mouth again "I'll see you in a hundred years." With that, she turns and walks away into the darkness, her body shrouded by the cold night where screams of the freshly dead hang in the winds like sickening howls.

Nebraska, America - June - 1883

I'll be seeing you.

"Not a bad place to camp, huh?" Tommy smiles at us while the sun blazes overhead, the group disregards him as they set up camp in a grassy clearing with just enough trees to offer shade to the overworked horses. Few pitched tents while the majority prepared for a night of sleeping under the clear sky, unprotected from the elements.

His question falls upon deaf ears "What's in Montana?" Another man, Issac asks. "We're going all this way and I want to know what I've uprooted my life for."

"Untouched land, you'll be a rich man." Tommy takes the cowboy hat off the top of his head, using it to fan himself off, protesting the sweltering heat that devoured him whole beneath layers.

You eye him, unsaddling your horse, Shimmer. You were in a group of people headed to settle in Montana, many of whom you had never spoken to and didn't necessarily want to. The only ones who you had properly known were the Miller family, Maria had been the one who told you about the trip initially, telling you they needed more gunslingers. With a face that doesn't age, a decade was getting a little too long to stay in Cody and here was your offer to get away.

Joel was speaking in hushed tones to his daughter, Sarah. She was nodding along to each word her father said, you had guessed it was a set of rules, him telling her not to run off or chase down wild animals.

You shower your sweaty chestnut horse with little pats and scratches, and she gives you a snort in response as you begin to wipe away the grime she's accumulated over the day's journey. Your entire life was packed away into two saddle bags, there wasn't much room for luxury in the Wild West. Times were harsh and lands were rugged, more commonly violent than anything you'd ever seen.

As you move in front of Shimmer to pet her soft face, she sneezes on you, reverberating on the rubber lips. You scrunch up your nose, and bring your sleeve to wipe your face "You're lucky you're cute," You mutter, hearing the sound of giggling and looking to find Sarah "Hey little lady."

"Hi," Her accent was thick, she came straight from the heart of Texas. Sarah was still young, the things you knew about her dad were only what she had told you, oversharing their personal life.

"Leave her alone now," Joel walks up behind Sarah, her wide eyes looking up at him.

"I don't mind, Joel," You answer. "I saw some sour cherries by the river if you care to come pick 'em with me," You say looking at Sarah whose head immediately shoots to her dad "As long as your father says it's okay."

Sarah silently pleads with her daughter, his gaze is still cold like steel. "Maybe tomorrow," He answers and Sarah's face drops. Despite knowing the Millers for months, Joel was always iffy about letting Sarah out of his sight. He knew almost as well as you how vile the world was, especially to young girls.

"Maybe tomorrow," You repeat Joel's words, digging around in your saddlebags for a small wicker basket and cloth to spread out at the bottom "I'll see y'all around," You give the pair a nod before heading down the bank.

The walk was quick and scenic if you ignored the overwhelming heat and the entirely too many layers you were sweltering beneath. You closed your eyes and let your spirit lift with the sounds of rustly grass and the flowing river nearby. The air was thick with the sweet smell of wildflowers mixed with an earthy bitterness from the ground beneath your feet.

You walked towards the tree, carefully plucking ripe cherries. They reminded you of the same ones you once picked back in Greece, as you ate them the juice smeared down your lips you laughed with your sibling, pretending that you had been blood drinkers or angry gods drinking the wine that was poured for them.

You often find solace in reminiscing over all of the people you have been in the span of one lifetime. You've been a wife, doctor, witch, god, poet, farmer, handmaiden, dressmaker, priestess, and now you were just a woman picking cherries and planning out her next facade. What awaited you in Montana? Hopefully somewhere peaceful, a cabin by a stream where you could live alone and lay outside in a grassy meadow, waiting for the sun to swallow you whole.

After filling the wicker basket, almost to the brim with small sour cherries, a little larger than the end of your thumb. You turn to walk back to the campsite, though you pause at the incline of the riverbank and decide against it, instead, you find yourself sitting under the shade of the cherry tree, staring to the other side of the riverbank.

You thought that you could've spent the rest of eternity under that cherry tree where you listen to the songs the earth sings for you. Here, the air is clean. The river itself was a sight to behold, a ribbon of shimmering blue that wound its way through the landscape, its waters sparkling in the sunlight like a thousand diamonds. Here and there, small ripples danced across the surface, creating patterns of light and shadow that played upon the sandy riverbed below.

Someone sits next to you, you can sense them awkwardly shuffling around to try and get comfy, from that alone you knew it was Ellie. "Hi, it's been a while," You say, voice quiet.

"Hey," She takes a cherry out of the wicker basket beside you, she bites into it, juice dribbling down her chin, nose scrunches when the sour taste hits her tongue. "Fuck, that's sour."

"They're supposed to be, they're sour cherries," You look at her face to see a large dark bruise engulfing one of her cheekbones, it spreads under her puffy eye bag, giving her a real shiner over her eyelid. "What happened to your face?"

"You," She says, pressing her lips together "After the Boston massacre you hit me pretty hard, remember?"

Your eyebrows furrow "That was more than a hundred years ago."

"For you," She corrects "It's been a little under a week for me."

Your gaze shifts to the glimmering river in front of you "That must be nice," That familiar sense of bitterness set in once again, the reason why you could never stomach being around Ellie for too long. She could blip in and out of your life as she wanted but you were the one forced to sit through thousands of years of torment and longing for the sweet release of death that taunted you in mirrors and the eyes of those who thought they knew you well.

She falls short of words to say. In your eyes it was nice, in her eyes, she faced the woman whom she had married in another life who held nothing more than a little resentment for her now.

"I am sorry that I hit you," You mutter, spitting out the pit of a cherry beside you. "You did cheer for the colonials to hang me though."

"And I am sorry about that," Ellie rolls the stem of a cherry between her fingers, more focused on it than any of her beautiful surroundings. She had seen every bit of scenery that there was to see, her favourite was seeing the dinosaurs, they were much more scary in person than they had been "At least you're an urban legend now."

"What's it matter to be an urban legend when you've already been a god?" You say "It just does not get more interesting than that."

"Yeah, watching you eat your own heart in front of terrified ancestors was pretty cool." Ellie flicks the cherry stem into the river, watching it get swallowed and pulled away by the currents "I'm glad you aren't still mad at me, if I were you I'd probably have a knife to my throat by now."

"I think I'm finally getting wise after two thousand three hundred four years," You joke, digging your teeth into the flesh of another cherry.

"What? You don't look a day over one thousand," She teases, a smile ever so slightly playing on her face.

"Thanks, I was worried."

"Don't be, you look great for your age."

She was joking, her tone light-hearted but something inside you breaks just a little more. You look at your hands, not a wrinkle or callous, no sign of the exciting and extremely terrifying life you had lived, just smooth young skin stretched over ancient bones.

You should've been nothing more than a skeleton buried beneath centuries-old rubble and flora by now. "Yup."

Ellie fiddled with her hands, trying to think of something else to say, she didn't want the conversation to be over just yet. She clung to every word you spoke like it was scripture and she was the most devoted follower. "What are you gonna do in Montana?"

"I think you know better than me," You answer, eyes focused on the water glittering in the blistering sunlight, beads of sweat resting on your brow. "Care to share?"

"Can't say."

"How come?"

She shrugs "I don't think you want to know."

"Well, how many times have I travelled with this bunch?"

"I've lost count," Ellie lies through her teeth, she knew every statistic, she had turned back time to the ancient cities 872 times to be with you. It slowly got easier to face you every time though it never replicated the love you had that first time, a high Ellie was forever chasing.

"Oh," You respond, leaning against the trunk of the cherry tree, sinking into yourself.

The silence stretches between you two. You had actually missed Ellie in the century that she disappeared completely; you found yourself waiting for her to show up around a corner and say something to annoy you.

After swallowing back another cherry in silence you open your mouth to speak "Ellie, whatever I meant to you, whoever I was, I need you to know that I'm not that girl-

"I know-

"I don't think you do," You say, discarding the stem of the cherry beside you "I need you to forget about any life we had together, at least until you get bored of this one."

"I don't get bored of it, I could never get bored of you," She answers.

"Then why start all the way from the beginning over and over again?" You ask "Just to watch me beg for death?"

Ellie shakes her head "I just can't let go of you." She listens to herself "I guess you're right, I'm holding onto someone who doesn't exist anymore." You watch the realization strike Ellie, with each rapid blink her eyes get more and more watery "I'm sorry, I know it's selfish."

"It is," You answer, feeling no urge to coddle "I'm not her, I know that you loved me but I don't remember what you used to be to me. I'm sure I loved you a lot, but I doubt that I do every single time."

Ellie nodded, using the heel of her palm to wipe at the tears that threatened to spill "Okay," Her voice hardly above a whisper "Just see this life through and I promise I'll fix everything, you live a good life, I promise." You stare at her blankly for a moment before nodding. She must know what waits for you in the future, something sweet perhaps, like sugar resting on the tip of your tongue. "I'll always hold you close but I'm learning you let you go."

"I appreciate it," You say, the ghost of a melancholy smile on your face.

The heat of the day finally disappears into the coolness of night and with that, Ellie disappears too, likely to be seen in another year.

The night was draped in the thick, velvety darkness that you only got in the west, where the only illumination came from the crackling flames of a campfire. Around it sat your sorry crew of companions, their weary faces highlighted by the flickering light, casting shadows that danced across the rugged landscape. They had ridden hard all day, herding cattle across vast plains and navigating treacherous terrain, but now, as they rested under the vast expanse of the starry sky, they sought solace in camaraderie and laughter.

"Y'all hear the one about the preacher who walked into a saloon?" Tommy began, his voice gravelly from years of dust and tobacco. Several others in the group had already called it a night, resting their heads beneath the stars that hung in the ink black sky.

The others leaned in, eager for the punchline.

"He says, 'I'm lookin' for the man who's been sleeping with my wife!' And a fella at the bar stands up and says, 'You'll have to narrow it down, preacher!'" The group erupts into bellowing laughter at his words and you can't help but smile at the pure joy written on these gruff men's faces.

"Alright, alright, I got one more for ya," Wyatt announced, his voice carrying a hint of challenge. He was an unnerving man from the looks of it, tall and intimidating but after the first day you had spent with him, he treated you like a baby sister, ready to go to war for you at the drop of a hat. The others perked up, their interest piqued by the promise of one last ribald tale."So there's this rancher," the cowboy began, "and he's got himself a problem with his bull. See, this here bull is getting up there in years, and he just ain't performin' like he used to."

A ripple of knowing laughter spread through the group, anticipation building for the punchline. Joel sat beside you, he had no interest in the jokes nor did he find them funny, all he got from it was a small detox from his life of overworking himself into exhaustion.

"Now, this rancher, he's heard all kinds of remedies for puttin' a little pep back in a bull's step," the cowboy continued. "But none of 'em seem to do the trick. So he finally decides to consult the local veterinarian."

The rest leaned in, hanging on every word.

"The vet takes one look at the old bull and says, 'I got just the thing for him. There's this new experimental treatment I've been workin' on. It involves a little bit of whiskey.'"

The campfire erupted with uproarious laughter, the group hooting and hollering at the unexpected twist, it ws far from the funniest joke you had ever heard, still, you laugh. Some slapped their thighs, others doubled over with mirth, and a few wiped tears of amusement from their eyes.

"And you know what?" the cowboy concluded with a grin. "After that little glass bottle was emptied, that ol' bull was buckin' like a bronco."

As the laughter at last subsided, the fire crackled softly as men began to say their goodnights and lull for the night. They sat in comfortable silence, their thoughts drifting to the vast expanse of the frontier and the challenges that awaited them come dawn and dreams of the promised land of Montana.

"Y'know, fellas- and madams," Wyatt addresses you and Maria, "We've been tellin' jokes and carryin' on like a pack of fools, but there's somethin' to be said 'bout the bonds we share out here on the range," he began, his husky voice tinged with sincerity.

The others nodded, aside from Joel who was studying the fire in front of him, tuned out from the conversation.

"I reckon there ain't nothin' quite like the brotherhood of the trail," he continued. "We ride together, we work together, and when the chips are down, we stand together. Through thick and thin, come hell or high water, we got each other until death takes us all." Wyatt takes another swig of his moonshine "We may come from different walks of life, but out here, under these stars, we're all just cowboys," the cowboy mused. "And there ain't no bond stronger than that."

"That ain't true," Issac poked up "I know that not one of us will see each other once we get to Montana, we're all goin' our separate ways."

"Don't mean there's no bond," You peep up.

"How's that?"

You shrug "Your heart is just too young to realize."

The group stops for a moment before erupting into ragged laughter, Tommy almost has tears in his eyes at the fact that you had called the man seemingly 15 years older than you young "Kid, you're too young to realize how bad life gets."

"Sounds about right."

Cape Cod, America - May - 1937

To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels.

In the hazed ambiance of the club, the air reverberated with the lively tunes of Duke Ellington, and the floor pulsed with the infectious rhythm of swing. Amidst the whirl of dancers, there you were, dancing so exuberantly that others backed away in fear of you swinging on them; though that was the nature of swing dancing, almost a fight to keep your nose unbroken.

But even the most seasoned dancers could only keep up for so long. As the night wore on and the music continued to play, you found yourself in need of a moment's reprieve. With a smile still lingering on your lips, you tapped your partner, Richard's shoulder, signalling your desire to take a break. You hadn't known him well by any means but he was a good dancer.

Leaning against the cool plaster of the club's wall, you breathed deeply, chest rising and falling in time with the music. You closed her eyes, savouring the lingering sensations of the dance. Little did you know, your moment of respite was about to be interrupted in the most unexpected yet delightful manner.

A voice, smooth and warm, broke through the cacophony of sound around you. "Mind if I join you?" the voice asked, accompanied by a gentle tap on your shoulder. Opening your eyes, you found yourself face to face with a strikingly handsome man, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. His black hair parted to the side and slicked over as well as his dark eyes soft as snow added to his undeniable charm.

A bemused smile tugged at your lips as you nodded, welcoming the interruption. "Not at all," you replied, voice carrying a hint of amusement.

With a casual elegance, the man leaned against the wall beside you, his gaze drifting out across the dance floor. "You're quite the dancer," he remarked, his tone tinged with admiration. He was wearing a white button-up tucked into pinstripe trousers being held up by black suspenders.

"Thank you. I've had a good bit of practice." You smile softly "Your name is?"

"Jesse," He answered "Care to tell me who I'm talking to?"

"Midge," you lie, it was the name you had picked up for your residence in Cape Cod.

"Midge," he repeats smiling as the name rolls off his tongue "You might just have the prettiest smile in Cape Cod."

You can't help but grin "And I thought I had already met all of the gentlemen around these parts."

"Must've been wrong," He said with his crooked smile. Then, after a moment's pause, he extended a courteous offer. "Can I buy you a Coke? It's the least I can do for such a captivating dancer."

You couldn't help but be charmed by his sincerity and manners. With a twinkle in your eye, you nodded in agreement. "I would like that very much."

Your conversation flowed effortlessly as you sipped on your cokes, exchanging stories and sharing laughter amidst the ringing of the club and chatter of individuals all around. With each passing moment, the two of you scrambled for things to talk about, desperate to keep the spark of conversation alive. You had just prayed that you could pull yourself away from his magnetic charisma.

As the night wore on, the music gradually began to fade, signalling the end of another unforgettable evening. Reluctantly, you rose from your seat, a sense of disappointment tugging at your heart while you watched Jesse lean back in his chair studying you like a textbook.

"Well, it looks like the night's coming to an end," you remarked, a wistful smile gracing your lips.

Jesse nodded, his expression mirroring her sentiment. "Indeed it has," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of hopefulness. "But perhaps it's just the beginning of something new?"

"Perhaps," You agreed, gaze lingering on his handsome face.

That was when you had broken the only rule you created for yourself 'Don't fall in love'. One year later you were so head over heels for Jesse that you were getting married. Dressed in your floor-length wedding dress, hair carefully curated after spending hours trying to perfect it.

You hadn't any family to fill up your side of the aisle, so instead you had asked your friends from work and the jazz club to take their places. After telling Jesse you were orphaned, he didn't bat an eye at this. You had frantically searched for someone to fill the shoes of your father who walked the earth centuries prior on the shores of Greece, it was a relief when Jesse's father stepped up.

Walking down the aisle of the church, arms hooked with Jesse's father you see him then, standing at the end waiting for you and he looks like the rest of your life. "You clean up nice," You mutter to Jesse quietly to be sure no one else can hear your little remark.

"I try my best," He smiles, hands in front of him as he waits patiently for the pastor to speak up. He looks handsome as the day you met as you look remarkably the same, not a new scratch or wrinkle upon a single inch of your skin.

As you exchanged vows, the both of you unable to fight the wild smiles on your faces, the world seemed to stand still, as if holding its breath in anticipation. With each word spoken, you pledged your love and devotion to one another, promising to stand by each other's side through all the joys and challenges that life would bring and you meant every word.

The reception was nothing short of perfect in your eyes. Everyone gathered at Jesse's parents' home, flowing in and out as they pleased. You however preferred the outdoors aspect of it, where people chatted happily with a glass of champagne in hand.

"Congratulations," Ellie says "Little bummed that I didn't get an invite," There's an odd sense of bitterness in her voice. She's wearing a blue tulle dress at tea length, blending in perfectly around the other guests, long white gloves to cover the tattoo on her forearm, and she even had her shoulder-length hair pin-curled.

"I figured you would be coming around either way."

"You know me too well," She takes the champagne flute out of your hand and swallows it back.

"You're actually the one who knows me too well."

She nods, faces expressionless while she looks around at the scenery of the yard. "Good luck."

"I'm sorry?" You furrow your eyebrows trying to seek out some tell on Ellie's face that would give you any indicator of what's racing through her head. Still, she's unreadable.

"With your marriage."

"Okay?"

"What's the plan here anyways?" She asks picking up someone's glass of wine the second they place it down on the garden table and turn their head away. "In thirty years, you're still married to Jesse, he's sixty getting wrinkly and you're still young and beautiful?"

As Ellie goes to drink the wine you take it out of her hands, putting it back on the garden table. You think of something to say to her, anything, but the words die in your throat, shrivelling up, never to be said.

"I will say that you becoming a history teacher is very funny."

"Did you just come here to sulk?" You ask.

She shakes her head slightly "I've come here to celebrate your union," Ellie glances around the yard once more.

"Then celebrate," you throw your hands out "I don't see you doing anything other than slinking around."

"Honey, who's this?" Jesse strolls up beside you, putting one hand on the small of your back. He smiles brightly as he looks at Ellie, he has known all of your friends which wasn't a bountiful number to begin with, just other teachers you worked with and some people you danced with.

"Oh!" You force a smile onto your face "This is my old friend from New Orleans, we really have some catching up to do."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Jesse," He holds out his hand.

"Ellie," She says shaking it.

"When did you become friends?" He asks "Midge hasn't told me a whole lot about her school days."

Ellie looks at you, she doesn't say anything but you get the message being conveyed. 'What the hell are you doing?' she shifts her eyes to look at the groom "God this one was just wild, keep an eye on her," Ellie forces a fake laugh.

"Really?" He has that goofy lopsided smile painted on his face as he looks at you.

"Yup," Ellie says "So, when are you planning on having kids?"

"Oh," Jesse chuckles, somewhat nervously "We haven't discussed that much."

"It seems like something you should talk about before getting married-

"Thank you," You cut her off "Ellie," You couldn't stand the idea of outliving your child let alone your husband, though it was already an inevitable fate.

"Of course," She's wearing a smile that is bordering somewhere between penitence and condescension, Ellie's looking at you like you're in the gutter.

"Looks like rain," Ellie glances up at the increasingly greying sky before walking inside the cover of the house. "Bad idea," She whispered in your ear as she brushed past. In mere moments after she enters the house thunder cracks and rain dumps from the sky, heavy and harsh, beating against your skin.

Everyone rushes inside, covering their heads as rain showers and soaks them. You and Jesse are frozen, you watch Ellie's figure retreat into the group of people clamouring into the house while Jesse's eyes are trained on you, he can't hold back a laugh.

"Oh no," Jesse's eyebrows furrow as he takes one of your hands in his own and puts the other on the back of your head, staring at your face, makeup running from the rain, hair weighed down by fat droplets dribbling off your collarbone "You spent so long on your hair, what are you gonna do?"

You shake off Ellie's words, cryptic as usual. Your attention snaps back to Jesse once you can no longer see her. The gentleness of his touch, that is his beauty "I'm not sure but I've got half a mind to kiss you," You giggle.

"Yeah?" He takes a step forward "I like that half," Jesse plants a gentle kiss on your lips "The other half is great too."

"You're so odd."

-

It was a quiet Saturday evening in the summer of 1943, the echo of a fuzzy-sounding record player scraping a vinyl filled the room, enveloping you in a certain tenderness.

Jesse, in his crisp white shirt and neatly pressed trousers, held you close, his hand resting gently on the small of your back as they moved together in perfect harmony. Your hair cascaded softly around your face as you rested your head against Jesse's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat matching the cadence of the music.

As you danced, the cares of the outside world didn't seem to exist, leaving only the intimate space you shared. The faint scent of your flowery perfume drowned out concerns. In the dim light, your shadows danced on the walls. Jesse had never been the better dancer between you though he was particularly tense on this night, his eyebrows were stuck furrowed like every thought running through his head was a worry.

The final notes of the song faded into the stillness of the night, Jesse hesitated, his embrace tightening around you as if reluctant to let you go. Sensing his unease, you looked up at him, concern etched in her features.

His unease wasn't difficult to sense, you pry yourself away from him to take him in completely. "Jesse, what's wrong?" You asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Jesse took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knew he had to say. He held you at arm's length, his eyes searching over your features. "I've been drafted. I received my notice this morning." His voice trembled just the slightest as he took a shaky breath.

Your heart skipped a beat, breath catching in her throat and you thought that this must be what death feels like. For a moment, the world seemed to spin out of control as the weight of Jesse's words sank in. Six years with Jesse was not enough, you needed an eternity.

"We can find a doctor to exempt you-

"You know that's not right," He spoke so softly and you knew he was speaking the truth. You could never convince Jesse to do something as heinous as faking some disease or injury to get him out of the war.

"I know," You say and he steadies himself, staring deep into your eyes and through your soul "My whole life, all I've ever known is loss and I have never cared about anything the way I care about you-

He pulls you forward into his arms, rubbing that familiar calloused hand on the small of your back to soothe you "It's all gonna be alright, love, I'll be back before you know it and then it's smooth sailing for the rest of our lives."

You copied the crook of his neck, the warmth of his arms, the curve of his nose to memory. You caught all that you could before it slipped through the empty gaps of your mind. You hadn't realized that he had been doing the same, memorizing the smell of your perfume, the texture of your hair, the way your eyes caught the light.

He told you to look to the future when he finally walked back through that door and you could dance again but the only thing you could see was the end of the world, starting with you saying goodbye to him.

July 12, 1943

My Dearest Love,

I hope this letter finds you well and in high spirits. It's been quite some time since I last wrote to you, and I apologize for the delay. The days here in Europe seem to blend into one another, filled with moments of both intense action and serene contemplation.

As I write this letter, I find myself missing you more and more. You are what keeps me going through these harrowing and relentless days

Please know that you are always in my heart, my love. No matter where I may be, you remain my constant source of hope and inspiration. I dream of the day when this war is finally over, and we can be reunited once more, never to be parted again.

Until then, stay strong, my love. Know that I am fighting for you, for us, and for a better tomorrow. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers, as I do for you each and every day.

With all my love,

Jesse

December 18, 1943

My Dearest Love,

As Christmas draws near, my thoughts turn to you more than ever. I find myself reminiscing about the holidays we've shared together, specifically the weekend we spent at the cabin. How I long to be by your side once more, to hold you close and celebrate the season of peace and goodwill together.

But even amidst the turmoil of war, I see you in every good thing. Here in the trenches, my comrades and I have found solace in each other's company, we are united in our common humanity and our dreams for a home cooked meal.

I am reminded, now more than ever, of the importance of compassion in times of strife. It is love that sustains us, that gives us the strength to endure even the darkest of days. And though we may be separated by miles and oceans, our love remains as strong as ever.

As I write this letter, surrounded by the sounds of gunfire and the cries of my fellow soldiers, I find comfort in the knowledge that you are thinking of me, just as I am thinking of you. Your love is my guiding light,

This Christmas, as you gather with our loved ones know that you are in my thoughts and prayers. Though we may be apart in body, our spirits are forever intertwined, bound together by the enduring power of love.

Wishing you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. May the coming year bring us closer to ending this war.

With all my love,

Jesse

March 19, 1944

My Dearest Love,

The world is now brighter than the sun because you're here, that is why I will remain giving you everything that I have.

I have been looking at the moon over and over again and wondered if you stare at it the same time as I do, please say yes. I think the battlefields are turning me into a poet, I would love some critique from a wordsmith such as yourself.

Everything here is frightening (redacted)

In light of the events I've just shared, I am looking forward more than ever to waking up and saying good morning to the sleepy woman lying next to me, that's you if you were curious. Here's to the future!

With all my love,

Jesse

August 8, 1944

My Dearest Love,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you today, for the horrors of war have taken their toll on both body and soul. The past few months have been filled with unimaginable hardship as (Redacted)

The knowledge that our sacrifices are not in vain, that we are fighting for a better future for generations yet unborn keeps these weary bones standing straight.

But oh, how I long for the comforts of home, for the warmth of your embrace and the gentle touch of your hand. In the midst of so much death and destruction, it is your love that reminds me of all the beauty that still remains in the world.

I fear that I may never see you again, my love, that this cruel war may rob us of the future we had planned together. And yet I'm not ready to give up. For as long as I draw breath, I will continue to fight for a world where love triumphs over hate, where you and I can go back to life as it was.

All of the living are dead and I have noticed an oncoming silence.

With all my love,

Jesse

May 7, 1945

My Dearest Love,

I can scarcely believe it – the war is finally over, and victory belongs to the Allies!

We won! Or we think we did, a true win would likely have less bloodshed.

But amidst the celebrations and rejoicing, my thoughts turn to you. How unmanly to cry though I find myself doing so as I write this. The thought of being reunited with you fills my heart back up despite those who have emptied it, for you are my everything, my reason for living.

I cannot wait to return home to you, my love, to begin our lives anew in a world free from the shadow of war. Until then, know that you are always in my thoughts and prayers and that my love for you knows no bounds.

It looks like I'm coming home soon! I'm looking forward to some dance lessons with my one and only.

With all my love,

Jesse

Though you weren't the only one occupying the seemingly empty house, you lived with ghosts. Every step you took they lurked behind you as permanent reminders of everyone you've ever let down; months stretched into years and you clung onto each word in Jesse's letter like it was doctrine. The moment you received that final letter from Jesse you ran out into the streets and hugged the very first person you saw.

"Ellie now isn't a great time to be here," You tell her as she stands behind you in your vanity while you reapply your lipstick "Jesse's home today," You can't help the smile that stretches across your face. After years of hearing from your husband in nothing more than ink over paper, you would see him again and not just in the pictures that you had hung around every corner of the house.

"I'm here to celebrate," She says though she doesn't seem enthusiastic in the slightest. She wears black cigarette pants and a short-sleeved blouse tucked into them. You, on the other hand, had pressed your hair flat only to do it up in pin-curls, wearing your finest dress and most expensive jewelry for your husband's return home.

"If you're going to water down today, you could at the very least pretend to be happy." You were so ecstatic that you didn't even mind that Ellie had chosen today to bum around your house. For once it wouldn't be empty with nothing but your hollowed cries.

"I am happy," She answers "Are you going to wait here for him?"

You shake your head while you put in earrings that Jesse had gifted you on your third anniversary "I'm going down to the train station so I can hug him the second he sets foot back in Cape Cod."

"Nice," She nods "Have you thought about what you're going to do if it doesn't go as planned?"

You furrow your eyebrows, putting the other earring down on the vanity so you can turn back and look at her. "What do you know?" Your smile dropped at her words. Ellie isn't as unreadable as usual, she has traces of guilt across her features and that makes you all the more concerned. "Ellie, what happens?"

Before she can even open her mouth, you hear a firm knock at the front door. "That," Ellie says, you push yourself up from the vanity so fast the chair tips over. You snatch the other earring off of the vanity and awkwardly force it into your piercing as you rush down the hallway as fast as you can in your heels, clickity clack over the floorboards, Ellie trailing slowly behind you.

Your heart was pounding so fast that it reverberated in your head like an echo bouncing off the walls of your mind. A click. A slow creak and you open the door. Sun floods into the room and your heart pinches at the sight of the officer, clad in military excellence with baubles and an olive green jacket.

"Who are you?" Your stomach drops at the sight of the stranger who stands in the place where your husband should be.

The man stared at you, a certain solemn yet controlled grief lurking in his pale eyes. "Ma'am, I am Sergeant Reynolds of the 45th Infantry regiment. Are you Mrs. Midge Maisel, wife of Jesse Chang?"

Your throat went dry. "Yes," You curled your fingers inward, feeling nails push into the soft palm of your hand until the skin broke and you pushed even harder.

You didn't know who helped you sit down when you couldn't move. You only remembered fuzzy voices and the pace of your heart becoming too fast for your body to handle. There was not enough air in the world for you to swallow. The world felt so far away, as did anyone who tried to comfort you or explain the circumstances of Jesse's death.

"After Germany was concurred, he intercepted a grenade ambush from stragglers, saving the lives of many in his platoon."

Everything had stopped spinning, leaving you nauseous where Ellie sat beside you her face smeared in your vision blurry from tears.

Accept our sympathies

Funeral arrangements

The return of personal effects

Bits and pieces of Reynolds's words jumped out at you but you couldn't hear them. Restless nights for centuries were instead what clouded your mind. Outside you could hear families and friends celebrating the return of their loved ones, while you ushered the man out of your door screaming at him to leave. Music played, a celebration you would not take part in but watch bitterly from afar while you plan out the next life you will live.

Ellie begins to speak when the eery silence becomes unbearable "I know you don't want to hear it but this was inevitable-

"Leave," You mutter, resentment simmering inside of you.

"What-

"Leave," You repeat "You knew this was going to happen and you didn't tell me? You didn't stop it?"

"I can't turn the world upside down just to make you happy-

"Then why are you here?" You ask, rage carved in deep despite the tears across your face "I thought you were in love with me and that's why you won't leave me alone."

Her words fail her. She stares at you blankly, trying to scrounge up an answer that would put you both to rest. "We have a good life-

"Ellie, this is not a good life, for you maybe because you don't have to watch me suffer since you can keep skipping to the parts where I'm happy again," You correct her words, fat teardrops streaming down your face while you try to compose yourself the same way that you would a song or a speech. "I'm going to tell you now so you have to get it into your head- We are not friends, I certainly don't love you, I don't even like you and if I ever see your fucking face again, I'm bashing it in."

Bethel, America- August - 1969

If we were vampires and death was a joke, we'd still go out on the sidewalk and smoke.

They wandered through the makeshift villages that sprung up amidst the chaos, where hippies and freaks shared food and shelter, and strangers became friends in the blink of an eye. Your hand was clasped tightly with Dina's while your pupils went wide under the influence.

She refused to let go and lose you in the crowd of sweaty bodies, despite your states you understood well that you would easily lose each other in the sea of people at the music festival and wouldn't cross paths again till night time. She was wearing a turquoise bell-sleeved top paired with a skirt of all sorts of funky patterns and had on at least six beaded necklaces. You'd think that she'd be hard to miss but in this crowd, she blended in perfectly, looking a little bit like everyone else as everyone seemed to bleed together.

You were already high out of your mind the world warping around you, everything moved in frames like an old film. The ground was morphing and breathing under your feet, you giggled with each step, following behind Dina to find the rest of the little group you had come to Woodstock with.

The two of you were nowhere close to the stage, you had only partially come for the music. To you, it seemed like another historic event to add to your list. While most people sit on the ground swaying to Janis Joplin, your small circle of friends was dancing; it was something like them loosely waving their bodies around.

"No one asks me for dances because I only know how to flail!" Dina shouts, laughing so hard that she leans on you for support. You laugh too, head resting on top of Dina's. Her words weren't funny at all but everything seemed funny when fractals hoovered around your eyes. You lifted your head just slightly to see that same freckled face that had haunted you for centuries.

"Ellie!" You shouted, letting go of Dina's hand and making your way towards her, eyes half-lidded and hazy. Dina lulled in place watching you run away from her.

Ellie looked frightened that you had stuck true to your promise of bashing her face in the next time you saw her but instead, you wrapped your arms around her tightly and began to sway gingerly. It was just the beating of hearts like two drums in the rain.

"I'm sorry," You mutter into the crook of her neck. "I missed you, you should visit more."

Hesitantly, Ellie hugged you back, folding her arms around your torso and letting herself sink into you. In the past 2380 you had never hugged Ellie, you hardly touched her. She closed her eyes letting delusion flood her brain, thinking back to the first time she had seen you and then seventy years later when she realized you were immortal and every other timeline she had lived with you.

"I missed you too," She muttered, trying to ignore the fact that you were only saying this because you were high.

You pull back away from her and take her in, all dazed. You give her a boop on the nose with your index and erupt in giggles while Ellie furrows her eyebrows. An idea strikes you and it's apparent on your face as you light up, eyebrows shooting up. "You should come to tell my friends about all of your time-travelling stories!"

Ellie starts to shake her head but you pull her away despite that. She trails behind you as you refuse to let go of her hand, dragging her back to the grassy patch where your friends danced, some of them taking a quick break flat on their backs. "This is Ellie, we've been friends for a long time."

The group acknowledges her, mainly with waves and giggles but Jimmy goes the extra mile, standing up and extending a lanky arm "It's good to meet you."

"This is my best friend in the world forever!" You sling an arm around Dina, calling for Ellie's attention. Dina leaned into your touch, a drowsy smile on her face. "Ellie can actually travel through time."

You tell the group and they all look toward her, eyes squinted and bodies relaxed. Ellie didn't mind, knowing that they were too high to believe her by the time they sobered up even if they did she could go back and fix it. She nods along "It's true and she's immortal." Ellie points at you.

"No, you're not," Dina pokes you.

"I believe it," Weston speaks up from his spot on the ground where he lies with Patricia, her ash blonde hair strewn across the grass "I have never seen this woman so who am I to not believe her." As opposed to the majority of the group whose pupils were dilated from LSD, the whites of his eyes had turned red from the herbs he smoked.

Stevie is still dancing, her loose white dress rustly so slightly in the gentle breeze. Dawn dances with her, her hair the colour of fire tied neatly into two twin braids, she doesn't care about anything besides the way her feet carry her.

"One time I cut out my own heart and I ate it," You giggle, head resting on Dina. Her face was sunkissed, accentuating her freckles. She had let her dark hair run loose.

Jimmy looks at you, through his sunglasses. He has Ellie sitting next to him, his ebony skin a contrast to her paleness. "How does that work?"

"I slice my skin open and then I break my ribs, rip out my heart and shove it in my mouth.

He looks you up and down "Ribs look fine to me."

"I can show you," You look around to find something to cut you open, and you see a large rock with some smaller ones stacked around it. You walk over, all eyes on you as you put your wrist on top of the larger rock.

In your free hand, you pick up a smaller jagged rock that fits into the claw of your hand. You raise the jagged stone up and smash it into your wrist with little effort after the strength you have gathered over the years.

Dina lets out a scream watching your arm bend out of shape, wrist twisted so your hand doesn't sit where it's supposed to. You bring the rock up and slam it down again, making sure to dig into your skin, flesh mangled up on your arm and you brought it up to show everyone. Jimmy scrambled to his feet in a panic, racing through the crowd to find a medic.

"No, it's healing!" You shout after Jimmy. Weston looks at your mangled arm with wide eyes before buckling onto his knees and throwing up. Dawn and Stevie pause their dancing, Dawn froze in fear and Stevie backed away. "Do you see?" You shake your arm trying to show them that the wound was fixing itself.

-

"I can show you," You look around to find something to cut you open, and then your eyes settle on Ellie who shakes her head at you. You knew this meant she had seen the outcome and it wasn't good so you decide to drop the topic, plopping yourself onto the grass.

"Don't you wanna dance?" Dina asks.

You shake your head. You had reserved dancing for Jesse who you knew you wouldn't see again, not even in death since it would never come for you.

The day had eventually faded away into night, the concert still rang loud but you stayed far in the back of the crowd, lying on the ground with Ellie and looking at the stars. "I'm really sorry for everything you've been through," Ellie breaks the pure hum of music.

"I'm really sorry for everything you've seen," You answer. "I thought the war would finally be over," You murmur, thinking back to Jesse and the idea you conjured up of his corpse; you imagined him to be blown into a million pieces, a thought that never left your mind no matter how high you got or what you drank you knew it wouldn't end. You had thought World War two to be the last until the Vietnam War plagued the news and began to pluck men from neighbourhoods all around.

"It doesn't end, not ever," Ellie tells you.

"You should fix it."

"I've tried," There's a hint of sadness in her voice "If one ends, a new one will always spring up."

The two of you fall silent for a moment, heads side to side but you don't look at one another, only the stars. There's something so calming yet unnerving about the inky black sky; it reminded you of the nothingness that consumed you on the night you had given up your mortality.

"I don't want to live," The words fall from your lips so effortlessly. The LSD was wearing off, leaving you to be in control of your thoughts and your body all over again.

"I know."

"I've seen more men die than I can count."

"I know."

"I can't seem to hate you though."

Ellie turns her head to look at you and you do the same. Her green eyes are shining beneath the moonlight, just the shadow of her face illuminated. You lean forward just the slightest and connect your lips into a kiss, Ellie seems surprised but she doesn't fight it.

Once you pull away, you can only seem to make out one sentence "Don't leave this time."

Greenport Village, America - April - 2011

A handshake of carbon monoxide, no alarms and no surprises.

As the late afternoon sun cast its golden hues over the rolling hills of the Greenport, you made your way home planning a quick visit to the beach before doing so, arms laden with bags filled with groceries from the quaint village market, arms laden with provisions that you had no need for, save to fill the endless hours of your existence.

You walked with your timeless beauty that seemed to shimmer like a mirage in the fading light, you had called the Greenport Village home for six years now, finding a position there as a history teacher, your favourite job of the hundreds you had worked. Though the passing decades had left their mark on the landscape and its inhabitants, you remained unchanged, frozen in time like a moth preserved in amber.

You still struggled to come to terms with the fact that death would never take you though Ellie tried to make it easier. All these years and it never felt any better, it was still difficult to swallow the truth.

There was no solace to be found in the quiet beauty of the world around you. For two thousand years, you had walked the earth with Ellie, you, a solitary figure doomed to wander the endless expanse of time and her, the shadow that trailed behind and mocked your existence without intending to. You had seen kingdoms rise and fall, witnessed the birth and death of countless generations, and yet you remained unchanged, untouched by the ravages of time. All of the identification you had forged didn't make you into who you said you were.

Walking towards the beach, you could've sworn that you recognized every face you saw but that was just how long you had lived; everyone you've ever known slowly bleeding into everyone else like a suicide cleanup. You would outlive the kids playing on the seesaw and the toddlers scrambling around them, you would outlive their offspring too and every other generation after that.

Eventually, you found yourself in your usual spot in the park, an old beaten bench outlooking the sea where sunlight danced off of it like sparks.

After the seventies, you had accepted that the land was your only friend, ever-changing just like you, yet it remained miraculously intact. You had Ellie, on occasion, though calling her a friend would be a loose term. You weren't sure what she was but butterflies and maggots had a field in your intestines every time you thought of all of the things she knew about you and how little you know of her.

The lack of trust always lingered. You never knew if she had gone back in time and forced you to forget about something she said or something you asked. How many times had you begged her to go back to the beginning and let you ebb away with old age?

As you sat in silent contemplation, lost in the labyrinth of your centuries-old thoughts, a frail figure approached, leaning heavily on a gnarled cane. It was an old woman, her face etched with the lines of a life well-lived, her eyes twinkling with a spark of something you couldn't make out.

You shifted slightly on the bench, making room for her unexpected companion. The old woman, her steps slow and deliberate, lowered herself onto the seat beside you, exhaling a contented breath as she settled into place.

For a long moment, you sat in companionable silence, each lost in your own reverie. "You must be an old soul," The woman next to you speaks, covered in sunspots and wrinkles, grey and white streaks all through her black hair. "When you're old all you want to do is sit and stare at the scenery."

"Yeah," You give her a tight-lipped smile "I'm mature at heart."

The woman furrows her eyebrows for a moment, deep in thought as her brown eyes rake over every single one of your features, studying you like scripture. "I'm sorry," She shakes her head "You just look like a girl I used to know."

"Really?" You ask and then it strikes you like lightning. Despite the withering of her face, it's the same bump of her nose, the freckles across her skin, the curve of her jaw, it was your Dina.

She waves it off "She's long gone by now, haven't heard from her in years." Dina looks off to the ocean, the screech of kids is far off in the distance. Her face drops just the slightest at the mention of this.

"Who was she?" You press, just wanting to hear Dina's voice after decades of replaying memories and performing autopsies on expired conversations like you could somehow revive them and the people who came with.

"Oh, um," Dina hadn't expected you to carry on the conversation, people had stopped caring about what she had to say when time hit her and dragged her skin down. "A friend of mine, way back before you were born. If you could see her, gosh," Dina mutters, salt and pepper hair braided down her back "You could've been her twin."

Your heart was slamming against your ribcage like it wanted to be set free. "Uh, I'm sorry if this seems odd," You say with a shakey breath "But could you just keep talking? I don't want to have to think right now."

Her eyebrows knit together just the slightest, concern growing with your words "About what?"

"Just," You shrug "Reminisce maybe," Nearby there were birds on a wire chirping, it felt like every one of them was talking to you, beedy eyes prying into your veins "I just like stories."

Dina slips a small smile, her teeth not quite as white as they used to be but her smile holds all of the comforts nonetheless "My stories are no good, I'm sure you'll have better ones when you're my age."

You shake your head on impulse, grasping the pieces of her that you still held close to your ancient heart. "No, I don't think I'll get there," You aren't trying to ramble yet here you are, scrambling to reconnect the two of you like this is a film that ends well.

Her smile falters, trying to comprehend the odd woman beside her, beginning to contemplate that you're high on something, suspicion growing more solid with each shake of your hands and blink of your watery eyes. "Are you alright?" She lowers her voice.

"Yup," You nod, already feeling her slip through the space between your fingers all over again like she had years prior. At this point in your life, you should've been a better liar but you just sat there, tears rolling down silently while you forced your teeth to bear a smile. You wanted to tell her how nice it was to see her and remind her of all of the days and nights alike you had wasted on each other.

It was easy to see how she didn't believe you, from your trembling hands gripping your thighs in an attempt to steady them to the manufactured smile you wore on your face, sadness seeping from your pores. Unlike Dina, you felt that age had made you no wiser. Years you spent studying and chasing careers just to end up faking death and restarting all over again from scraps, losing a little piece of yourself every time.

She places one of her calloused and withered hands over yours where it grasps to the fabric over your thighs. She meets your gaze "Whatever it is, you'll be okay."

Something inside you shifts, then cracks, and crumbles completely. The agonizing pain accumulated by thousands of years spilled out of you in the form of tears as salty as the ocean spray that simmered on your skin. It was like every awful thing you had ever felt was going to burst through the gaps of your teeth.

There was entirely too much going on in your head when you inched forward and wrapped your arms around Dina, chin resting on her neck. It took a minute but you felt her bony hands rest on your back while she returned the gesture, albeit confused.

You were glad you got to see her again. Every time someone passes through your life you think of all of the things you would do to speak to them one more time. You had finally been given a blessing, something that balanced out the bitterness of eternity. "I'm sorry, Dina."

The second you spoke you regretted it. With what little grace you have left you manage to pry yourself up, sheepishly standing to your feet and trying not to wobble like a colt. Dina's bygone face held more confusion than ever, mouth slightly ajar as she watched you with wide eyes like a doe. "Honey, I think you have the wrong person."

Your feet move faster than your head, not leaving Dina behind a second time but a complete stranger. You had only been sick with nostolgia. Panic shot through your veins like box cutters trying to find their way to your heart, which they surely would.

Your day's shopping had been left behind at the bench along with all of the dreams you once etched into indigo skies and sandy shores, now all they did was rot at your feet, at least they had the pleasure of aging.

The feeling of screaming was creeping up your body in shivers, you hugged yourself all the way home, swivelling your head every minute to be sure that ghosts weren't following you but they always had a way of sneaking up on you.

What purpose did you serve? Anything mildly important you had ever done was lost to time, gone, forgotten. You didn't get the luxury of having children with the one you love, you didn't even have anyone to love. You drag your mud-covered heels all the way up the steps of your stoop slamming the door behind you.

With trembling hands and a mind consumed by anguish, you began to tear through her home with frenzied desperation, your movements fueled by a maelstrom of emotions too powerful to contain, the urge-no, the need to die. You ripped books from their shelves, their pages fluttering like wounded birds as they scattered across the floor in a flurry. You overturned furniture with reckless abandon, the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass echoing through the empty rooms like a orchestra of destruction.

You open your cabinets, dragging your hands behind all of the ceramic and glass, pushing it to the ground and watching them shatter at your feet. What need did you have for a fridge full of food when you don't have to eat? Or a feathered bed when you don't need to sleep, you can't even bring yourself to sleep these days.

Each crash and thud seemed to reverberate through your empty, a haunting reminder of the pain and turmoil that threatened to consume her from within. Memories, once cherished and dear, now lay shattered and broken like all of the ambition you should have forgotten, fragments of an overwhelming life that had slipped through your fingers like grains of sand.

With a guttural cry of anguish, you sank to your knees amidst the wreckage, body racked with sobs that seemed to tear at your very core. You clutched at your hair in despair, her fingers intertwined in the tangled strands like thorns in a bed of roses.

Your eyes snagged on the cabinet below your sink. You crawl over to it, shards of shattered glassware sticks into the soft palms of your hands, porcelain china cutting up your knees. It didn't even feel like anything, you just wanted to feel something.

You pull the cabinet open pushing the other cleaning supplies aside and grabbing the ammonia and bleach. Twisting the caps of and discarding them among the wreckage, you take a deep breath before raisng the bottle of bleach to your lips and drinking, the harsh and ancrid taste making you cringe but you kept swallowing until you could feel a burning in your throat, taking a quick shallow breath and then doing the same with the ammonia, tears brimming your eyes and hitting the few beams of sunlight that struck through your closed curtains like the glimmer from the ocean.

God, it tasted rancid but for a moment, a brief one it had felt like death or something similar. Mouth feeling like plastic throat burnt to rubber you drank until both bottles were empty. You pressed yourself as flat as you could on the floor, soaking in the last moments of feeling as your insides contorted before stillness.

All of the cells you killed were fixing themselves up and after a minute, you felt numb like you tended to. You hiccup, body jerking upwards just the slightest, a spat of vomit now dribbling at you chin.

Deep inside of you, you knew Ellie would be back to fix your wreckage and leave you oblivious to the destruction you not only caused but craved. She would just keep going back until you help something on the spectrum of happy.

Define happy.

Smiling?

Joking?

Laughing?

Not digging through the dictionary to find new ways to try to kill yourself?

That last one sounds right.

"Ellie, I can't do this anymore!" You screeched hoarsely to the empty room, despite the freckled girl being nowhere in sight. "Can you please let me die now!"

You call for her until your throat is as dry as sandpaper, hollow words scraping themselves dry before they can leave your mouth. Your voice is reduced to a pathetic rasp and you pray that she regrets stealing blood from your veins.

"Please!" You scream, fingers gripping onto the marble counter to haul yourself up. You stumble for a moment as you adjust to the jagged shards you stand on. "I know we've done this before but you'll just lie and make me sound like I'm fucking crazy," A sob falls from your mouth like a howl.

You pull a long kitchen knife from the knife block, and watch the silver blade glimmer, a warped reflection of yourself staring back at you. With little hesitation, you plummet it into your stomach, again and again until your midriff is a mangled fleshy mess. Blood pooling out of you like cherry wine. Nothing new.

"Asshole!" You cry out "I know you're hiding around here somewhere!" Your mind immediately went to how many times this situation had played out, on this same day. Maybe you had done something worse.

Lungs burning from screaming, cries throbbing inside of your throat, you have one last idea that had to have happened before. "Can you please stop?"

You turn to face the voice, hair matted, clothes torn and bloody, vomit from makeshift mustard gas sliding down your chin to your neck. You drop the knife, it clatters against the tiles "No," You approach her, each step more certain than the last. "You need to stop, this isn't right."

"I know," She says, face stone-cold a hint of irritation in her tone. She's back in her grey hoodie and jeans, finally, she fits into the time period.

"If you know then why have I been pleading with you to go back to the start and stop me from dying in the first place and making that deal?" You're inches away from her, voice carrying challenge if not bitterness. "Like I've asked you over and over again." Your voice is unsteady like it's being crushed beneath the weight of the world.

"Because I love you," She says, raising one hand to cup your face.

If it were for the chemicals flattering through the air making you nauseous, this act alone almost brought you to your knees with sickness. You don't bother to move her hand though, just shuddering under the touch. "Do you really?"

She nods, gaze softening "Yes."

"Then you'll go back and you'll fix all of this right?"

Her hand falls from its resting spot on your face. "You want to forget?"

"No, I want to die." Silence falls between you. Each rise and fall of your chest shaky and ragged "You keep forgetting that I'm a person, I'm not a concept you've curated in your head." It was hard to find yourself being gentle to her. It was hard to feel bad for her in general with how she treated your entire being as something for her to tune in and out of as she pleased.

Ellie takes a breath in, eyes unwavering from yours "Okay."

"Okay?" You don't believe her "You'll fix this and you'll leave me alone and let me live a regular life without knowing you?" You breathe the moment in, the hopes that this will be over soon. The taste of heartache and war could be washed away from your mouth, you wouldn't meet Joel and watch his daughter die in front of him or meet Jesse and fall in love. The humiliation to be made of rotting flesh then it hits you- how many times have you had this conversation? "I want you to promise-

Athens, Greece- October- 412 BC

I prayed for your breath right here in the shallows.

Rain splashes against the skin of your face in lands of ancient Greece, where the winds themselves whispered stories of gods and heroes, neither of which you were. You were nothing more than a frightened woman running away from an unforgiving husband in the dead of night where your quickened heartbeat falls in rhythm to the ocean which is almost as angry as the storm that roars above.

Carefully you dodge the jagged rocks sticking out from the sand, you had memorized each and every one after days of burning your skin on the shores. Water surged against the rocks near your feet, white froth sizzling in the waves retreating like it was trying to drag you in and take you for its own.

Your heavy breathing was devoured by the heavy rain and cracks of lighting, the sounds of thunder so deep it was like Zeus himself was stomping in the clouds. Despite the night being dark you trusted the moonlight that glimmered off of the ocean to guide you. You have nothing more than the soaking wet clothes on your back, jewelry to sell, and the drachmas you had stolen from your husband tucked away safely in a wool tagari purse.

This time around, Ellie doesn't intervene. She watched you, panic-stricken, fumble over wet sand and glide past slick rocks. Trying to outrun your fears of wasting your life.

As you reached the edge of a rocky outcrop, your leather sandal caught on a slick stone, sending you tumbling to the ground. With a sickening thud, your head struck against the unforgiving rock, and the world around you spun into darkness.

You were dead. Body limp on the plethora of rocks, the tide slowly lulling over your body until Ellie kneeled down next to your body and gingerly guided it into the ocean for it to take. The blood from the wound in the back of your head is sucked away into the sand. She watched your corpse drift out and get pulled down, all she needed was another lifetime with you. You didn't know how miserable you were with her anyway. 

This is not a story about love.

A/N: guys I’m breaking hiatus to post this bc I realised it’s been hanging in my drafts for a century (century haha) Anyways I actually hate this but it felt too long to scrap so thanks for reading.

Perm tag list: @ellslvr @gold-dustwomxn @bready101 @whenlostinthedarkness @veeveeisgay @vqxen

#ellie williams #tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #the last of us #the last of us ellie #jesse tlou #dina tlou #dina woodward #ellie williams au #tlou ellie #joel miller #tommy miller #ellie williams x reader angst #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x reader fluff #angst #tlou part 2 #abby tlou #tlou2 #joel and ellie #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #alternate universe #ellie x y/n #ellie x you

[cherrychilli]

Slip of the Tongue

A mini series I 18+ I Enemies to lovers

Chapter one

Eddie Munson, AFAB reader, neighbor! reader.

Reader and Eddie are the same age - she's in College and he's repeating his senior year once again.

Chapter Summary: You discover that Eddie's been practicing a very interesting new trick on his guitar, one which he offers to use on you under the guise of giving you some much needed stress relief.

A/N: Listen, series scare the shit out of me but I'm trying to challenge myself with a tiny one. I kind of already feel like I'm biting off more than I can chew but I'm going to give it my best shot.

Inspired by those clips of Steve Vai and Jimi Hendrix. ifkyk.

Chapter warnings: Nothing explicit this chapter. Some suggestive stuff but the real smut begins next chapter, so if you want more you better let me know!

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He's doing it again. Of course he's doing it again.

You tilt your head forward, forehead dropping into your hands. Heatedly, you mutter your annoyance under your breath, thumbs rubbing at throbbing temples and eyes squeezing shut when the music picks up to an ear ringing volume.

Eddie Munson took sick pleasure in riling you up – you were certain of that given how he only ever seemed to plug in his guitar when it was time for you to study your coursework, wrecking your concentration and making your temper skyrocket with a kind of ease only he was capable of.

For years, you’d taken issue with the fact that your trailer neighbored his own, your bedroom becoming an echo chamber for every blaring chord progression and heavily distorted guitar riff that strummed out from Eddie's open window.

And as always, you felt the need to make your displeasure known.

Abandoning your textbooks, you hastily shove your shoes on to stomp over next door. You knew from painful experience that it was best to head behind the Munson’s trailer and approach Eddie’s bedroom window than to pound on the front door, the sound of his playing almost always too loud for him to notice your knocking.

Trampling over the patchy, dry lawn that lay between your homes, you made your way across, rounding the corner and striding up to the open window, fuming with thoughts of what you’d yell at him this time when you caught sight of the metalhead.

As expected, he's rocking out in the center of his unruly bedroom. No doubt having tuned the rest of the world out, channeling so much of his wild, boundless energy into his playing.

His mop of dark messy curls aren't tied back today, allowed to sway, tumble and whip around his face as he played to an audience of some devilish looking posters and a couple figurines that stood on his crowded desk, probably a part of that fantasy game he's always going on about.

He's dressed in grey sweats that hang low around his hips and a ratty old band tee that tended to ride up, you couldn't help but notice.

‘At least he’s got clothes on today’, you thought to yourself mirthlessly, only a touch thankful for the silver lining of not having to confront him while he's shirtless or in his boxers again. Not that he’d ever minded you seeing him like that before.

Your last encounter with Eddie was one you hoped to soon forget, cringing because he'd caught your gaze wandering when you came over to reprimand him for the noise again, becoming noticeably distracted by his bare chest and the tattoos adorning it.

You don't know how it happened, only that you fell into a sort of daze when your eyes slipped lower to follow the slope of his pale tummy, leading to the sparse trail of dark hair which thickened below his belly button and disappeared underneath the waistband of his boxers.

D'you want a picture or something, darling?, he'd quipped, growing even more pleased with himself when your face turned hot and the embarrassment of getting caught had you stuttering out the first thing you could manage.

"F-fuck off, Munson", you spit back and retreated awkwardly, the sound of his barking laughter as you did so ringing in your ears long after you made it back into your room and hid underneath your blankets for a good hour.

Yeah, that was hard to live down. As was trying to expunge the image of Eddie's unclothed torso from your mind.

Most times he could anticipate your arrival, like a lightning storm only he could forecast but this time he hasn’t seemed to noticed you yet, tongue pinched between his lips in concentration while his fingers travelled skillfully over the ebony fretboard of his guitar.

Watching him play like that sometimes made you think that if he hadn't plagued you for half your life with all of his antics, you might have admitted that he was good musician - that he had talent most people didn't care to acknowledge and maybe even go so far as to say that you found it impressive that he’d managed teach himself how to play in lieu of any lessons.

But you weren’t about to sing Eddie Munson's praises. Not when he was seconds away from making you pop a vein.

Taking a deep breath in, you prepared yourself to start the unpleasant cycle of bickering with your neighbor once again, hoping against hope that, at the very least, it'll be a short exchange this time.

“Ed-"

You meant to catch his attention with a single shout but the heated call flattens on your tongue in an instant, heart beat kicking up as you watch what he does next.

He lifts his treasured Warlock and you're half afraid for him when he casually flips the front of the instrument towards his face, its angular design and jagged edges enough to worry you even when he played on it the regular way.

But it's when his tongue stretches out, long and slick like a serpent, that things start to feel...hazy. Speechlessly, you stare as he slides it along one of the guitar's six strings, following the length of it from near the bottom of the fretboard while his left hand continued to flit over the strings by the neck, creating harmonics in a way you’d never thought was possible before.

Are my palms sweating?

The sound begins to shift again and your eyes bulge when he slides his tongue back down, flicking and picking the guitar strings by the tip of it with more speed and dexterity than you'd thought was possible, his fingers continuing to move seamlessly to hold down every note.

Eyes closed (and there was no chance of you letting that happen) there was no way you could've told the difference than if he’d been playing with his fingers all along, the sound just as sharp and crisp as as every time before.

It's filthy, bordering on vulgar the way he’s moving the silky pink muscle so expertly, so much so that it makes you feel like you're intruding, peeping in on something that only happened behind closed doors.

But that gnawing feeling isn't anywhere near enough to make you stop looking. Your gaze stays planted firmly on Eddie's mouth, the sight making your head crowd with static and your belly swirl with heat. Your thighs had been clamped together too, you realize, a sickening realization dawning over you when they rub together, registering the dampness pooling between them underneath your skirt.

Oh my god…am I w-?

And just as abruptly as the realization had sunk in, the song ends. Deafening silence returns to your shared corner of the trailer park when Eddie sets the guitar back down to hang by the strap fixed over his shoulder, eyes flicking to you as if he'd known all along that you'd been standing there, gawking at him.

"So, what do you think? pretty good, right? been working on it for weeks", he pants out, chest rising and falling softly with each labored breath.

Somehow, this feels so much worse than when he caught you staring the last time.

With luck, you're able to shake yourself out of your trance like state, round eyes narrowing in preparation to berate him as originally intended

"Fucking hell, Eddie would you keep it down? I'm trying to study!", you agonize, scrambling to find your fury again.

But your tone doesn’t seem to bother him, it rarely ever did. So he leans through the open window, elbows resting on the window pane, eyeing you up and down all amused.

"You look stressed", he observes, and it's the flippant way in which he does it that ticks you off, with the kind of lopsided smile you’d often described as annoying. For the most part because he’d almost always done something to that effect before flashing you one.

"I am", you confirm with an acidic glare, hoping he couldn't tell how frazzled his little performance had left you.

"And you're not helping so knock it off"

Turning on your heel, you're desperate to retreat back to your place for a reprieve, heart hammering inside your chest when he calls out to you again.

"I could help you relax, y'know"

The way he says it makes you pause, like he's about to let you in on a secret.

Your skin prickles with goosebumps. "I'm not buying weed from you Eddie", you answer back over your shoulder, trying to look unimpressed as you attempt to turn him down.

"I wouldn't charge", the boy winks at you without missing a beat, undeterred by your cold attitude and you hate that his persistence makes your face feel hot.

"But that's not what I was going to suggest"

"Oh?"

You turn around to face him again, intrigue building.

He takes a moment to scan you thoughtfully, brows furrowing, almost as if he's weighing the outcomes of what might happen if he were to continue.

"You liked what you saw, right?", his brown eyes flicked down to his guitar and back up to you in quick reference to what you were hoping to avoid.

The mention of what you'd witnessed him doing with his tongue brings that hot, sticky feeling sitting at the base of your stomach back in full force, alarm bells ringing in your head.

"What does that have to do with anything?", you ask cautiously, realizing a second too late that you’ve only confirmed his suspicion.

"Well..."

Eddie curls a finger up at you, rings glinting in the sunlight, beckoning you closer and for some reason you actually oblige, stepping up to his window until you’re only a foot apart from one another.

Low and throaty, he whispers to you. "I can do a lot more with my tongue than just shred on my guitar", flicking the muscle salaciously between his lips like a viper ready to strike.

It should revolt you, watching the crude gesture courtesy of the bane next door, the implication behind it enough to make your skin crawl.

So why doesn't it?

Why does it make you want to leap at him and close the distance between the two of you, hungry to feel his tongue against your own?

"You're disgusting", you tell him instead in an attempt to deflect, voice wavering through the lie.

But he's too astute to be fooled now. "And you like it", he counters easily.

"So are you going to cut the bullshit and climb in here or what?"

You stare at the hand he holds out to you and before you can think to just walk away, before you can pull yourself together and stifle the roaring fire inside lapping at your bones, your fingers have found their way to his.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things smut #eddie munson x reader

[starks-hero]

Avert Your Eyes from Your Demise, Though Lovely It May Be

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x human!Reader

Summary: In which giant spiders aren't the only threat Mirkwood has to offer.

Word Count: 4.0k

Warnings: they're high on Mirkwood mist the whole time. Do with that what you will.

Translations: Siúlóirí portaigh - bog walkers (Irish) , amrâlimê - my love (Khuzdul) , lansel - love of all loves (Khuzdul)

a/n: I know movie Thorin is described as 5'2ish but I write him as 4'8 - 4'10 because it's more book accurate and because we should embrace this short king. Anyway, I call this 'the intimacy of going insane with your crush.'

You couldn't shake the unease. Even now, as you sat at the edge of a clearance, bark biting harshly into your back, you could almost feel the forest closing in on you. Shadows scurried above you and the air itself was stale.

Your company of fifteen had quickly fallen to a number of just two, with only yourself and Thorin making it through the mist-clouded trails together. Neither of you were certain what had become of the others and given the eeriness of your surroundings, you didn't want to give it too much thought.

A sudden gust of wind rushed through the clearing and the limbs of the trees creaked inward. It was as if the forest was breathing.

“We have to find the others,” you said. Your voice sounded foreign and far off.

Thorin was pacing in front of you, twisting the hilt of his sword in his hand. “They would know well enough not to linger in these woods. We keep heading East.”

“Which way is East?”

“We follow the river.” You didn't miss the beat of uncertainty before Thorin's answer.

You shook your head. “We don't know where it leads.”

“It will lead us away from here which is good enough.”

Almost to emphasize Thorin's point, the surrounding trees creaked and groaned and another shadow scurried overhead. Caution steered your hand to the hilt of your sword and following Thorin's order, you moved on swiftly.

The forest felt too small and too large all at once. Branches knabbed and tore at your clothes and skin, the twisted limbs of rotting trees giving you no option but to duck or crawl beneath their roots. A glance skyward reminded you that this place, in all its foulness, was unending, the tree canopy stretching miles above your head and blackening out the sun's light.

That was if the sun was still up. You'd lost track of the time what seemed like hours ago.

You came to a sudden, harsh stop as your front rather unceremoniously met Thorin's back. With a quiet grunt, you found the reason for stopping was a tangled thicket of twisted branches that now stood before you. The tree, in all its obscure glory, seemed to consume the path entirely, its limbs too thick to cut and trunk too tall to climb. Too tired to think of a solution, you found yourself uncharacteristically willing to give up. Until Thorin shrugged off his furs.

You watched as the grey fabric rolled off his broadened shoulders and revealed his shirt, knotted pattern running up the arms.

“I'll go first,” he took the liberty of explaining as he bunched the furs together and placed them in his pack. “It will be easier for me to get out should I need to.”

You would have liked to argue but Thorin, a regularly stubborn fool, was surprisingly right. He was shorter, his limbs less likely to snag. His dwarven frame would move through the thicket much easier than your own.

He disappeared into the grove, swallowed by bark and darkness and you already found yourself questioning why you let him go alone.

You kicked at the dirt beneath your feet as you waited. Eyes set on the trees, you felt increasingly uneasy. You picked at the leather of your sword sheath. Thorin was a capable warrior and you didn't doubt his ability to defend himself. But something wasn't right, you could feel it, crawling on your skin and putting your hairs on end.

Giving in to impulsiveness, you followed after Thorin.

The branches clawed at your skin and snagged your clothes. You pushed aside what you could, rotting wood giving way easily beneath your palm, but as the many limbs began to swell into trunks, it became increasingly difficult to move. Your chest was pressed uncomfortably against the rough bark. You were never one to fear tight spaces but the sudden inability to take a deep breath came as an unwelcome shock. Just as panic had you reaching for your sword, relief found you in the form of the dwarrow prince.

With renewed determination, you mustered a final push and freed yourself from where you were wedged.

Thorin stood with his back to you, stance stiff. You called his name and he hushed you quickly.

His eyes were set on the tree line ahead of you. His gaze was hard, analytic and you didn't fail to notice how his fingers grazed the hilt of his weapon. He turned to you.

“Do you not hear it?”

“Hear what?”

As if the bugle of battle had been sounded, Thorin's stance shifted and in one swift, fluid movement, he drew his sword. His free hand guided you further behind him. Then, he shot forward, swinging his sword at an invisible target. His expression was one of determination as well as unmistakable fear. Another aimless swing and he turned to you.

“Can you not see it?!” He barked, frustrated at your unwillingness to help.

You raised your head and all but willed yourself to see anything but the winding trails of the forest. But despite how hard you employed your imagination, you saw nothing. Somewhere in the treeline, a bird took flight.

An uncomfortable recollection settled in the forefront of your mind. A shiver ran up your back.

"Thorin," Your hand cautiously fell against his shoulder. He turned to you with fire in his eyes but your expression made him pause. “Gandalf said a dark magic lay over this forest.”

At your words, his defensive stance melted away and defeat took its place. The elvish blade fell from where it was held at his side as he looked around and the fear in his eyes slowly shifted to confusion, then realisation.

“It's toying with our minds?”

You swallowed. The thought made your skin crawl; the idea of the forest as its own conscious entity was a horrifying one. That its magic could sink its claws into your mind and deprive you of your senses, keeping you walking in circles till your feet gave in. The entirety of Mirkwood was one giant spider's web and you hated to think what that made you and Thorin.

“We just need to keep our wits about us and our feet moving forward,” you managed eventually, casting weary glances towards the trees. "Now that we know what's happening we have the upper hand, we stay together, stay vigilant and keep our minds clear."

Thorin felt the sudden need to commend you for your calm demeanor and sudden leadership. But he'd also just attempted to fight a non-existent enemy so he decided saying anything at all was against his better judgment and settled for a curt nod instead.

Your plan fell apart comedically fast. You tried to remain optimistic but as you passed the same tree stump for what must have been the fourth time, you felt as though the forest was laughing at you. Your feet ached as though they'd been walking for days. You could hear each of your breaths echo as they came and the thud of your boots against the earth shook your bones.

The child-like laughter had started not short of an hour ago. Thorin couldn't seem to hear it.

When the rough terrain of rock and dirt softened into the cold, squelching mud of a bog, you both silently agreed that a break was needed. You sat at the end of the wetland, where the moss and reeds sprouted up between damp rocks. The water was gloomy, tinged grey and dark green with a sinister mist resting upon its surface.

The dreariness of the place seemed to seep into your bones.

Thorin sat an arm's length from you, hands braced against his knees as he looked out over the bog with a sullen stare.

“What do you see?” You asked.

“Fire." He said no more and you didn't pry.

In an attempt to ease the aches that had set deep in each of your muscles, you pulled your water canteen from where it hung against your pack. A cool drink of fresh water would be a small but welcome relief that you wouldn't take for granted.

But the liquid was thick and warm as it touched your lips and when you pulled it away it was coloured red. You tossed the canteen away with a grunt of disgust. It unceremoniously met the surface of the water before sinking into the mud.

“We need to leave this place,” you said, hands threading through your hair and pulling at the roots. Thorin didn't argue.

You walked until you felt the leather of your boots threatening to give way. You thought one of the trees you had passed seemed familiar, distinctive enough from the rest of the foliage that it stood out.

“We've been here before,” you said. “We're going round in circles.” You turned to on your heel and found no sign of the dwarf.

“Thorin?”

The eerie silence of the forest echoed back to you.

“Thorin?!”

The feeling of unease returned tenfolds. Shadows crawled above you and the wind quivered through the trees. The mist had worsened, hiding your feet beneath its thickening grey clouds.

But then, like a lifeline being tossed to a drowned sailor at sea, you heard your name. Far off and faint, but your name all the same. Spoken in a voice that flooded you with relief. Calling after him, you followed the resonating sound of his calls until they led you to the point where the water met the soil.

Logic quickly took a back seat as your desperation to find Thorin had you stepping off the path. You sunk immediately, the bog swallowing you up to your knees. You pushed through the thick, sluggish mud, ignoring the burn it caused in the back of your legs. The voice became clearer until his form finally appeared, carved out from the mist.

"Thorin," you greeted him with a smile. But Thorin's expression did not mirror your own. His brows were drawn together and every ounce of air vanished from your lungs when an unsteady hand reached out to cup your cheek.

“I was so worried." Your name fell brokenly from his lips. "I feared I'd lost you.” His hands, shaking and trembling, ran down your arms then back to the swell of your shoulders. His breathing was labored and you could only imagine what Thorin must have witnessed to put the usually stoic king in such a state.

“You're alright? You're not harmed?"

You shook your head and gently grasped Thorin's wrists and he smiled, softer and more sincere than you had ever seen him. The sight made you feel at ease for the first time since stepping foot in the forsaken forest.

"I am glad, Amrâlimê.”

You were not well versed in the culture of dwarves but you were no fool either. You had heard the word spoken among the dwarrow people you'd crossed paths with in the Blue Mountains, noticed the tenderness and sincerity that always encompassed the word, how it was never said with any amount of offhandedness. The word was a confession itself, a confession of the highest kind.

And Thorin had just spoken it to you. As if it were the simplest thing on Earth.

Your confusion must have been evident as Thorin smiled again, the corners of his eyes creasing in amusement.

“You must not look so surprised, my love,” his thumb grazed your jaw. “That I should wish to call you by such a name.”

“What–” You managed in a clumsy attempt to make it known to the dwarf in front of you that you had no idea what was going on. “Thorin.”

The king didn't answer. Rather he kept his eyes fixed on you, coarse fingers working their way from your jaw up to your temple, then brushing just beneath your eye. He touched you as if you were made of something more precious than all the metals held in the great halls of Erebor. And despite the nagging feeling in the back of your mind, in that moment you would have been content to stay there.

In the bogs of a cursed forest with your friends lost and your mind bewitched, all so that the king would keep looking at you as he was now.

But your better judgment, (or more likely, the uncomfortable feeling of mud and bog water dampening your clothes,) brought you back to reality. You moved to speak again but Thorin stopped you.

“It's alright, we're safe here, you and I,” he promised. “You needn't think of anything else.”

You tried to ignore how believable his words sounded as you took a step back. Hurt flashed in the dwarf's eyes.

“No, no we need to find the others. The company–”

“–will find their own way,” he calmed you, hand reaching out again to touch your shoulder. It sent a jolt of warmth through you. “You carry so much, endlessly worrying for the well-being of others. But you needn't burden yourself any longer, lansel. You know what it is you desire, what you deserve. So take it.”

You closed your eyes at his words. His hand found the back of your neck and you allowed him to draw you in closer.

“Let it be just us. Stay with me, Amrâlimê. That's all I ask.”

You had never felt such temptation in all your years. Would it truly be so wrong of you? To allow yourself to have this after all you'd persevered. You had long given up trying to convince yourself that you felt something for the dwarven king. That his bravery, stoicism, and unbridled loyalty to his people didn't fascinate you. You had wanted Thorin since not long after the journey's beginning. And now he wanted you too. There was no reason to keep this from yourself, no reason you shouldn't have it.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, was the persistent reminder that something was wrong. A reminder that resurfaced in the form of Bombur's cooking and Bofur's songs and Balin's stories and Bilbo's immeasurable trust in you. Your friends were still lost and that proved enough to bring you back to rationality.

“Thorin,” you started sternly.

“Forget them,” he said, as if he already knew what you were going to say. “Forget everything else. It is just us now. All is as it should be.”

You felt a tinge of discomfort at his words and you took another step back. Thorin would never forsake his kin, not if he was in his right mind. He traced your cheek again and this time you grasped his arm in a strong enough hold to pull it away.

You caught sight of his hand out of the corner of your eye and what you saw made you feel ill. The skin was rotting, bones threatening to tear through their paper-thin bonds. The fabric of Thorin's clothes had vanished and your nails had sunk into the rotting flesh which had begun to fall way in your grip.

You yanked your hand back in disgust, tripping and falling backward into the water at the sight of the creature. A gaping hole sat in the center of its face where you imagined its nose should be and a rigid crack served as its mouth. Green threads of damp mossy hair sprouted from its head and hung in front of the hollow cavities of its eyes.

An Siúlóir Portaigh. A creature you hadn't crossed paths with since you'd last traveled East of Gondor.

A bony hand reached out for you and you shot yourself backward, scrambling to your feet. Thorin's deep voice had been replaced with a low rasping gurgle, the sound growing louder as the creature lunged for you.

You turned and ran.

Thorin's voice had grown hoarse from calling your name.

He had turned away for one moment and you were gone and now as he searched, he feared to think what may have become of you.

His feet sunk into the ground beneath him, water reaching his ankles and soaking through his boots. Reeds sprouted up from the water, the smallest brushing his knees and the tallest towering a foot above his head. With a grunt, he pushed on.

The wind howled as it passed through the hollow chamber of the reeds and Thorin felt the hair on his neck stand up. Then, a shadow passed in front of him. He instinctively reached for his blade. It pushed through the long grass as it approached him but the glint of familiar armor has him dropping his sword.

“Thorin!” You beamed as you reached him. “You're alright. I lost sight of you in the fog.” You grabbed hold of his arms and Thorin was taken back by your sudden brashness. “I'm so glad I found you.”

He watched you for a moment, his joy at finding you unharmed outweighing the odd tinge of suspicion he felt. He cleared his throat and tilted his head forward in a curt nod.

“We must get back to the others.”

He turned to walk on but your arms held him in place.

“You needn't worry, they'll be alright,” you said casually. “As will we.”

Thorin offered a baffled look that doubled as a warning. He was uncertain what had caused your uncharacteristic forwardness and in all honesty, wasn't quite sure what to do about it.

You raised your head skyward and smiled again. With no shortage of confusion, Thorin followed your gaze

The sun had come back up and its light was seeping through the leaves above his head. The forest's canopy turned golden, as if set alight by dragon fire. Thorin's expression softened.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Your hand found his own. “We could stay here, Thorin. You and I. Imagine it.”

Thorin blinked. He could stay here, with you. He could tell you everything he'd been longing to say since the escape from the goblin tunnels and the orc ambush on the cliffside. After all, why shouldn't he? Did he not deserve this after so many hardships? You could truly be together, you could offer him a new start, a new home– Thorin blinked again.

“And what of Erebor?”

You seemed amused by his question. You brushed his braid away from where it hung against his jaw and Thorin surprisingly let it happen.

“Erebor lies half a world away, a buried kingdom of dust and despair in the clutches of a dragon. Is it truly worth so much? Worth so many lives lost,” you asked. “We have everything we need here.”

And Thorin could only think about how right you were; your hands in his, the feel of your fingers brushing his hair, the rising sun and golden leaves– he could want for nothing else.

“Do you not want for this?”

“I–” he tried.

“You have done honorably by your people, Thorin, but you have been selfless for far too long.” He closed his eyes as you spoke. “Choose not what is right by them but by you. No more pain, no more fear.” He could feel your breath against his cheek. “Just us. Stay with me, my love.”

And Thorin decided in that moment that he would.

Your legs ached and your lungs burned.

The bog was becoming harder and harder to navigate but you were yet to find Thorin and you did not plan on stopping till you were certain he was safe.

The water grew shallower and you took it as a blessing. With your lower half free of the mud, you drew your sword. You rounded the trunk of a decaying tree and were met with a horrific sight.

Thorin, with decaying hands grasped round his neck and a deformed maw nearing his face. Thorin stood in a trance, eyes glossed over and body stiff. The siúlóir's mouth widened, rotting skin tearing as it did. Its nails dug into the side of Thorin's neck, harsh enough to draw blood. Still, he didn't move.

You acted on impulse. With a quick lunge forward, you drove your sword through the creatures back, twisting it twice before pushing it deeper.

Its screech was inhumane. It grasped at its wounds, its guttural yowls putting your hairs on end. You ran it through again. The siúlóir went quiet and Thorin screamed out.

“No!” His voice was distraught, his hands grasping at the creature as it slumped to the ground. “No–!”

“Thorin!” You grabbed his shoulder and roughly yanked him back. He raised his head and looked at you as though he'd seen a ghost. “It's alright– it's alright, it's me.”

His gaze fell back to the creature at your feet and given the twist of horror and disgust in his expression you figured he was now seeing it in its true form.

“Siúlóirí portaigh,” you muttered under your breath. “Bog walkers.”

Thorin blinked before taking in his surroundings with frantic eyes. He regarded you with a cautionary look. He said your name and when you nodded, you saw his stance relax slightly. His fear turned to confusion. “What–”

“They were going to drown us,” you answered plainly. You nudged the creature's shoulder with your heel and watched it sink a few inches into the water. “We need to go, this place will be crawling with them.”

Thorin wanted to question how you knew so much about such monsters but given how desperately you wanted to leave their hunting ground, he prioritized.

He offered one last glance at the creature, body now mostly submerged in the sullen water. He shuddered at how well the creature had worn your face, how much its voice had mimicked your own. How easily fooled he'd been.

He silently followed after you.

You walked until the mud on your clothes had hardened and the silk webs coating the trees had all but vanished. The leaf canopy above you had thinned out and the surrounding forest was now warm with the sun's light. The moment you heard a nearby bird song, you knew the dangers of Mirkwood had passed.

Thorin rested against the trunk of a sapling. His gaze was focused on something over your shoulder but given the blankness of his stare, you knew he wasn't looking at anything at all. You took a seat at his side and began to tend to his wound.

A nasty gash ran from the back of his neck to just below his throat. You worked silently. Thorin didn't even seem to notice until you applied a fraction too much pressure and with a sharp intake of breath, he turned to you.

“Sorry.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Thorin spoke.

“What did you see?” he asked you. “That creature, it toyed with my mind, showed me things I longed for that I hadn't even admitted to myself. So what did it show you?”

“Nothing.” The lie came easy. “Nothing of worth. I've dealt with siúlóirí before, they feed you lies, draw you in and then drown you before you even realise you're in danger. Whatever you seen, I wouldn't linger on it.”

Thorin seemed almost saddened by your answer. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, he gently brushed your hand away and got to his feet.

“We keep heading East.” The usual stoicism had returned to his voice. “Dwalin would know to do the same. If we do not regroup with the company in a day's time we head back the way we came and search.”

You nodded and got to your feet like a soldier following orders.

And as you fell into step beside the dwarf you thought maybe it would be best to take your own advice. To pass what you'd seen off as baseless lies not worth thinking about. But the feel of Thorin's shoulders brushing your arm reminded you that would be no easy task.

You entered Mirkwood wondering if what you felt for the dwarven king was more than just fondness. Now you were certain.

quick authors note: I invented the siúlóirí an portaigh for this fic and the name translates to ‘bog walkers/walkers of the bog’ in Irish. It was pretty fun combining two of my interests, writing and folklore, to create my own mythological creature :)

#I like to imagine that reader is dúnedain #and that Siúlóirí Portaigh inhabit the dead marshes po #because i love adding unnecessary lore to my fics 😌 #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x you #thorin x you #thorin x y/n #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fic #lotr fic #lotr imagine #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit

[nicxl333]

LAUNDRY ANTICS- GOJO SATORU X FEM!READER

warnings: 18+, smut, semi-public sex, oral sex (both parties receiving), praise, washing machine as vibrator (technically)

summary: what happens when an extremely handsome individual catches your attention one late night at the laundromat?

word count: 2.3k

"y/n i'm popping out for a bit!"

said the woman who owned the launderette. you were about to wash your dirty clothes you had used. the only thing you had on were shorts and a tank top. since you were related to the owner, she trusted you to be left with her store alone. it's not like you showed any evil intent anyways.

the only sound that could be heard was the faint music playing from the speakers in the corner. you hummed along to the tune while sorting out different colour categories.

ding

the single bell on the door of the laundromat resounded through the store, alerting the arrival of a potential customer.

looking up from your current task your vision was welcomed by a man with a head of white hair, pure as snow. this was accompanied by an all black high necked jacket with matching pants and chelsea styled boots. to top it all off, he had a blindfold on, which confused you a bit to say the least.

he was holding a black duffel bag, presumably full of dirty clothes. your assumptions were confirmed when he started walking over towards one of the machines to start a cycle.

you carried on with what you were doing when you stopped, feeling a pair of eyes in your direction. looking up, your eyes met, or what you assumed, his eyes looking straight towards you.

"umm, can i help you?"

"i don't seem to know exactly how this washing thing works so can you assist me please?" the man replied with a ghost of a smirk on his face.

you stopped what you were doing and walked over to him, who stepped to the side to allow you to do your thing.

"alright, you're gonna need to use three machines if you want to get out of here quickly so i hope you have your coins." you pointed towards three machines in front of you two. "colours go in one machine, darks in another and whites in another too. i'm trusting you know how to separate your clothing into those categories?"

the man in front of you stood there with a blank face.

you sighed to yourself. if he didn't even know how the damn machine worked then he sure as hell wouldn't know how to do anything else.

"oh god...ok let me show you. your whites are literally any piece of clothing that is white. your colours are any piece of clothing which isn't red, black, grey or dark blue and your colours are anything else. seeing as you're a newbie i'll show you."

you grabbed the bag which held the clothing so that you could sort through the items when you paused and turned to the man before you.

"may i?"

"sure, you're helping me after all beautiful." you froze at your pet name given to you by him. after a few seconds you shook it off and started wafting through the clothing, unbeknownst to the man staring you down and licking his lips in delight. from where he was standing, he could get a clear view of your ass and that seemed to be where his eyes stayed stuck the most.

"you're not as slick as you think you know? don't think i haven't noticed you staring me down." continuing with your task at hand while calling over your shoulder.

he stopped, surprised that he was actually caught red handed. he didn't let it deter him though;

he loved playing hard to get.

"well how could i help it? you've got a good body on you. you got a boyfriend?"

there it was, his first move to determine wether or not to carry on the chase.

"and if i did? how would it affect you in any way?"

"oho, it would trust me on that one."

by this point you had finished your task and the machines were starting their cycle. you turned to face the man in front of you who had taken his blindfold off. you studied his eyes, they were a beautiful blue and seemed to have so much detail in it which helped to boost his overall appearance. he was a highly attractive man, no doubt about it, and it seemed you had caught his attention.

"no i don't."

he started closing in on you until your lower body was pressed against one of the machines, the sound of water sloshing faintly heard in the background. he came down to your ear, whispering the words;

"feel like having some fun then?"

you were down nonetheless, but you suddenly grew self conscious of the full view anyone had into the laundrette.

"sure." you said, while simultaneously walking towards the window shutters, rolling them all the way down. looking at the time, the shop was due to close soon anyways so it didn't make a difference. you locked the front door and walked back over to him with a smirk on your face. jumping onto the machine you spread your legs, showing him that you were his to toy around with.

"do your thing."

the man liked your confidence. something that was a huge turn on for him. he leaned forward and reached for your shorts, which slipped off with ease. he smirked when he came into contact with your wet cunt. he slipped the fabric to the side and began eating you out.

"ohhh...fuck!" you were in ecstasy from the sheet movements of this man's tongue against your clit. he knew exactly what to do with it, meaning that he had experience, you could tell that much.

a string of curses were pulled from your mouth, egging the man on further. he stopped licking on your bud, going down to lick your hole, then inserting two fingers in straightaway.

"s-shit-"

"call me satoru darling."

you suddenly grew quiet, feeling shy to say his name. this only caused him to curl his fingers upwards in retaliation, while continuing his thrusting

"say my name or i'll make you scream it."

"...s-satoru..fuck!"

"i can't hear you darling~" he starts increasing the pace of his fingers, causing you to grip onto him for dear life. he was bringing you closer and closer to the edge and soon enough you'd reach your high.

"ahh! satoru please make me cum!!"

"your wish is my command..."

gojo then dropped down to his knees, carrying on with his thrusting while simultaneously beginning to lick your clit. the pleasure you were feeling was too overwhelming and within 30 seconds your arousal was slipping into his open mouth. he of course, licked every drop, overstimning you at the same time.

"damn princess, you taste good. i think it's my turn for some action though."

you barely heard what he said, as you were still trying to come down from your high.

"aww, did i make you cum too hard? that was just the beginning baby. better prepare for what's coming."

you eventually gained control of yourself and slid off the washing machine, getting on your knees infront of gojo.

"suck it good sweetie." he said while pulling out his dick. once you came face to face with it you saw just how big it was, veiny and pink at the tip, curved slightly to the right. you were contemplating on how it was going to fit in your mouth. you just had to make do and hope for the best.

you gave his tip a kiss and a few kitten licks before collecting the saliva in your mouth beginning your descent down his dick. it was hard to accommodate but you were determined to make it all fit. by gojo's grunts though, you could tell you were doing something right.

"mmh...fuck princess, you're doing so well for me."

his hand found purchase on top of your head, guiding you down further and further until you gagged and came up for air.

"do that again for me, it was hot."

you started bopping your head back and forth, using your hand to take up whatever space was left. your other hand stayed fondling his balls, earning frequent grunts. you knew gojo was nearing his end when his groans started becoming more intense and slightly whiny. it was like music to your ears and you could feel yourself pooling once again at your core with arousal. you reached one hand down and started pleasing yourself.

once gojo felt one hand leave his dick he looked down and saw your hand rubbing your clit he instantly let out a loud, guttural grunt and climaxed, pushing your head all the way down, until he hit the back of your throat. you gagged once again, when you felt the familiar hot liquid go down your throat. you couldn't really taste it since his cum didn't get the chance to land on your taste buds.

you took a second to gain your breath, which didn't last long since you were lifted off your feet back onto the washing machine with your legs spread.

"who the fuck said you could please yourself while sucking me off?"

"looked like you enjoyed it from the way you cummed in my mouth after seeing that."

"oh you're asking for the incapability to walk after this darling."

"so do it. seems like you're all talk and no show to m- oh fuck!!"

gojo had enough of your comments and slid into you mid sentence. you didn't actually think about how big he'd be inside you and you could feel a tinge of pain among the immense amount of pleasure you were feeling. you liked the burn though.

"what was that again?" he said while starting to thrust into you at deeply.

"seems now like you've finally submitted. if i had known shoving my dick inside you would shut you up, believe me i would've done that a lot sooner."

you couldn't do anything but cry out in pleasure. he was hitting all the right spots and you were loving every bit of it. as if that wasn't enough though, he placed your legs around his waist and placed his two fingers in your mouth. 

"suck on them." you complied with his request, swirling your tongue all around his thumb.

in this position, he was hitting deeper than ever and you knew you wouldn't last much longer.

"fuckfuckfuck!!! satoru please!" you didn't even know what you were begging for at this point. you could feel the washing machine under you start to vibrate as it was fully underway in its cycle. it was then that gojo stopped his thrusts and pulled out of you. he flipped you around and placed your one foot on the ground with your knee resting on the machine.

you could feel the machine vibrating directly on your clit now mixed with the cold metal, adding to the pleasure. you felt gojo enter you once more, this time thrusting hard and fast at the same time. it was overwhelming, and you started babbling incoherent words. he then wrapped his hand around your neck, keeping the other hand on your waist, to enable those deep thrusts.

"cmon baby i know you've got one more in there for me, how about you be a good girl and give me one more yeah?"

the machine, his thrusts and his words were too much for you to handle and you were brought over the edge, squirting all over his dick with a series of moans that echoed all around the shop. gojo wasn't expecting that and from the way you were squeezing down on him brought him over the edge too, thrusting into you with a last moan to accommodate. it was silent for a few moments, while the pair of you caught your breath. the only thing that could be heard were the whirring machines.

"didn't know you had that in you princess."

"to be honest, me either."

"what, you mean you've never squirted before?"

you shook your head from side to side while gojo stood there in shock. his face transitioned into a smirk.

"i'm definitely gonna be the last then."

"wait what do you mean by that? oh...." he wanted to see you again, which you were down for. he made you see stars, something which many of your previous hook ups couldn't even dream of doing.

a sudden beep resounded throughout the shop. it was the washing machine, alarming its customer that the clothes were finished and ready for drying. you both started putting your clothes back on. gojo started loading the wet clothes back into his duffel bag and zipped it up, slinging the bag over his shoulder. you assumed he had a dryer at his house since the clothes weren't dry.

"so i've got to go now, i have work to complete. could i get your number and we'll see about meeting up again?"

you rolled your eyes, holding out your hand to input your number. he did so and you slotted it in, handing the phone back to him.

"y/n? what a pretty name," he said while walking to the door. "till next time!"

and he was gone.

you sighed to yourself and walked over to the machine so you could place your wet clothes in the dryer. the owner then walked in through the back door.

"oh y/n, you're still here? sorry i took so long i got caught up in a chat with some fine men!" she started walking around, switching off all the machines so she could close up for the night. she stopped by the machine that was 'active' where you and gojo were.

"ahh was someone using this y/n? seems like someone dropped some water here or something."

you thought nothing of it until you stopped and realised;

that wasn't water.

#jjk gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #gojo smut #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #public smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo x you smut #gojo x y/n smut #jujutsu kaisen #anime

[redbleedingrose]

Rhys in grey sweatpants, I had that image put in my head now I want to spread the gospel 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

Just him with his sleep hair and voice in nothing but his grey sweatpants 😮‍💨

UMMMMMM

Rhysand is totally the best dressed of all the males in the night court and possibly Prythian.

Only Eris rivals him in the clothing department and I stand firm on that statement.

He just knows what gets you going. He knows the colors that suit him and he is not afraid to work it.

I feel like for the most part, Rhys really plays the role of high lord well. And he dresses the part too.

All of his clothes are freshly tailored and laundered. He never really wears the same outfit twice. And when he meets you???

He makes sure that you have all the clothes that you could ever want or need. He also insists on matching most days. You basically are THE moment in Prythian, everyone who isn't you wants to BE you. And it is all thanks to Rhysie's impeccable fashion sense. All your clothes make you look like the star of the night, pun not intended.

And all of your shoes and jewelry he has designed for you? Don't even get me started. Each outfit needs its own individualized look and feel and vibe. And he makes sure that is there for you. He is always there to help you put together your look.

Playing dress up for him is sooooo much fun. He has you doing twirls in your dresses and gets on his knees to help you put your heels on. He kisses every portion of your exposed neck whenever he clasps on your necklaces for you. You are treated like an utter princess around him, never having to lift a finger beyond your desire.

He also loves to help you with your earrings. And he is so gentle with it too. His pretty violet eyes focusing on your ear lobe as he ever so carefully puts in your earrings. He makes sure that they don't feel to heavy or cause any irritation to your ear as you are sensitive to different kinds of metals. When he is done, his eyes focus back on you with this look of utter pride that you are his. You are his mate. His high lady. His everything. And he is just obsessed.

You are lucky if you can make it to ANY event on time because this male will find any excuse to show you just how obsessed he is.

Back to Rhys' fashion sense...

He really rarely wears clothes that are "lounge wear." TBH, I feel like he started moreso a little after meeting you because he sees what it does to you.

Rhysie is the kind of male who can look good in practically anything. But in lounge wear??? send freaking help he is the hottest male to have ever EXISTED!!!

His gray sweatpants are one of your favs on him. He is always wearing it with a tight black or navy blue t-shirt that clings to his chest and shoulders and biceps. You can basically see the outline of his abs whenever he wears those shirts (which you will be riding later so help you gods).

And omg just think of all of his tattoos exposed on his corded forearms. And think about those muscles flexing while he fingers you speechless.

Anyway, poor rhysie needs to replace his sweatpants any time he wears them because they always end up stained from you riding his thigh.

But he knows that.

Thats why he wears them, slutty smug bastard. The smirk any time he pulls them out and surprises you by wearing them is enough to know that he knows exactly what he does to you. And he is proud of it too.

His formal clothing is not to be forgotten.

His tight fitting dress shirts where he leaves the top two buttons open so that you can see his smooth tan chest underneath??? The dark swirls intricately peaking out and climbing up his neck??? The small silver chain he wears??? The one that has your name engraved over and over, all along the metal because he belongs to you??? Because he knows that every part of him, his heart and soul, is all entirely owned by you???

The only ring he wears is his wedding ring too.

Sigh, I need a Rhys.

This was terrible but I love Rhysand so you are gonna get my unhinged thoughts about him always.

#rose rambles #rose answers #rhysand x reader #rhysand acotar #rhysand headcanons #rhysand fanfic #rhysand imagine #rhysand #rhys acotar #high lord rhysand #pro rhys #pro rhysand #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanons #acotar fanfiction #acotar

[prettyboyrry]

hi!! i’m so so sorry i haven’t posted any content in a week but i’m back :)) i totally did not expect you guys to like that last one as much as you did but i appreciate it so much. this one is actually based off of an audio from my absolute favorite nsfw va ever so please please please go listen to it before you read. i kind of did some things different just for fun but the concept was too good not to write about. hope you enjoy<3 below is gonna be a link to jupiters audio :)

———————————————————————-

I flinch as the same stupid jump scare pops up as the last 15. If you told me this morning instead of having a chill day to recharge and cuddle with my beautiful girlfriend I'd be sitting in a movie theater watching a movie she was oh so excited to see that it deterred her from cuddling with me, I'd be pissed.

Which I fucking am. I'm sitting with my arms crossed, my lips in a pout and my eyebrows furrowed together just to make it all the more dramatic. This isn't even that aggravating I just wanna make her feel good so we can go home and she can hold me like I deserve after being so good for her all week.

"What's the matter baby?" I'm snapped out of my angered internal rant by abby's sexy raspy voice I have to pretend doesn't affect me so I can keep up my act. It's so hard when she's looking at me with that smirk on her face that makes my cheeks warm up.

"Nothing." I grumble, not very politely might I add. I can see her intake a deep breath trying to calm herself before she answers me. My attitude clearly being uncalled for. I know this isn't as big of a deal as I'm making it but I just want her attention so bad I'm losing it.

"You wanna try that again?" She asks. I flit my eyes over to her to check her demeanor and she's becoming more and more aggravated with me by the second which is valid I'm getting snappy with her but it's for a good reason. Kind of.

"Nope i'm good." I reassure her but she doesn't miss the way I roll my eyes at the end for good measure. I just want her to fucking touch me at this point it's what I've been craving all week but all she wants is to see a dumbass movie we could've watched in the comfort of our own home instead we're now surrounded by a bunch of college students who had nothing better to do.

"I really hope that it's just because it's dark in here i just saw your eyes roll" she assures me "because you would never ever be that rude to me right?"

"I don't know what you're talking about" i whisper to her,"just shut up and watch your movie you care about oh so much"

She raises her eyebrows at what I've just said to her. I'm practically shaking at what's to come. The anticipation is killing me. Is she gonna let us go home? Keep watching the movie? Or mayb-

My internal rambles are cut off by her snaking her hand between my thighs and cupping my heat. I bring my hand down to the arm of my chair and grip it tightly. The feeling of her large hand on my clothed cunt are nothing short of orgasmic.

"You know" she starts, leaning over whispering into my ear "I've been teasing you all week waiting for you to get this needy. I saw your puppy dog eyes when i came in from work waiting to be fucked like the good girl you are and knew I had to mess with you. I don't wanna see this stupid ass movie"

My breathing hitches when I feel her pull down my panties from under my skirt and the cold air hits my pussy. I groan watching her slide my panties into her pocket.

"But what I do wanna see, is you try to keep quiet while i fuck you around all of these people." She says in a husky voice that's making me practically drool.

I gasp at the revelation and that's when I finally notice the shape of her strap sitting pretty in her grey sweatpants. I squeeze my eyes shut when she starts to use her thumb to rub circles onto my clit not starting off slow at all but going at a pace that's making me soaking wet. I let out a strained whimper but remember where we are so I quickly jerk my head over to her and shove my face into her neck leaving hot kisses to try and quiet myself.

"Fuck, you're so hot" she groans,"I'm gonna put my fingers in now okay?"

"yes yes mhm," i cry pathetically to her, feeling so embarrassed at how worked up i already am.

"I bet they're gonna slide right in at how fucking soaked you are" she practically laughs at me "such a whore, hm?"

I nod frantically grabbing onto her bicep hoping she gets the memo and puts her fingers inside me.

"nuh uh" she tutts "when I ask a question you answer it"

"Yes yes abby i'm your whore, all yours" i whine," please."

"shhh" she says "need you to be quiet baby, I know you're needy but do you want everyone to know that you're my little whore?"

"Actually, don't answer that" she rephrases, knowing what my answer was gonna be.

I go to make a snarky remark but am cut off when she skips warming me up and slams two fingers into me.

"oh god please" I don't even know what I'm begging for at this point I just want her.

My brain has turned into complete mush because all I can think about is the way she's curling her fingers just right into the spot that has my eyes rolling into the back of my head and my teeth biting into my lip so hard I can feel myself bleeding a bit.

I cry out desperately when a particularly harsh thrust is delivered and I let my pitiful moans out.

I whip my head up when she stops thrusting her fingers into me to see her practically seething at me.

"Your moans are for me and for me only" she orders,"so what's the issue hm?"

"i know i know m'sorry" I apologize "i'm trying to stay quiet but I can't"

"fix it" she says very sternly.

"yes ma'am" i respond politely.

I immediately fuck up when she slips her fingers back into me with no warning so of course I let out a small moan I couldn't mask. She smirks knowing I was gonna do that and looks up at me darkly.

"poor baby, doesn't know how to listen" she says in a sweet tone but what she's about to do to me is everything but sweet, "it's okay honey, I'll help with that."

Before I can ask what she's gonna do, two fingers get shoved down my throat.

"Since you don't know how to be quiet I'm gonna do it for you huh baby" she asks, knowing I can't answer.

She continues what she's doing under my skirt but instead of just pumping her fingers at an incomprehensible pace, she adds her thumb, continuing the circle motion she was doing on my clit earlier. The combination of the two makes me double over gripping the arms of my theater chair tightly trying to get some type of leverage.

The erotic feeling of this combined with that fact that we could get caught at any moment makes my let out a shaken moan into her fingers that are covered in my saliva. My abdomen begins to tighten when she continues hitting that same spot inside of me that makes me scream. I've had some of the most life altering orgasms when I'm with her but this time it feels completely different.

"mm i-" i try to speak to her through the fingers that i mine as well be choking on with a frantic look on my face at the feeling that's washing over me.

"I know I know lovie," she hums working me through it,"just let it happen"

I nod at her, feeling safe.

"fuck fuck I'm coming, oh my god please" i chant out a mantra of her name and curses as a feeling hits me I've never felt before all at once. My body is twitching all over and my legs are shaking so violently in my seat that she lays her arm across them so no one notices. The feeling that's happening in my stomach is making hot tears stream down my cheeks.

"holy fuck that was hot" she says gruffly after I come down from the most intense orgasm I've ever had.

I look down to find a small puddle of my orgasm in the seat below me realizing that I just-

"I've never made you squirt before what the fuck" abby is looking at me astonished.

"I made a mess" i look at her with a pout slightly embarrassed at this new experience but also feeling like I'm on cloud nine.

"mhm," she hums, pulling me onto her lap facing her "and you're gonna make another one on my lap."

I'm caught off guard when she slides her sweats down just enough to where her dick comes out of her pants. She grabs onto it sliding it back and forth on my sensitive folds making me shudder. I remember we're in a movie theater when she grabs the blanket we brought with us and places it over the both of us to cover the lewd scene happening underneath.

"Can't have everyone seeing your pretty little ass grind on my cock now can we?" she questions me.

"no abby" i whine, "may I have a kiss"

"Of course you can angel" she smiles leaning in planting a long, loving kiss on my lips that reassures me that we're both on the same page and I'm always safe with her.

"Now be good for me and fuck yourself on my cock" she orders, to which I immediately comply to.

I grab onto her shoulders for leverage and bounce lightly up and down onto her to get any sort of friction getting rid of the achy feeling in my tummy from how much I've wanted her.

"The next time you think about being a little cunt to me instead of telling me what you need" she punctuates her sentence by thrusting up into me very harshly making me bite down on her shoulder "I hope you remember how hard it's been to stay quiet in a movie theater and how if you would've just asked for what you wanted at home I would've given it to you and more"

I continue grinding fast and hard on her lap feeling her cock bulge out of my tummy at the angle.

"m'sorry just want you now please" i whine into her ear.

"I know you are baby, it's okay" she reassures me.

My orgasm is coming much faster than the first one due to how sensitive I am so all I need are a few more thrust before that familiar feeling in my belly starts to form.

"god i can hear how soaked you are over the movie" she whispers into my ear trailing hot kisses down my neck. I gasp out into the air when I'm hit with a harsh thrust from her and her very last kiss lands on my boob where she stays, sucking and biting down softly creating bright red hickies.

This is all I need before I'm thrashing against her begging for mercy as she notices my lack of grinds, taking over and fucking up into me clearly not caring about the people around us helping me ride my orgasm out.

"abby, fuck, they're gonna hear me" i cry to her.

"shhh it's ok darling keep going" she hushes me bring her hand down between us rubbing my clit in circles as my orgasm ends making my legs shake in overstimulation.

I freeze when I hear a voice other than abby's but before I can look my head is being covered by a blanket.

"Is she alright" the other voice asks.

"yeah she's fine" abby says in a bored tone clearly pissed we were interrupted.

"just checking" the person says to which abby hums to.

"thanks" is all I hear from her before the person's footsteps lightly fade away.

Abby lifts the blanket from my head smoothing back my hair and pecking my lips three times.

"round three at home?"

———————————————————

i wrote this half asleep so really hoping i don’t regret publishing this tomorrow but bye bye ily mwahh

#wlw concepts #wlw community #wlw smut #wlw #lesbian smut #abby anderson #abby x you #ellie williams #the last of us #abby the last of us #wlw post #abby x fem!reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #fem reader #mutuals #tlou #soundgasm

[ur-boyfiend]

panic attacks and cuddles

corvid? posting?? unheard of. anyways self-indulgent comfort fic bc i can. prolly gonna do a chronic illness / disability one soonish, if anyone has something they'd like to see more content for feel free to send an ask and i'll write it if i'm comfortable !! if you have any specifics you wanna see feel free to add those as well, it really does help me ^^;

cw/tw; panic attack (no shit but y'know), spiraling, depression, negative self-talk, depressive episode

seasonal depression is nothing new, in fact it's something you're far more used to than you'd like to be. while some loved winter, for you it was the time of year where any regular depression was compounded by the gloom of late dawns and early sunsets and the inability to enjoy going outside.

the difference this time is that you have a boyfriend, and you wish that you could be happy, wish that you could be grateful, but wrapped tightly in a blanket as you watch the grey sky outside the window across your room, you can feel the creeping sensation of a panic attack starting to crawl across your skin. in some part of your brain you can hear your phone buzzing, but the buzzing melds into the feelings of panic, and you curl further into yourself.

the sun is setting, almost set, blanketing your room in darkness. you know that turning on your lights would help, would make this whole thing less suffocating, but it's so much easier to just resign yourself. getting up to turn on the light takes effort, but simply spiraling further takes nothing at all.

your phone is buzzing again, another thing you know you should pay attention to, but you just can't drag yourself out of your own head long enough to do anything about it. it feels like the world is collapsing onto you, and for a moment you wish it would.

you lift your head slightly, the world is in black and white, and it feels like all your senses are muffled by cotton wool. you drop your forehead back onto your knees, the energy it takes to keep it raised somehow more than you have in you.

you're not sure how long it's been, after the sun has set there's nothing left to indicate the time. you're trying to find the strength to get out of bed, to do anything, even just to look up.

from your blanket cocoon, you can see something light beyond your eyelids. for a second you think you're seeing things, maybe you pressed on your eyes by accident, but you don't actually feel any pressure on your eyes.

not sure what's happening, you lift your head slightly, almost immediately being met with the sight of your boyfriend standing near the door to your room. he's not looking at you, he's looking at your room, and you realize that he hasn't actually seen it before. you're suddenly very aware of the piles of stuffed toys scattered around, the posters on the walls, the makeup and jewelry strewn across the top of your dresser, the mess on your desk, the clothes piled in the corner. it feels as if every flaw in your personality is somehow scrawled across the room in glaring red letters.

and yet, when he notices you looking at him, changbin turns and smiles at you. in that moment, you feel like you might cry. as you feel yourself choking up, his eyes soften with concern. placing the bag he's holding on the floor, he carefully sits down next to you on your bed.

"hey, what's wrong?" you feel him pull you into his side, "talk to me bubs."

instead of talking, you feel tears start running down your face, changbin wiping them away as fast as they fall. he leaves feather-light kisses across your nose and cheeks.

you say it without thinking, "i love you," and once you've said it once it's like a floodgate has opened, you're repeating it so quickly that it becomes an incoherent babble, changbin peppering kisses across your face the whole time.

it takes time for you to calm down, more than you'd like, not keen on being seen in this state. but changbin sits and rubs your back as you try to pull yourself back into some kind of human form, a silent support.

it's only when you've stopped crying, are a more solid person than you'd been, he says it back.

"i love you too, now let's eat, yeah?"

you hum slightly, leaning further into his side, "nap with me?"

changbin sighs and flops onto his side, pulling you down with him, pulling up the blankets to cover you both. you quickly snuggle into him, grateful for the extra warmth.

"get some rest," you feel him place a kiss on your forehead, "i love you."

"i love you too," you mumble, already half-asleep.

#boyfiend writes #stray kids #skz #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #changbin fluff #seo changbin #changbin x reader #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz fluff

[girlinwoods]

{ the dark side...}

{Dom sadistic jungkook x reader } non con

.. Jeon jungkook the biggest superstar in the world...or innocent kook... that's what people call my husband...but I am the one who's living with him..I know him .... he's not pure..or innocent or even a good human being.....

He don't even let...me wear clothes at home... he's so controlling...

"..koo breakfast is ready"..i said while making some pancakes and he came down stairs wearing a grey suit that matches with his Rolex watch...his hair all done... And i was Naked totally just a small apron that was covering my chest little bit ...

" koo.. can I ask you something"

" sure go ahead" he said while scrolling his phone as he was eating his breakfast..

" I don't want to be... with you anymore....i..i..need divorce"

He stare at me for a while...and started laughing

" I am not joking kook" i said a bit harshly

He stare at me again with a blank face...

" why"

" i-its my decision"

" and who are you to talk about decisions ?" He said in very polite voice that scares me....alot...

" i wanna live my life too!"

" seems like you need some attention hmm" he said as he took a bite of pancakes

I know what he...mean by that

" I want divorce please"

He didn't said anything this time... Just stood up from his..seat and removed his belt

" maybe that's what you really want right now"

And he started beating me .. with his belt i..was screaming for help for... someone to save me from this monster....

After 20 minutes he stopped....

" honey i didn't hear you...?.did you asked for something?"

" n-no.."

" stupid cunt...." He removed his pants down as.....he started jerking off while making an eye contact with me..." You deserve this...y/n"

And he cums on me ..i cried more harder in disgust....

" now...y/n ..baby..do you think you are even enough to stand for your self look at you.... looking like a whore.. who gonna trust you?? ..like think yourself .. are you gonna trust on ...a woman who look like a whore .. who's Naked on the floor with cum ..all over her body or...on a gentle educated man..? Hmm..." He smirks on his own joke....

His eyes... travels on her chest....and he grabbed her nipples hardly...as he ...started sucking on...them...

" l-leave...me please" she tries to stop...him...but she couldn't....

And ....he fucked her...in every position he could do...while all she can do is cry... begging for help for... someone to save her from this monster....and...in the end she gets pregnant with twins...

#bts ffs #dom!jungkook #bts imagines #jungkookff #yandere jungkook #dark jungkook

[zweetpea]

Eternity or stasis Part 1 of 2

Spicy scene so watch out. Also some Archon/Arlecchino slander purely because I don't like the fact that the house of the hearth is basically just training child soldiers. No hate if you like her but she is definitely not a good or even morally grey person.I am so sorry about human dvalin guys. I tried not to stroke my own ego when describing him but all the concept art for human Dvalin makes him out to be a very very VERY pretty man. And I like the Hoyoverse dragons so there is a bit of that. Also sorry this took so long to come out.

"Dvalin please!" You whine

"Mine. You're mine." He growls.

"Ah!" you squeak as he squeezes your hips.

"Tight... so tight... Too Tight! Dvalin I can't breath!" 'Yeah that's me. You're probably wondering how I got here.'

20 minutes ago.

"Dvalin it's been 2 weeks since Xiao brought me back. Andruis has come to visit twice, and both times you've refused to see him. You hardly let the abyss mages and slimes bring me food. "I'm begging you, please let me go. I won't run away again just please." You pleaded desperately trying to wriggle out from between his front claws. He was splayed out like a dog lying out in the sun arms crossed in front of him to trap you in.

"Not a chance. The last two times I let you out of my sight you got kidnapped. First by those knights, then you were taken away and the abyss order has told me you were in the land of Geo. That filthy mud-ridden dragon. What does he have that I don't? What can he give you that I can't?"

"Well, no offence but physical intimacy and companionship."

"Oh really?" He growled in a sarcastic tone (and also literally growled, he is a dragon after all). A bright light blue light shined out from Dvalin's chest as he shrunk.

"Dvalin? What...?"

Standing before you was a beautiful man with sharp features. He had a long pointed nose, and sharp eyes. His face wasn't too particularly round (he had a few freckles on his face) and his chin looked like it could cut diamonds. He had long baby blue hair that fell past his shoulder blades - his bangs curled around his head to the back of his head - and glowing aqua colored eyes that pierced your soul. His horns curved up, back and towards each other; the tips tinted in dark blue. His pointed ears peeked out meekly from the sides of his head. He was tall (maybe 7 feet), and his entire body - from hid shoulders down to his waist - was broad. His chest and abs were sculped and defined. His limbs held muscles toned to perfection, yet strangely enough faded from the pale of his torso and face to a lighter blue and finally to a deep blue at his finger tips and his long nails. Finally just behind him swayed a furry blue and white tail. 

"WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!"

"Why wouldn't I be? I don't wear clothes in my true form. I feel strange like this." He looked at his hand, perplexed by the addition of a fifth finger.

"You- you- two- um-" You backed up as he stalked over to you. "Wait!" Your face heated. 

"Come here darling. You said you wanted to be physical." He pulled you toward him and wrapped his tail around you.

"HELP LITTLE SLIMES!! I fell into a trap! He's got me! And he won't let me go!" You scream as a dendro smile and hydro smile bounce toward you.

"Mine."

"Yes I know but, EH!" You try to struggle. 

"Mine!"

"Eh!"

"Mine!!"

"EH!"

"MINE!"

"EH!!"

"MINE!!"

"Dvalin! Please. This is embarrassing. And I can feel your 'friends' poking my ass."

"They just want to say hi, and they wouldn't be so eager if you didn't squirm so much on my lap." He purrs in your ear.

"We need to get you some clothes." You throw yourself from his grasp with all your might. "Maybe some apple bottom jeans."

"Jeans?" He looks confused. 

"And boots with the fur."

"With fur?"

"Really just anything to keep you 'packages' to yourself."

"Oh? So you don't want 'Physical Intimacy'?" He teases. 

"Um I..." 'Screw it. Baizhu and I are just friends with benefits.' You pull Dvalin closer and kiss him. His lips mold into yours and you poke your tongue into his mouth. He lay you down as his tongue overtook your mouth.

"I... cannot feel my legs."

"Stay right there, I'm going to get some food." He kisses your head.

"Wait!" You grab one of his horns and gently rub your thumb over it.

He lets out a breathy moan and grabs you wrist. "Keep that up and this little snack I'm getting you will be an intermission instead of aftercare."

"Did you want this?"

"It was nice, especially the feeling of your nails scratching along my back. I'll be honest, I'm willing to do anything to keep you here."

"Okay, thanks for getting me some food."

"Of course darling." He kisses your lips, and slithers out of the tower. 

10 minutes later you're feeling a bit better, that was until a certain high pitched Bard showed up.

"Dvalin! Please answer me. I know that you're up here! I'm sorry about what happened about a month ago." Venti pleads voice cracking like he's holding back tears. 

"Hi Venti..." You say apathetic.

"What are you doing here? How did you get back here?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." You snark. 

"Don't get smart with me! You turned Dvalin against me."

"I thought you'd want him to be free, and happy."

"I do. But I also want him to be safe. You are nothing but trouble, and I don't want him around you. End of story" 

"Why don't you give me one more- ow! Fudge nuggets! Anyway Venti," You limp your way over to him. "That's not really for you to decide, now is it?" You taunt.

"What gives you the right to talk to me like that?"

"What gives you the right to demand the respect of your people. You're a drunkard, Zhongli is a deadbeat, and Ei is a dictator. Not only that but the Tsaritsa endorses the exploitation of children, allowing Arlecchino - one of her Harbingers - to groom them into the perfect soldiers. They're exploiting orphans - who only have them to trust in - for their army. What good do you Archons do for your citizens?"

"Shut up!" He pushes you to the ground. Your delusion starts to glow seafoam green.

"You don't protect them. So get off your high horse you fake wannabe dei-"

"SHUT UP!!" He screams as the structure around you shakes and the air in the environment grows warmer. 

"Heh, I knew you were full of hot air."

"SHUT! UP!" He screams in your face as his hands come to wring your neck.

"GET OFF THEM!!"

"Dvalin?/!" Venti and you shout in unison. Him in horror and you in joy. Dvalin drops the food and charges at venti. 

"What have they done to you?" Venti whispers. 

"I chose to become this Venti."

"They've clipped your wings."

"You mean these?" Wings spring from his back.

"You know what I mean! Your powers are drained in this form! Why would you do this?"

"I need them that's why."

"No! I'm putting my foot down. I hate to do this but this obsession you have with them isn't healthy!" Dvalin charges at him and he dodges. Venti summons his bow (the skyward harp) and shot at you. You try to block but nothing happens. The arrow doesn't pierce you but it does knock you out and blow you far off.

When you wake up you're somewhere you haven't been before. Inazuma.  

"Okay. This isn't good. Why couldn't I block the arrow? Was it because it was Venti's?" You look down to your delusion and see it was seafoam green instead of a gold color. "Does this mean I've resonated with Anemo? I shook hands with Zhongli and resonated with Geo, Venti pushed me so..." You hold your hand out and several small wind currents form around you. You bring your other hand up and they all form into a big gust of wind shaped in a pair of wings. "Interesting. Okay... where exactly am I? This looks a bit like Ritou. Maybe I could get across to the beach."

"Outlander! Freeze!"

"Shit!" You start to jump across to the beach on your wind currents. You run through the hills of Inazuma.

"Okay I think I'm safe now. Where on earth did I go?" You run to the north end of Narukami Island.

"Hello?! Hello?" You call out as you look for anyone who could help you. 

"Hm? Hey cutie!" Itto shouts at you. 

"Aw, aren't you sweet."

"Heh. Nah, you're just adorable. Hey! You wanna beetle battle with me."

"I don't know how. Maybe a big, strong man could teach me." You flirt.

"Course I could." He wraps his arm around your shoulder. Maybe you should feel a bit bad about flirting and sleeping around but you were promised debauchery. You wrap your arm around him as he leads you to where his gang was, though you didn't get too far with Kujou Sara and her forces on you tail.

"There you are! Surrender your Vision and the blondie." She demands.

"Oh yeah, the sus girl made me twinsies with the twins."

"The Raiden Shogun has ordered any interlopers to be deported from Inazuma immediately, and if they have a vision we are to seize it form them. This... person?" She looks to you for confirmation, to which you nod. "Is under arrest for fleeing Ritou."

"So typical of a cop to be a rude bitch. Actually that's not really fair. Chevreuse, Wriothesley and Cyno are technically cops and they'll probably be considerate. Come to think of it The knights of Favonius are cops and Jean was extremely considerate. It's just the archon simps- well, no Xiao was pretty nice."

"Less talking more fighting!" Itto shouts in a frenzy. He and Shinobu have to fend of the Tenryou Commission. 

"Sorry!" You lift your hand and the gusts of wind lift the enemies off the ground.

"Now we're talking! Looks like the playing field just got a bit more even." Itto taunt.

"On my command!" Sara yell as she readies her bow. You quickly start to twist and turn your delusion to try and get in back to Geo.

"Don't do this to me. I need Geo right now." You whisper and it started to glow gold again. You quickly jump in front of Itto to block Sara's shot. You then start to pelt her with a slew of jagged spall toward the cops.

"Retreat!" Sara's companions cry.

"Cowards! get back here!" She furiously runs after them.

"Oh my gosh! That was awesome dude! Oh hey, what should I call you?" Itto cheers.

"Babygirl." you respond without missing a beat. "It's this affectionate nickname where I come from. If not that you can call me Gen with a G. Last name Z.

"It's nice to meet you Z." Shinobu greets from beside Itto. 

"Please, call me Gen. We're friend now... or something more." You mumble that last part.

"Yeah yeah yeah, formalities and such. How'd you do that? You went from Anemo to Geo in a split second!" Itto praises. "It was awesome. Does that me you have like, Anemo and Geo inside you."

"Well I don't know about Geo but Anemo and Dendro have definately both been inside me."

"Huh?"

"Uh, not the point. We should get going before the cops show up again."

"Oh right. Well Gen in thanks for you saving us I'll treat you to the Biggest bowl of Ramen I can afford."

"I don't think I'll be able to finish all by myself, but we could split it." 'Please if there is any good left in this universe or the one I come from let Itto and I do the lady and the tramp thing! Please please please-'

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" Itto apologizes.

'I love you universe!'

"Looks like Heizou was right. Caught you right where he said you would be."

"I'll handle this Itto. You just get everyone out of here." You order.

"No way! I'm not leaving you behind Gen!" He argues.

"Loyal to a tee, I see why Ayato likes you." You smile. Tenryou soldiers flinging themselves at you.

"Itto we have to go." Shinobu pleads.

"But-"

"Trust me! Go."

"I'm coming back for you!"

"Thank you." You smile. The Arataki Gang ran as the cops jump and overpower you. 

Sara bounds your wrists and ankles, and throws you over her shoulder. "Dang bound again. If I had a nickel for everytime I've been bound and it wasn't sexy, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot  but it's weird that it happened twice. Weirder still that the only two times I've been bound have both been very unsexy. 'This would be arousing if you hadn't been an asshole earlier.' You thought. 'Okay... I guess this is a little hot.'

"Hey do you want to hear something cool? According to the Babylonians, Asushunamir was this super rad person who wasn't man or woman and they were given the gift of prophecy and healing. Also the Norse had this other dude who's portrayed as really really hot and they were gender fluid  but mostly went by he. The gender non conforming have a pretty sweet gig being hot and getting people out of trouble."

"Please stop talking. Besides it doesn't matter who or what you are. Man, woman, or something in between, all obstacles in the Shoguns path to eternity must face her wrath. No amount of strange tales will spare you."

"Bring it on that tyrant is going down!"

"Brave or foolish I do not know. May I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"I've been hearing rumors about you. They say you are not so much man or woman so... how do you work in bed if you don't mind me asking." 

"Well~ you could find out for yourself~"

"I'll have to pass on your oh so generous offer." Sara retorts sarcastically. 

"I'm a power-bottom if you must know! Nah that's a lie I'm submissive and breedable, even if I never get pregnant."

"Well... here we are. The Shogun is just inside. She will decide your fate." Sara unbinds you. 

"Bye Sara. Raiden Shogun! You better get your Bitch ass out here!" You storm through the halls.

"Who dares to insult me?" The dumb little puppet shows it's face.

"I mean the real Shogun! Come on out Ei!" As you taunt her a purple rift rips through the air and Ei pulls you into the plain of euthymia. 

"Why is a long haired hooligan in my presence. What's your name?"

"Gen. Now let's talk about something more previlent. You suck! I don't care if you have big boobies! You're a bad mom and a bad leader!"

"Excuse me?"

"You abandoned your son and say that you want to give him freedom. How is that freedom? You cast him out without anything to defend himself with! And on top of all of that he was basically a naive baby with no survival skills. How dense can you be? You are the cause of at least 25% of Teyvats major problems. Do you have any idea what He's doing out there right now?"

"Wow... you really want to die don't you?"

"Can you stop being so egotistical? There's more to this world than you ya know! I get you're sad because Makoto died, and you feel like you have no purpose. You don't feel worthy to be the Electro Archon, right? Well Miko doesn't think so. She and sara are keeping this entire nation afloat while you bitch and moan about having to do work."

"How do you know all of this?"

"Because I'm not from Teyvat."

"Obviously. You are the adored one. The one Celestia fears. That doesn't explain-"

"No!" You cut her off. "I'm literally not from this world. I've seen this twice before. I got in after beta and I have to look up past events off Youtube, because Hoyoverse is a bitch to the Genshin community. I get they want people to pay for gacha but just have them be a normal world quest or a side story or even a playable movie! Kingdom hearts did that with their mobile game! It was a bit confusing but that's kingdom hearts for you."

"...what?"

"Nothing. Point is you need to get off your ass and work. Your people are dying. They're slaughtering each other in droves. Eternity doesn't mean everything has to stay the same. Makoto wouldn't have wanted that Ei. Eternity can exist through Inazuma's preservation. Their culture and heritage and customs all play a part in Inazuma's identity. If those things can keep Inazuma thriving then Inazuma will be eternal."

"...you've seen this play out before. Is there ever a way for me to reach perfect Eternity."

"not a perfect stasis no. But from where I'm from you and Makoto's Legacy is secure. Inazuma is eternal to my people." 

"How would I even go about trying to fix things?"

"...wait that worked?"

"What?"

"I never thought I'd get this far. (A/n: SpongeBob reference!) I was just trying to sow the seed so that the twins wouldn't have to go through so much bullshit to defeat you and make you see the error of your ways. I was trying to buy time more than anything."

"Okay... so what do we do now?"

"I have no clue..."

"Um when you said twins... you wouldn't happen to mean two blonds in strange clothes similar to yours, did you?" 

"Is the puppet fighting them? Did your puppet take Thoma and they're trying to protect him?" You deadpan.

"Yes?"

"yep, that's them. Let 'em in they might be able to help." 

She does as you instruct and the twins come barreling in. "What the Fu-"

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #human dvalin #genshin dvalin #dvalin #genshin #Dvalin x reader #itto x reader #kujou sara x reader #raiden x reader #raiden ei #itto genshin impact #arataki itto #genshin kuki #kunikuzushi #scara #scaramouche #wanderer #genshin scara #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #sagau x reader #sagau #sagau cult au #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #pop culture references #genshin crack

[misc-obeyme]

Okay this is a request from @suphomiesr2l who asked for an MC who accidentally gets turned into an angel temporarily due to an accident with Solomon's experimental cooking.

So I wrote this as a ficlet with Solomon because listen... writing about him being a menace in the kitchen is so fun lol. However, I do think it would be really interesting to consider how the brothers and everybody else would react to this particular situation. So if that's something anyone is interested in, please let me know and I'd be happy to do some headcanons about it. I really like the MC-turned-into-an-angel concept, too.

So I had a lot of fun writing this!

Thank you for the request!

GN!MC x Solomon

Warnings: none other than Solomon's cooking lol

You were sitting in your room in Cocytus Hall, minding your own business, when something made you shudder. A change in the air that indicated something was not right. You frowned and left your room immediately to check it out.

You were sure you would run into Solomon at some point. You knew he was home and he likely sensed whatever you were sensing - some kind of magic that shouldn't be here.

Following that feeling of magic, you strode purposefully through the halls, making your way to where you hoped to find the source of the disturbance.

You stopped as soon as you reached the door to the kitchen. It was definitely coming from inside. And that could only mean one thing…

You had a choice now. You could either go inside the kitchen and try to stop Solomon from making whatever horrors he was in the midst of creating or you could turn around and pretend that you knew nothing.

Leaving was not the responsible thing to do and you knew it, so you sighed and went into the kitchen.

Sure enough, Solomon was in there. The counter was full of… stuff? You couldn't even tell what most of it was. And everything was an absolute disaster. He looked entirely thrilled with himself, standing by the stove, stirring something that looked noxious. He was dressed casually with a pink apron on over his clothes. He smiled when he saw you.

"Oh, MC!" he said. "I'm almost done with this. Why don't you sit down and have some? You haven't eaten yet, right?"

You folded your arms and raised an eyebrow at him.

Solomon only laughed at you. "I know, I know, I'm not allowed in the kitchen," he said. "But I saw this interesting dish on DevilTube and I really wanted to try it. I figured you wouldn't mind!"

You groaned and sat down on a bar stool at the counter. "Solomon, there is a reason you are banned from the kitchen!"

Solomon waved a hand at you, turning back to the pot and giving it a stir. "Just give it a chance, I think it's turning out really well!"

"Okay, did you follow the recipe they were showing in the video?" you asked.

Solomon didn't turn back to look at you, only shook his head. "Things are always better if you leave room for experimentation."

You had to decide if you were going to actually eat whatever monstrosity was served to you or not. He seemed so enthusiastic, but you also valued your life.

It wasn't long before the dish in question was placed in front of you. Solomon was beaming, as usual, either completely oblivious to his inability to cook something decent or purposefully pretending that he was oblivious just to mess with you.

The food appeared to be some kind of pasta with a thick and viscous grey-blue sauce that had been the source of the questionable fumes on the stove. It looked like something you might dredge up from the bottom of a swamp.

"Oh, hang on," Solomon said. "Let me add the finishing touch."

You watched as he picked up some leafy green - was that darkness thyme? - and dropped it on top of the mound of pasta and sauce.

"Um," you said. "That doesn't look right…"

Because the moment the green leaves hit the sauce, a bubble of magic began to form.

"Well, it's certainly not something you would normally garnish a dish like this with," Solomon said, seemingly unconcerned.

The bubble burst. Magic washed over you. You could feel yourself changing. Your clothes became white and gold with hints of blue, long fabrics and dramatic cutouts. Your body changed, too, a sudden weight sprouting from your shoulders and a gentle light emanating from you. And there was no denying the feeling of a new kind of magic inside you.

When the transformation was complete, you sat in stunned silence for a moment. You looked up at Solomon to see the same look of surprise on his face. His eyes were wide, his mouth open a little in shock.

You looked down at yourself. There was no question that your clothes had turned into an outfit like the ones Simeon and Luke wore - the clothes of an angel. A peek to your right and left confirmed that the extra weight belonged to a pair of white feathered wings.

You gasped. "Am I… an angel?"

Solomon was still staring at you. He closed his mouth as a blush spread across his cheeks. He took a deep breath, as if trying to control himself. "I'm so sorry, MC."

You stood up from your chair and left the room. You had to see yourself in a mirror. Solomon followed you out of the kitchen and down the hall to your room. You stood in front of the full length mirror there, taking in the full effect.

There was no doubt that you looked amazing. Somehow, the outfit was perfectly tailored for you. And the wings spread behind you, emitting their own soft light. A thin halo sat above your head, casting a gentle light around you. You seemed to be glowing, all gold and white and softness with only those subtle hints of a darker blue.

Solomon was behind you, watching you, looking like he couldn't take his eyes off of you. The light blush was still on his face and he seemed uncertain about what he was feeling.

You turned to look at him. "Are you okay?"

Solomon managed to smile at you. "Me? You're the one who was changed. Are you okay?"

You thought about your response. There was something inside you now, something that you thought must be the angelic blessing that made an angel what they were. You didn't know how to use it, but you could feel it.

"I feel different," you said. "Like… there's this warmth inside me. Is this what Simeon lost? Back in our time?"

Solomon sighed and nodded. "Don't try to use it. That could alert the Celestial Realm and I don't think we need their intervention. This happened because I used an ingredient I shouldn't have. It's up to me to return you to normal."

You stepped over to Solomon and took his hands. "This is why you're not allowed in the kitchen," you said with a smile.

Solomon closed his eyes and frowned. "I really didn't think anything like this would happen."

You took a step closer to him and curled your wings around him. You had only had them for a few moments, but they already felt like they were part of you. You moved them instinctively, like you'd had them your whole life. Solomon opened his eyes and looked at you within their soft glow. There was something alight in his eyes as they searched your face.

"There's something about this that bothers you, isn't there?" you asked.

Solomon reached for you, putting his arms around your waist like he couldn't help himself. "There is no doubt that you look absolutely stunning like this, MC," he said softly in your ear. "But I very much want you to be your normal human self again."

"Well, that's up to you now, isn't it, oh witty sorcerer?" you said teasingly, melting easily into his embrace. "You caused this mess, so you'll have to fix it."

Solomon leaned back to cup your face. "I take full responsibility."

As it turned out, the effects of this particular magical accident were temporary. While Solomon was attempting to find a way to change you back, you returned to your normal self on your own after a short time.

Solomon actually stayed out of the kitchen for a little while after that. So long, in fact, that you began to think he had learned his lesson and would finally heed the ban that you had in place. This was only wishful thinking, as it turned out. He couldn't possibly keep himself away forever. But now you knew better than to even go anywhere near it when he was cooking.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me fanfiction #obey me fanfic #obey me solomon #obey me solomon x reader #obey me solomon x mc #solomon x reader #solomon x mc #request #misc writes

[kaisers-house-of-desires]

For the Malleus x Vampire Y/N, I mostly thought it would be fun if the reader was freshly turned, perhaps by Malleus or Lilia, and as a result wished to test the limits of their sexual relationship with their boyfriend/husband

- J

Hmm...I think this is doable~! A bit of a lengthier one but I do hope you enjoy~

Title: Love Bites

Characters: Malleus x Vampire!m!Reader | Lilia Vanrouge

Contains: Vampirism, clothing sex

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

Reblogs > likes

Thirsty...you were thirsty.

Your throat felt severely dry and raw, like you were swallowing nothing but cotton and razor blades. Eyes, once your usual color, were now a bright bloody red, slitted pupils blowing out. Looking up, you saw the one that did this to you.

The frightened Lilia sat just some feet from you, his lips and chin stained with your blood. He looked just as frightened as you, just as confused. Neither of you were sure of what was going on. All you could remember was you offered Lilia your wrist for a quick drink, as he hadn't had anything authentic in awhile, but after that, your mind went blank.

"L...Li..." Speaking was a task all on its own, your voice barely coming out in a squeak. You felt like if you couldn't get something to drink soon, your very body would just give out. You reached over to him, using your body to plead for help.

"D-Don't move!" Lilia frantically stood up, panting lightly as if he wasn't breathing that whole time. "I-I...I know what to do, h-hold on!" You had never seen him so scared or run off so clumsily.

You kept your breathing slow, trying desperately not to swallow again. Though it felt like breathing was making it dryer and rougher. Your vision blurred and darkened at the edges as you waited, the sound in your ears slowly becoming nothing but your own heartbeat, which soon faded as it ceased to beat. That only spiked your worries more.

My heart's not beating...my heart's not beating, my heart's not beating--

"...(Y/n)...?" The new voice jarred you out of your thoughts, and as you looked up, your vision no longer held that dark border and tried to focus itself. The one that stood before you was none other than your partner Malleus, who looked even more confused than you did. "Wh-What...?"

"M...Mal..."

"H-Here!"

Lilia's voice now grabbed your attention, tearing you away from Malleus as he came running back, sliding down beside you as he held a glass thick red juice.

"I-It's some of my tomato juice. I-It may not be the real thing but...d-drink this."

You didn't need to be told twice as you practically ripped the cup from Lilia's hands, gulping down the liquid. You didn't care what it was, in all honesty. All you cared about was getting something wet down your throat.

Whatever conversation Malleus and Lilia were having didn't register to you as you glugged down the drink. Luckily, it was enough to satiate a bit of your thirst, though you wouldn't get to feel the satisfaction of it as you finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

---

It was like you blinked.

Your eyes opened to a new room, one of grey bricks and green fire candles. A scent made you bolt up, and you sniffed the air, as if trying to find what that...delicious scent was.

"Ah, (y/n), you're awake!"

Your head snapped over to Malleus, who was staying beside the bed. He looked relieved to see you, but you...you didn't see him, not in the way a typical person would.

Your colorful vision turned a desaturated color as red, smokey whisps slowly spiraled from Malleus. Him. You were smelling him. That wonderful scent was coming from your boyfriend.

Unable to think your hand shot out at him, only for him to grasp your wrist and pin it to the pillow. You whipped your other hand out, him catching that as well and pinning it. You uncontrollably thrashed your legs, attempting to break free from his hold, but once he swung his own leg and straddled your hips, you were trapped. There was no way of escaping the strength of Malleus.

"(Y/N), you need to listen," he stated firmly, his voice calm but demanding, "but to listen, you need to calm down. Please."

His words slowly registered with you, and you did your best to relax despite your bared fangs.

"Lilia seemed to have transformed you...and we're unsure how it happened. However, along with supplies of tomato juice, I have decided to stay with you while you finish the transformation and offer you my own blood."

"It's...not done...?" You did your best to speak, but thankfully your thirst was more quenched due to the juice Lilia gave you before. It did still hurt to speak a bit, however.

"Apparently not. I believe he said your organs are still changing, and your mind is losing its humanity and temporarily reverting to a more primal state. You are dangerous while you're like this, hence one reason why I offered to watch you."

You understood what he was saying, you really did, but Great Seven, was his scent was so intoxicating.

"C-Can I...just one...just a bite..." You were practically drooling with the desire to taste him, the desire to sink your teeth into his pale skin and stain the area red.

"One bite," he answered with no hesitation, "but if I say that's enough, you stop."

You nodded eagerly, just excited that he allowed you this.

He released your wrists, trusting you not to act out, to which you laid there, patiently waiting, staring. Malleus removed the decorative piece from his neck, exposing the pale skin. You shot up, but he kept you back with one hand. There were no words from him, just a glare that he gave you that actually sent chills down your back. It was like your urges were nearly halted just by his body language alone. He appeared large, dominant, and--if there was one thought that managed to sneak through your clouded mind--attractive.

"You will be patient, understand?"

Great Seven...

You nodded, now resting yourself back on your forearms as he continued to fix up the area, removing his coat to work around shirt collar and moving it further to the side so the spot of his neck. Your fingernails, turned tallons, clawed at the bedding below you, your body aching to strike. Malleus moved his hair to the side, and, after gazing at you, he nodded, allowing permission to drink.

You didn't think. You rose up wiggling yourself from between his legs and grasping him, nails digging into his clothes as you sunk your fangs in. Malleus let out a pained gasp, his own body now shuddering. You both held tightly onto each other: you to keep Malleus close, and Malleus due to the pain he felt.

Though one thing was for certain, you both felt a sense of bliss.

Malleus wasn't sure why, but to have you on him like this, well...he would dare say this felt exhilarating. You would say his blood was divine now that you've gotten a taste of him.

The two of you fell back into the bed, you on top of Malleus with one of your legs precariously placed between the prince's legs. Scrunching up to feel even closer to him caused your leg to press up against his groin, earning you a soft moan and, strangely, a change in the taste of his blood.

Though you wouldn't get to pinpoint it as Malleus practically ripped you off of him, gazing up at you with blown eyes. You looked down at him with equally blown eyes, both of you panting softly from the event. One thing was for certain...

You both needed each other now.

You two fell into a heated kiss despite the blood on your lips. Malleus didn't seem to care as long as he had you on him. You tore at his belt as he grasped at yours, unhooking it and practically tearing the zipper off. He pushed both that and your boxers down, to which you stopped your actions to fully remove your bottoms. You were quick to return to your task, digging around to spring Malleus's cock from its fabric prison.

You didn't want to wait any longer, and frankly, neither did Malleus.

The two of you got in position, you straddling Malleus as he positioned his cock. You lowered the same time he started to move up, and insertion was made. Malleus was quick to begin thrusting while you lightly bounced your hips against him, arching your back as he hit all your deepest spots.

"M-Malleus~!"

Once he hit that special spot, you hunched back over with a gasp, planting a heated kiss on his lips before diving back in on the bite you had left. Luckily for you, Malleus didn't seem too fazed by this.

You finally got to taste that change. He tasted sweet, almost flower-like, though there was some bitterness to it, a fermented fruity bitterness. It was intoxicating, like a wine.

"(Y-Y/N)...~" Malleus breathed, tugging on your hair as his thrusts never ceased. "Th-That's enough."

The tugging of your hair sent shivers down your body, your head following his motion as you moaned by his ear, filling him with a rush of energy. He flipped the two of you over, pinning your wrists as he let all of his desires out. The sound of skin slapping skin mixed with both of your moans. A heat curled in your stomach, your legs trembling as you neared your climax.

"M-Malleus~! G-Gonna...I-I'm gonna--~!"

One final buried thrust was all you needed as he stuffed his cock deep in you, releasing his hot seed as you shot out hot streams between the two of you, dirtying your shirts. Your legs trembled visibly, jerking on occassion as you panted heavily.

Malleus carefully moved some hair from your face, his own body trembling as he let out his own, spent panting. His lips moved, but you couldn't make out any sound. You had expanded too much energy since the transformation, and doing so had caused you to pass out once more. Malleus watched as your eyes closed, chuckling softly as he cleared the blood from your lips with a thumb.

"Don't worry. I've got you, love."

#kaisers house of desires #x reader #x male reader #x male y/n #male reader #x male smut #twisted wonderland #malleus x y/n #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #malleus twst #twisted wonderland malleus #twst malleus

[starlostastronaut]

━ PAS DE DEUX

PAIRING: lee minho x reader

GENRE: fluff (i guess), ballet au

WC: 1.15k

CW: some curse words, ballet lingo?

SUMMARY: when your dance partner gets injured, he recommends you his friend to take his place

this one had been in my drafts for some time haha. it's inspired by titania and oberon pas de deux from a midsummer night's dream. i tried to cut down the ballet terminology as much as possible, but there's still some, so don't hesitate to ask if it's unclear :) btw this story is supposed to be set in sydney, don't ask me why lol. anyway, hope you enjoy <3

masterlist here

You walked into the empty studio, throwing your bag near the wall. After fixing your hair and changing your sneakers for a pair of ballet slippers, you walked over to the barre. You figured you might as well warm up before your partner arrives. You placed your hands lightly on the barre for extra support and began with a simple set of pliés and relevés, thinking about your current situation.

When you heard that a part from A Midsummer Night's Dream was on the list for your dance program's showcase, you immediately signed up for an audition, hoping you would get to dance the pas de deux. The odds were in your favour, because you ended up getting the role of Titania and your Oberon turned out to be a boy from the year above, Chris. You never really talked to him properly outside of class, but the rehearsals have been going fine. He was an easygoing person and you worked together really well, becoming somewhat good friends during the first few rehearsals. Until he came to you earlier this week with his hand in a cast, apologizing that he wouldn't be able to dance with you. He told you he fell from his skateboard and broke his wrist.

So there you were, waiting for your new dance partner. Everything you knew about him was from Chris. This guy was apparently a new transfer student from Korea and Chris was helping him to get used to everything. According to Chris, the new guy was an excellent dancer and he convinced him to dance the pas de deux with you. You were hesitant at first, you never even met him, but it was either that or getting cut from the showcase completely, because everyone else had their own numbers to prepare.

Just as you looked at the clock for the third time, debating with yourself if it is worth waiting here any longer, the door opened. A guy in a grey hoodie walked in, his face covered by the shadow of the hood. "Sorry I'm late," he muttered, dropping his bag on the floor before he joined you at the barre.

"You're Minho, right?" you asked after introducing yourself, because the dancer didn't seem to start talking. To your disappointment, this didn't start a conversation either - Minho just nodded and muttered a simple "Yes". The rest of the warmup was spent in silence.

When the time came to actually practice, you went to your bag to get your bottle of water first, while Minho finally took off his hoodie. You saw only his reflection in the mirror, though it gave you the option to secretly properly check him out. And he was beautiful, you had to admit that. Sharp, cat-like eyes that looked both mysterious and welcoming were what you noticed first. Then it was longer, dark brown hair, kept out of his face by a white bandana. Even in his comfortably loose clothing he wore to practice, he looked like a faerie prince. Oddly perfect for the role of Oberon, your fae husband.

“Do you know the steps or do you need me to walk you through it?” you asked when you were both ready to practice.

“I watched the videos Chris gave me. I'm good with the solo parts and I know the rest too, but I only practiced on my own, so…” He shrugged. You couldn't help but look at him with admiration. It had only been a few days and he claims to have learned it? If that was true, then he must be really talented, you thought to yourself.

“Okay, so let's try the first part? Until my first arabesque.” Minho agreed and got into position while you prepared the music. He was the one starting the number, while you were supposed to join in a bit later.

As you searched through your playlist, for a moment you considered putting on your pointe shoes. Ultimately, you decided against it for now. You already knew most of Titania's steps on pointe and besides, Minho was learning it. It was very likely you would go over tiny details over and over again and you reached the conclusion that it wasn't worth it.

After you found the song, you confirmed with Minho that he was ready and you pressed play. As soon as he began dancing, you were mesmerized. His moves were light and fluid, but there was a certain sharpness in them as well, perfectly embodying the essence of a royal. He had a concentrated look on his face, but still found a way to portray emotion. You could only stare with your mouth hanging open. This boy was good. Amazed by Minho, you almost missed your cue and registered his outstretched hand towards you at the last possible second.

Placing your hand in his, your eyes met and you saw mischievous sparks in them as he pulled you along, guiding your movements just like the choreography instructed. His grip on you was firm but not too tight and you managed to get through the part without any troubles.

When the time for the next steps came, you began to feel a bit nervous. After all, this was the part with penché en pointe and the only thing stopping you from falling onto your face and breaking your nose would be Minho. He had not given you a single reason to think he would let you fall. In fact, you knew it would be okay, but the tiny voice of doubt in your head persisted. It was like that with Chris too, though.

“Come on, we have to practice,” Minho said. Waiting for you to come join him, he fixed his bandana using the wall mirror. In order to do that, he had to untie it, letting his hair fall over his eyes. In a moment he, with a prince-like gracefulness, brushed them away and readjusted the headband on his head. “What, worried I'll drop you?” he asked, smirking. You rolled your eyes at that, but he was right. That was your main concern, apart from his beauty, but you decided there would be time to unpack that later.

Anxiously, you assumed the correct positions as Minho stood behind you, gently helping you balance the arabesque. “I'll never let you fall,” he whispered into your ear as his strong arms circled around your waist, sending butterflies into your stomach. And when he safely guided you into the penché, you believed him. Somehow, you knew you could put all your trust in your new dance partner. He made you feel safe.

All that was left on your mind as he helped you through the move back into an arabesque was a single word. Fuck.

The next rehearsals were going to be hell, you thought, already making a mental note to both thank Chris and curse him for getting you Minho as a dance partner.

©starlostastronaut 2023 | do not repost/translate my work without permission

#lee minho x reader #lee minho #lee know #lee know x reader #stray kids fanfiction #fluff #(i guess idk what genre this is)

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt 3 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Tensions rise in close proximity.

words: 3.9 k

warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. drugging. coersion. shameless forced proximity trope. imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions.

you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you don't know what a brangelina is or why everyone cared about it, move along.

Back to Part 2

Part 3

In her dreams, she was chasing a pig that had stolen her keys to a car that didn’t exist. It was important for her to find the pig, and fast. Today was graduation day, and she had accidentally forgotten to go to class for a whole semester. On top of that, there was a talent show to perform at. Tod would be there and he wasn’t going to go easy on her.

The reality she awoke to was far more bizarre. 

Her eyelids opened as her stress dreams circled the drain, leaving behind a sticky, anxious residue. After a few dry-eyed blinks, taking in the daylight, she registered that she wasn’t at home. 

It was a weird feeling. Like waking up hungover in a hotel room. The first moments of disorientation followed up with pieces of the night before.

She was buried beneath a heavy down comforter, in a bed so comfortable she had to unearth herself from it. She glanced back and forth. She was alone in the king-sized bed, and that brought her relief.

She pushed herself up out of the covers, and immediately regretted it. Her shoulders burned and her body creaked from the nightmare that was yesterday. Her stomach twisted as upsetting images filled her mind. 

As soon as Miles had escorted her back to the main bedroom, he’d told her that she’d be safe, that there was a lock on the door, and that she should get rest. She wasn’t in any state to argue. When the door closed, she found the pile of neatly folded clothes on top of a dresser nearby.

She was in a zombie-like state. Weeping, she peeled the terry robe from her body and hastily pulled on the clothes left behind: a super-soft poly blend T-shirt and thick joggers. There was even a pair of socks, made for feet twice the size of her own. Judging by the size of the items, they were most likely Peter’s. As soon as she put them on, she recognized that they smelled like Peter.

Her mind very well could’ve dwelled on the dichotomy of her reaction to wearing his scent. But the exhaustion she felt was unlike any other. She shuffled her feet to the bed and her body dropped. She was fast asleep within seconds.

Now, both rested and exhausted, she had a chance to worry over all of the things that could have taken place. The door was locked, but obviously Peter would’ve had a key. Was it locked from the inside, or out? The rest of the bed looked undisturbed. It wouldn’t appear that she had any visitors, and she didn’t remember one coming in. But she was so disoriented and exhausted, she felt like she couldn’t trust her own perception.

Peter had promised he “wouldn’t try anything.” Those words swam around her head and her heart and her stomach. She had the urge to throw up.

She stepped into the bathroom and glanced at her own reflection. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy from a night full of crying. Her head ached on the inside and out, particularly around the purpling cut on her forehead that had been stitched together. 

The skin on her wrists looked horrible. Stripes of red welts dotted with scabs lined her forearms. The skin around her lips and mouth was better off, only a little inflammation. Peter had been right about the tape burns, and she should’ve let him help her. A fact that made her angry to admit.

Her stomach rumbled and her mouth was desert-dry. She needed food. Basic needs. Function.

In the daylight, she finally had a chance to look at the T-shirt she’d hastily thrown on in the dark. It was a dark heather gray crewneck featuring a screen-printed art design of a classic point-and-shoot camera. 

Beneath it were the words ‘I SHOOT PEOPLE.’

She went slackjawed at the ridiculousness of the shirt. And of the entire situation.

The moment she stepped onto the staircase leading to the main level, she was engulfed in the delicious aroma of a breakfast feast. Like a cartoon character, she floated down the stairs, following the scent and sound of sizzling meat.

At the bottom, she slowed to a halt, eyes wide at the bizarre image before her.

With a dish towel thrown over his shoulder and wielding a spatula like a sword, Peter stood focused at the gas stove, tending to a rack of thick-cut bacon. Beside him was a steaming, copper-core frying pan of sunny-side-up eggs. He wore a pair of black slacks with a thin white undershirt, both from the day before. His dark brown hair was messy in a somehow put-together way, taking years off of him.

If the bathroom made it to a pin on the Pinterest board of her dreams, she would’ve needed a whole section dedicated to the kitchen. Like the bathroom, the kitchen was likely bigger than half of her apartment. There was a similar aesthetic to the other rooms—a color palate of moody hues of grey, navy, and ebony, highlighted with golden fixtures. Oak cabinets stained in a night grey. A backspace of deep navy ceramic tile organized into a stack bond pattern. These darker elements were illuminated by natural light streaming through the bay windows and skylight.

She would’ve thought she was in a chef’s kitchen by the look and expense of the features and appliances themselves. A twelve-grate gas range, dual convection ovens with isolated temperature control, a dark granite farmhouse apron-front sink touting two faucets with retractable spring hoses. Her eyes drifted, jaw agape, and landing on a sight that blew her mind the most.

Buried within the black oak cabinetry, next to a built-in wine fridge, was a 24-inch, industrial-grade automatic coffee system. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered, catching Peter’s attention. He turned towards the stairs, taking in the sight of her dressed in his clothes. He did a double-take at the shirt she was wearing. His shirt. He rolled his eyes a bit, cursing Felicia’s sense of humor in gifting him that shirt.

But Honey’s eyes were elsewhere. Peter followed her befuddled gaze to his ridiculously expensive coffee machine. One of those Jetsons-level contraptions where you press a button and it makes anything you want. 

She balked at the sight and the brand name, her head spinning. She tried to do the math in her head, then after about 5 seconds, she cursed her inability to do math. 

It was worth thousands of shitty coffees.

“Is that what I think it is?” she blurted. She rushed from the stairs to the wall where the coffee maker was, gawking at it like it was a flying car. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how it works,” she said accusingly. “You don’t know how to use this thing, do you?”

He gazed at her with a suspiciously cool stare. “I know how it works.” He pinned her with dark eyes and the shadow of a half-smirk, before turning back to the stove. “Glad you’re up,” he said, changing the subject. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

She was still contemplating the idea that a man who owned and could operate an espresso machine that cost five grand would still make the journey to her coffee shop every day. 

“Have a seat, I’ll bring it to ya,” he called over his shoulder, turning off the burners.

She pouted at him, brow curled, “What if I’m not sure if I’m hungry?”

He shot an incredulous glance at her. “Yeah, right.”

Her pouting was interrupted by the sound of her stomach growling. Kicking her foot in frustration, she stalked over to a kitchenette table and plopped down in a chair.

“You good with apple juice?” Peter asked, grabbing a jug from the built-in refrigerator. “‘S’all I got.”

“You’re a grown man and you drink apple juice?” she said flatly.

“No. I drink coffee. I keep apple juice around for the tooth fairy and bratty houseguests. You want some or not?” 

She raised an eyebrow at him in challenge. “Sure,” she groaned. Her eyes traveled to the center of the kitchen table. Noticed a tiny vase with a handful of gerbera daisies. They hadn’t been there the night before.

Peter brought two plates over to the table, setting one down in front of her, and one down to the place to her immediate left. She didn’t know if it was a conscious decision that Peter had chosen a spot between her and what she perceived as the front door. He came back with a glass of apple juice, and two mugs of steaming black coffee. She continued to watch him meticulously lay out a spread of condiments on the table, including cream, raw sugar, and clover honey. He even had appropriate little containers for each one.

The smell of the food immediately intoxicated her. Without hesitation, she grabbed the fork off the placemat beside her and got to work. Each morsel of her meal melted in her mouth. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste.

“There’s plenty,” he remarked, trying to conceal a smile at her pleased reaction. 

Childishly, she chewed bites that were almost too big. Her poor table manners would’ve gotten her a swat from her mother 15 years ago, but she shelved that away. She was ravenous. And even if she wasn’t, the food was really good.

She smacked her lips, grabbing a handkerchief to wipe her mouth. “You know,” she mused, her eyes drifting, “some bright pops of color would really liven this place up. Like some yellows. Or peach. Make it feel not so much like a My Chemical Romance album cover or something. Less dark, y’know?

He took a sip of coffee from his stoneware mug. “I like it dark.”

She rolled her eyes. “‘Course you do,” she muttered beneath her breath.

He had difficulty keeping his lips in a straight line. “Is that what you really wanted to talk about?” he teased.

She leveled her gaze at him from across the table, slowing down enough to allow herself time to properly chew her food, and to think. Focus.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He grabbed his fork, leaning over his plate, now focused on his eggs. “Ben Reilly.”

Her face fell flat. “Really? You’re not going to tell me the truth after everything?”

“It’s not a lie,” he remarked defensively. Looked her in the eye. “It’s my name. Legally. That’s the name on the mortgage. Driver’s license. Car titles. Credit cards. There’s a stack of bills on the bar all with that name.” He pointed in the direction of the pile of envelopes on the bar, as if offering proof.

She glared back. “Then who is Peter Parker?”

His gaze dropped to his plate again. Stabbed his eggs and scooped a bite into his mouth, gnawing bitterly. “He’s who I used to be,” he responded, grim. “But he’s gone.”

He left it at that. She waited a few seconds, watching him while he avoided eye contact. She narrowed her eyes, curiously, “What do you do?”

“Broad question.”

“Vague answers,” she said, countering. “Why do you have more than one name? What pays for all of this?” She twirled her finger, circling it to gesture to the luxurious abode.

He nodded, considering her angle fairly. “My business is managing imports and exports,” he parried. “That’s all you need to know.”

“So what, you’re a drug runner or something?”

His shoulders twitched, like he was shaking off an uncomfortable feeling, “It’s best if you don’t know the details—”

“Oh, my god!” she blurted, face twisted in disgust. “You’re not into creepy stuff— Like in Taken?”

His eyes shot up, puzzled. “What—?”

”Oh, my god—are you a pimp?” she exclaimed accusingly, eyes as wide as saucers. “Do you traffic humans?”

“What—No!” he barked back, offended. “Hell no.” His hackles were raised, agitated. He reaffirmed, more definitively. “Absolutely not—Really? That’s where you went? Why would you say somethin’ like that? Where did you even get that—?”

She threw her arms up, with a dramatic shrug, “Well, what am I supposed to think?!” 

“Look, every city has a black market,” he cut her off before she could continue straying off course. “Illegal goods coming in and out. Money changing hands. Some of those goods are more dangerous than others.” He sighed, careful with his words. “I help control what comes in, and I... manage the responsibility of it.” He stared at her, emphatic in his words. “I don’t sell to people who are looking to hurt themselves or someone else. I don’t sell stuff that destroys lives.”

She studied him, a shadow of suspicion in her stare.

“At the very most,” Peter supplied, “I’ll sell the bad stuff to some other clown in Miami, or Chicago, or wherever. As long as it’s off my streets, far away from me and mine.”

“So you’re saying you sell drugs,” she reiterated carefully, with a skeptical glare, “but only to good people? For a noble cause?”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s a dirty business,” Peter defended, annoyed by her oversimplification and judgment. “But it’s all a part of an ecosystem. You take out the wrong animal and another predator thrives. They multiply, they get invasive, and then you have a whole infestation on your hands.”

She blinked at him, crossed her arms. “So... you also do pest control?”

He scoffed, “Somethin’ like that.”

“Okay, so you’re a steward of the community,” her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Why don’t you just get rid of the illegal stuff in the first place? Go after the drug dealers? And the...” She struggled with the term, “I don’t know...Warlords?”

“Little guys,” he replied, with an amused smirk. His eyes were distant, like there was some sort of inside joke she didn’t understand. “Little fish,” he added. His mind sank deep as he stared at his plate. She got the feeling he was elsewhere in his mind. “I used to be a ‘little fish’ kinda guy.”

“And then what?” 

He locked eyes with her, his tone humorless, “I met a shark.”

The ominous nature in which he said it gave her pause. She bit her lower lip, glancing down at her plate, unsure of how much more she could eat.

“Who’s the shark in this analogy?” she questioned, less cold. “That guy from the train...Kads? Kat—?’

“Katzenberg,” he supplied, spitting the word out like a rotten seed. He scoffed with a dark chuckle and a rueful shake of his head, “No. He’s not even close.” Peter ripped apart a piece of bacon with his teeth. 

She stared back at him, confused, “Well... what’s he gonna tell his boss, then? About last night? What happens when his boss finds out he didn’t do what he was ordered to do?” The words were unsettling, and even speaking them made her uncomfortable. But it was nothing in comparison to how she felt when she looked back at him.

She met Peter’s eyes, and they were dark. Black. A terrifying void. Like staring down into a well. Into a tunnel with no light at the end. A dark cave once you hear a sound and realize you’re not alone. 

He fixed that gaze on her, peering out beneath his lashes. Gnawing in silence. Too quiet. The chilling look made her feel faint, the snarkiness and jest of their conversation vanishing instantly. 

She realized then that ‘Katz’ wasn’t going to say anything. Ever.

She averted her eyes.

“When can I get a ride home?” She asked, changing the subject with some urgency.

More silence. “Not yet.” He stabbed his eggs with a fork. 

Seconds passed, her stomach twisting into a knot, her appetite having vanished almost completely. “What—I... I can’t...” Her voice got tiny, “I gotta get ready. I have to go to work.”

He stared at her with that look again.

She closed her mouth. Opened it again. “At least let me call my manager, and tell her—Wait, where’s my phone?”

“Gone,” Peter replied laconically. “You don’t need it.”

He spoke in short, clipped sentences. It was clear that she was treading into forbidden territory. She just couldn’t imagine why.

“But... I need to get in touch with people,” she gently protested. “I need to call my mom. If she calls me, I need to tell her that I’m okay—”

“Believe me,” Peter interrupted, “anyone else you contact at this point is only gonna get in the way. You’ll be putting them in danger.”

She stared at him, her eyes widening. “This is ridiculous,” she breathed, in denial. “I don’t understand why this is happening.”

The sound of his fork clanging on the plate halted her train of thought immediately. She blinked up at him, observing his darkened gaze. She had upset him, and it made her fearful of what he would do next.

He leaned back in the chair, gazing out the bay window. Fog settled over the city, making the recognizable shapes of Midtown Manhattan across the river blurry. He dropped his napkin on his plate, breakfast being discarded with the action, then he gave her a hard look.

“Because sometimes bad things happen to good people,” he replied flatly. He wasn’t unkind in his tone, but cold—like he was telling her a painful truth. He held her in his gaze as he said it, an expression of frustration, disappointment, and regret in his expression plastered on his face. 

He came to an abrupt stand at the table, grabbing his plate. “Eat up,” he said, as if a switch had been flipped and he was talking to one of his men. “There’s a guest bathroom upstairs. When you’re done, get washed up. There’s a bag already up there with a change of clothes, toiletries. Anything else you need, let me know. I’ll have Cat bring it ‘round. We leave here in an hour.”

She blinked up at him, confused. “I can just shower when I get back to my place—”

“We’re not going back to your place.”

“What?” she shook her head. “Wait—where are we going?”

“Shower now,” he said curtly. “One hour.”

Dropping the plate in the sink, he disappeared from her view.

She didn’t have much of an appetite after that.

When she found the guest bathroom upstairs, she halted in the doorway as soon as she spotted the size of the room. Once again, the bathroom was big enough to park several cars in. The shower could fit a Mini Cooper at least. This room lacked the darkness of the other parts of the house, instead colored in soft grays and whites. A double sink vanity was positioned on one side of the room, and on the opposite side was a makeup vanity with cosmetic lighting. 

The other stunning sight was on top of a tufted bench that partially pulled out in front of the makeup sight. Four giant shopping bags waited for her, two labeled Bloomingdale’s, and one each from Neiman Marcus and Sephora.

She couldn’t help the skip in her heart at the sight. Rushing towards the bags, like a kid at Christmas, she peeked inside. Immediately, she withdrew her hands, her stomach twisting with shame at her materialism showing its ugly face.

Curiosity soon got the best of her. The first item she pulled from the bag was a jet black, high-collar lace blouse that cost more than she’d make in a day. Her eyes bulged out of her head as she retrieved a black cashmere sweater that cost more than what she made in a week.

On any other day, receiving these items would excite her, tapping into a materialistic, guilty pleasure. But as she gazed at the expensive items, counting the zeros at the end of the price tags, she felt dizzy.

A heavy feeling settled down in the depth of her belly. She didn’t know the real cost of these gifts. Anxiously, she worried she would soon find out.

As instructed, she went back to the living room, fully showered, dressed, and dusted with a light coating of makeup. It was an expensive brand she’d never tried before, and a complexion tone that was a bit more warm than she would have tried. Or maybe that was just Felicia’s opinion of what her preference would be.

After a few seconds, Peter came gliding down the stairs with two leather Eddie Bauer duffle bags.

She curled a brow at him. “Are you taking a trip or something?”

“Or something,” Peter replied, not sparing her a glance. He busied himself with retrieving two coats from the foyer closet, then shuffled his way to the refrigerator. 

“Oookay,” she shrugged, awkwardly. Unsure of what to do with herself, she let her eyes wander, pressing her thumbnail into the center of her palm. Her gaze drifted across the living room and landed on a glass terrarium against the wall. Curiously, she breezed up to the tank. Her eyes lit up at the sight of a tiny reptile sunning himself on a log beneath a heat lamp.

She gasped, “Oh my god, you have a bearded dragon?!” Her eyes widened like saucers, her voice thinning into baby talk. “Look at his cute lil’ beard! Ooh, such a little handsome dino buddy, eh? What’s your name?”

“Rex,” she heard Peter reply from behind her. Gasping, she spun around and came face-to-face with him. He held a glass of apple juice out to her. 

She blinked, glancing down at the glass, then back at him. “No, thank you,” she replied, puzzled.

“Drink it.” He spoke softly, with but without room for debate.

She stared at him in confusion. “But I’m not thirst—”

“It’s drugged,” he declared, as simply as stating the weather. She met his eyes, alarmed. “Nothin’ heavy. Just something to help you sleep. We’re goin’ far.”

She took a step back, suspiciously frowning at the amber liquid. “I don’t want it.”

When she met his eyes again, that bleak, fiery darkness was staring back at her. He glared, with the slightest tilt of his head. For a brief moment, from a certain angle, it could be mistaken for pity. As quickly as it appeared, it transformed into something more malicious.

“I insist,” he said ominously, eyes narrowing.

It was as if his eyes were an arrow and she had a target on her forehead. She didn’t miss the slight curl of his lips—the shadow of a devious smirk, equally amused and daring her to defy him.

She was pretty sure if anyone else wore that look—in that particular lighting— it could’ve been mistaken for simple arrogance. But this was far more sinister. Possessive. Dominating. His earth-toned eyes threatened to bury her alive.

Every part of her better judgment was screaming at her to run. Fight. Knock the glass from his fingers. But instead, she froze. Like she always did.

She reached forward and took the glass, fingers shaking. He was flaying her with his look, staring intently at her mouth. Her insides burned in the fire of his gaze.

Never breaking eye contact, she downed the glass in several painful gulps. When it was empty, she watched a half-smile stretch across his lips.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

He handed her a leather jacket, while pulling on a coat of his own. She looked at the garment in her grip, then followed suit. She didn’t have to be told. 

She remembered finding it surprising how well the jacket fit. She thought it was strange and unsettling that he would know her exact measurements. 

She remembered nothing else after that.

Continue to Part 4

A/N What'd you think of this chapter? Reblog to be tagged!

Y'all are so amazing and kind and incredible about the feedback for this fic! It's a nice little exciting slice of cheesecake for me and I'm glad you're able to indulge with me!

#Lizzy writes. #Lizzy writes! sugar and vice #peter parker x you #peter parker x oc #peter parker x reader #mob peter parker #mob peter x you #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x you #tasm peter x reader #mafia au #mob au #andrew garfield #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield au #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #andrew garfield spiderman #peter parker andrew garfield #tasm #tasm au #tasm peter imagines #tasm peter smut #slow burn #spiderman x reader #spiderman x oc #spiderman x you

[eitaababe]

EVEN IF IT'S A LIE !

chapter four. games.

a/n — i swear i planned for this to be cute at first-

series masterlist. | previous / next

you wake up to the sun in your face, groaning tiredly. you roll over, tangling yourself deeper into the dark blue sheets when you realize—

you don't own blue sheets.

you scramble, trying to untangle yourself but making it worse, causing a bit of havoc. you look underneath the blanket, sighing in relief and laying back down tiredly when you see you're clothed.

the peace doesn't last for long, though.

as the door opens you recognize the boy behind it, with his ocean eyes and messy curls.

"you took me home?" the questions comes out more like a demand, and ao'nung chuckles at your tone.

"not like that, if that's what you're thinking," he starts, handing you some advil and a glass of water. "for the headache," he adds, quietly.

"i was gonna call an uber for you but you were so adamant on being a broke college girl and how you didn't wanna blow fifty bucks on a mile drive, and then you started going on about how you could sleep on the couch and there was no way in hell i was leaving you with the team—"

"oh my eywa," you groan, all your memories from the night before still foggy. "did i do anything embarrassing?"

"you're an amusing drunk, that's for sure," he laughs, recalling the few memories he remembers. "i let you change into a pair of sweats and my shirt. and then lo'ak called, he picked up tsireya and i let him know i was with you."

"oh, that's good," you nod, downing the glass of water. "remind me to never go drinking with you ever again."

"i'm a good drinking partner! i got you home safe, didn't i?"

"sorry, does this look like my apartment to you?"

"you get the point," he scoffs teasingly, about to head back out of his room. "i made breakfast, bring your lazy bum out whenever you feel like it."

"mkay." you smile at him before he leaves and shuts the door, leaving you to observe his room.

it's plain, for the most part, definitely a minimalistic style and exactly what you expected (not that you were thinking of being in his room). the walls were a comforting color grey, and his sheets felt as soft as ever. there was a simple closet with a desk next to it, and you smile as the peaceful quiet of the room, and how the window is slightly open, noises from outside heard and sunlight pouring in through the cracks of the curtains.

after looking around you grab your phone that was laying atop the table, texting your friends to ensure that you were alright. you walk down the hall, following the smell of food and locating the kitchen, finally realizing ao'nung's appearance.

he's near the stove, cooking tool in hand and flipping over some pancakes. it's not that what grabs your attention, however, because your eyes quickly drop to his toned torso, uncovered and tan. you almost gape at realizing how fit he is, counting one, two, three, four, five six—

"take a picture, it'll last longer."

you turn red, eyes widening apologetically. "i didn't mean- i mean i meant- fuck what i-"

"i'm messing with you," he laughs, the sound booming throughout the room and it's so contagious, you chuckle yourself. "i'm cooking some more pancakes, i put your plate on the table. and i hope you like orange juice, that's the only thing i had in the fridge."

"it's more than enough, thank you, really." you're more than grateful and unsure of how to demonstrate it, with him just meeting you and yet letting you sleep in his own bed, in his own clothes, eating his food, in his kitchen.

"tsireya would kick my ass if she knew i left a girl alone at a party like that. especially in your state and you being her friend." ao'nung picks up on what you're feeling, and you're somewhat surprised at how well he's able to read you.

it almost makes you feel special, that you were the girl he took home last night, when you go quiet and shove a bite of the pancake into your mouth and start to wonder if you aren't the only girl he's done this with.

"what're you thinking about?" his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, slightly muffled behind his hand as he covers his mouth full of food. he leans back in his chair, giving you quite the show, and you blush again at the sight.

"nothing." you shake your head with a soft voice, smiling politely and taking another bite.

"c'mon, it's not nice to lie to someone who gave up their bed for you." he smiles, and you melt just a tad at the pearly whites he flashes.

"just wondering how many girls you do this with, that's all." you finally admit, trying to play it off casually, but the pink that dusts your cheek most likely gives you away.

"don't think i've had a girl in here for breakfast who wasn't tsireya in the past few months except you, sweetheart." the nickname falls so naturally off his tongue, and he falters, realizing you aren't part of some fantasy he can't let go of.

he recovers though, before you can even realize.

you're too flustered to notice the cracks in his armor, or to notice he's putting up any defenses at all. you can't tell what he's playing at, or what he's working towards. part of you wants to suspect that he's playing at some game, maybe, but you're unsure of just what.

what you don't realize, however, is that the game is you.

FUN FACTS !

— y/n used to have a crush on neteyam when they were younger

— kiri's a little skeptical of y/n going home with ao'nung but she hasn't said anything about it

— ao'nung was telling the truth about girls in his apartment, the last time someone was in there was when ivy came in there for the rainy night

[🏷️ ; taglist. / open ] @loaksbitch @8resa @n7ytiri @yukichan67 @dearstell @netemoon @halibanana @aonungmyaddiction @teyums @lightskinloak @ipoopedmypants47 @aonungmybf @wenvierismycomfort @il0veheartz @syulangg @chittakii @jjkclub

#[ — 🌎 ; avatar ] #[ — ⌛️; even if it's a lie ! ] #[ — 🏙️ ; smau ] #ao'nung avatar #ao'nung series #ao'nung x you #ao'nung x reader #ao'nung fluff #ao'nung #ao'nung smau #ao'nung angst #ao'nung x y/n #aonung fluff #aonung x reader #aonung avatar #aonung angst #avatar angst #avatar imagine #avatar #avatar x reader #avatar fluff #avatar series #avatar smau

[theonemeathead]

Spy x Reader, "Lovers Rock"

angsty songfic because i lauve tv girl so much. sorry for the lack of posts btw! tws for throw up, drinking. reader is gender neutral, enjoy! :3

Awkward, is how you would describe the circumstance.

Another victory, celebrated at a local bar full of cheap booze and loud music. And, normally, you would be there too, laughing and dancing the night away with the rest of your rowdy, drunken friends. Yet, you craved the quietness of an isolated night, and what better opportunity than to have the whole base to yourself until the return of the rising sun when the morning, unfortunately, returns?

Are you sick of me?

And just as you were beginning to get settled in for the night, the ringing of a wall-phone echoed through the empty halls. Sighing, you stare, contemplating for a second. Against your better judgement, you answer it, the bustling atmosphere immediately overwhelming your senses as you reluctantly raised the phone to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Yo, it's Scout. Listen, ya need'a get here ASAP. If Spy stays any longer, it's not gonna be pretty, I can guarantee ya that."

Would you like to be?

The clicking of his line ended with a low beep, leaving you with no choice but to give up your chance at a peaceful night to, yet again, babysit a grown man. You hung up, frustrated, quickly throwing on some clothes and grabbing the keys to a spare breadtruck.

Which leads you to your current situation.

It had been a pain in the ass, getting Spy into the vehicle. He repeated that he was fine, that he was 'an adult' and could 'make his own decisions'. Yet, the slurring of his speech, the way his pupils dilated, it was apparent he was one drink away from ruining his suit.

"I promise you, I am... okay?" he sounded unsure, as if he couldn't remember the correct words to piece together. Spy hardly ever got tipsy, let alone where he's at now. It was concerning.

I'm trying to tell you something.

"No, we're going back to base," you insisted, pressing your foot on the brake as you slowed to a stop. You looked over, observing how he had taken his overcoat off and folded it over his leg, his tie messily hanging undone around the collar of his dress shirt, a few of the buttons undone revealing greying chest hair. He looked so handsome in the illuminating redness of the stoplight.

"I don't need you to take care of me, I am able to do it myself." He shifted in the uncomfortable leather of the truck, bracing as the car started moving when the light flickered green.

Something that I already said.

"Spy, you're very clearly far from sober. You couldn't walk in a straight line, let alone stand up on your own—" You started, punctuating your words with a tone of agitation. "—What's the matter? Nobody's ever.... Well, I've never seen you like this."

The air hung heavy. He stayed silent, opting to try and force the conversation to end. You shook your head. One night, alone, and now you were stuck in a car with the most arrogant asshole on the team. You took a deep breathe, speaking up again.

You like a pretty boy.

"I just— I want you to know I worry about you, Spy, okay? I don't care how naïve that sounds, but if you needed me to ever pick you up and take you home again, I would," your voice was small, almost meek. You glanced over, noticing how his steel eyes scanned you for insincerity, as if he was deciphering if you were lying or not. Your eyes briefly locked, causing you to avert your attention back to the road, encased by the darkness of the night.

"Je ne comprends pas—"

"In English, please."

"Ah, forgive me. I am afraid I don't understand you, mon chér." His accent was heavy, almost indecipherable. The roughness of his voice was therapeutic, in a way. There was an almost hoarsness to it, even though he sounded oh so sweet. One of the many things that you couldn't seem to get out of your head.

With a pretty voice.

"I don't understand you either. I wish I did." You and Spy had been close, the closest he had been to someone since his last wife, over two decades ago. Yet, one day, after sharing a glass of wine, he flinched away. Something changed. He shrouded himself in a cloak of mystery, once again. Except, this time, it wasn't alluring or intriguing, it was frustrating and so very painful. He had convinced you that there could be something more, a burning spark of something gentle and fleeting. Yet, he refused. "You really hurt me that one night, Spy. I'm sure you know that, too."

"I've hurt a lot of people, chér. That's what I do."

"But it doesn't have to be that way. We could've—" you stopped yourself, feeling a familiar sting beginning to form in your throat. The last thing you needed was to cry. You stopped talking altogether, opting to turn the radio up instead. Old love songs looped on the radio in an endless, hellish loop that seemed to be designed to torment you and only you.

Who's trying to sell you something.

Veering left, you drove slowly through the blanket of fake landscape, pulling into makeshift garage. You turned the car off, the engine coughing as it finally keeled, the damn thing wasn't worth a crap anyways. You slid out, walking over to the passenger side. Spy had already gotten out and had upchucked in the nearest trashcan. Good thing he had leaned forward. You saddled up beside the older man, wrapping one of his long, skinny arms around your neck and supporting him with a firm hand around his waist.

Something that you already have.

You pushed open the heavy, steel doors, the coldness of the metal searing at the soft and warmth of your flesh. Spy had almost fallen over twice now and you had barely walked 5 feet altogether. You sat him on the couch of the living room, watching as he seemed dazed about his whereabouts.

"Stay here, I'm going to grab you a glass of water," you gently told him. He seemed to get it, nodding his head slowly to answer you. You took a glass from the cupboards. The material felt heavy in your hands, as if no other cup had held as much weight as this one. The reality of the situation hit you. You would pick him up, bring him home, take care of him, make sure he was okay... but would he do the same for you? Would Spy, a trained assassin with over 20 years of experience, be able to get over himself to be tender with you—for you?

But if you're too drunk to drive.

You returned, handing him the glass. You watched as he clumsily brought it to his lips, getting more liquid on himself, rather than drinking it properly. Sighing, you opt to hold his head back, using a steady hand to aid him in drinking. It was almost silly, the sight. He was in his late 40s, struggling to do something as simple as take a sip of water.

And the music is right.

You hooked yourself around him again, this time escorting him to his quarters. You had to venture through his smoking room, a place you had come to resent since that night he pushed you out and away. You felt a painful ache as you watched the lone record player in the corner; The record player you would both listen to Paul Anka and Frank Sinatra on. You had reached the large, mahogany door that led to his sleeping arrangement, along with a personal bathroom that he had paid Miss Pauling under the table to implement.

She might let you stay.

You sat him on the silken linen of his bed, watching as he seemed to embrace the soft fabric of the sheets. You kneeled, taking his shoes off. And slowly but surely, you had gotten him down to just a pair of briefs. He seemed too buzzed to care, or, perhaps, this was an act of trueting you, otherwise you were sure this act would be filled with French protest and various other quips. You had folded his suit and put it away, sitting the dirty clothes on a near-by chair. You, gingerly, took a white wifebeater and a pair of red-striped pants and slid them over his thin body. You traced every scar the Respawn machine never seemed to fully mend, taking the time to admire how he turned and twisted beneath the tenderness of your hand.

But just for the night.

Lastly, you pulled at his mask. He seemed to have sobered up in milliseconds, a hand flying to grab your wrist. He didn't have a furrowed brow or anything scornful, but something that threw you off completely; Fear. He had been sober enough this whole time to realize what you were doing, sober enough to stop you if he wanted to, yet he didn't. You pawed at it, yet again, his grip loosening slightly. Spy lifted his head up, allowing you to pull it off with more ease. You gently tucked the fabric into the bedside table, where he kept a spare revolver just in case; 'The Ambassador', he called it.

And if she grabs for your hand.

You sat on the edge of the bed as he laid behind you. You turned slightly, your body facing him now. Reaching a hand up to place it against the bristles of his clean shaven face, you stroked at the aged skin. His cheek bones, high and defined, sat nicely against his long face. You gently trailed your fingers up to his forehead, subconsciously counting the wrinkles that had formed over the years. Your hands traced down the hook of his nose, sloping down fully until your fingers rested against his chapped lips, which were normally soft. You had both been uncharacteristically silent through this whole ordeal and it was apparent the reason why; You both knew what would happen. That dwindling spark that lasted for even months after was still there. You felt it and you know he did too.

And drags you along.

"Mon cœur—" he broke the silence, gaining your attention. "Every night, I regret it. I miss our talks, our secrets."

Immediately, you felt a wave of nausea and anxiety. He looked up at you, taking your hand from his face and holding it in his own boney one. He rubbed gentle circles across the back of your hand, squeezing your fingers slightly as if he were going to lose you if he let go.

She might want a kiss.

"What did I do wrong?" The way you said it broke his heart. Your voice shook with so much emotion, it could've rattled the Earth to its core. The way your eyes had grown glossy from approaching tears, your lip quivering slightly to hold back a waterfall of sobs.

"Nothing, ma petit chou. I was..." He hesitated. Still under the influence, he marched forward, vulnerable and, for the first time in years, nervous. "I was afraid."

Before the end of this song.

"I loved you, Spy. I love you, still." You blinked, a couple of tears spilling down your warm cheeks. He clicked his tongue, taking his free hand and wiping them away as he sat up to face you. He brought you closer, pulling you forward and resting your head upon his chest. His heart was beating fast and erratic, from nerves or liquor you couldn't tell.

Because love can burn like a cigarette.

"I... I love you too. Please, stay with me tonight." It sounded pathetic coming from him. But, yet, you slid your shoes off and you turned the lamp off. You laid against him, hearts thrumming in rythm as he finally drifted off into what was some of the heaviest sleep he'd ever had. You had gotten past those walls, once again. Thankful was an understatement for how you felt. You knew Spy was complicated, someone who couldn't allow slip-ups or complications, it could cost him as much as his life.

And when he awoke the next morning, groggy with a pounding headache, with you clutching onto him as if he would leave in the middle of the night, Spy knew he had done at least one thing right in his drunken stupor. All he hoped for, now, was your forgiveness.

And leave you alone with nothing,

And leave you alone with nothing.

#tf2 #team fortress two #tf2 x reader #tf2 fandom #spy tf2 #tf2 spy #tf2 spy x reader #spy tf2 x reader #x reader #i love tv girl if u couldn't tell #angst

[white-poppie]

Stay with me

Character: Gojo x Gn! reader Genre: ANGST to comfort Warnings: Self-Starvation*, toxic relations (kinda), wounds, PTSD*, Gojo being an ENTP 😧 WC: 1.3k+ Writer:@white-poppie

A/n: I was already feeling sad and this fic made my eyes water.

~ Synopsis: Gojo is a pathetic man. he never sees anything beyond his inflated ego, not even your cry for help. It takes him quite long, to realize how incredibly wrong he has been all this time.

Cw: This is a very triggering fic, it has heavy topics such as depression, abuse, ptsd, anger issues

The first time Gojo noticed something was wrong, before you actually told him, was a week before.

There are days when you can't find the strength to leave the bed, let alone clean the room. When Gojo came home after exorcising a particularly annoying curse, his agitated mood turned into fury seeing the state of the room.

"' Toru please try to understand, I am trying my hardest," you whimper out at his scrutinizing expression towards your messy room.

"Yeah? I can't see you 'trying', sweetheart," he scoffed, a deep frown on his face.

"I can't get myself to leave the bed, everything seems so grey and exhausting to me, I am sorry," you buried your face in your palms, refusing to meet his cerulean eyes.

He scoffed and a loud clattering was heard, he was stuffing the dirty clothes in the laundry, "I don't know sweets," he grumbled, 'seems to me yer' just being lazy."

"You can't say that, 'Toru," you forced yourself up and looked at him with a miserable face.

His frown only washed for a second when he saw you forcing yourself to pick up the junk in the room.

He is not sure what's wrong, but he seems to have sprinkled salt on the wound.

After all, Gojo is oblivious. He seems insincere, loud-mouthed and nonchalant. He seems as if he only cares about himself, but you know that more than anyone that it is completely untrue.

Gojo is a caring man, but his ego blinds him.

He sees only the larger picture. Ignoring the details, the sufferings and the emotions. Gojo has a habit of arriving at the end moment, sweeping everyone off their feet and saving the day. Why the hassle?

He doesn't worry, he doesn't have to. After all he is the strongest. His saviour complex acts at the rightest times and boy does he love the praise. He only knows how to save people from physical danger and is completely oblivious to emotional and mental pain.

Sometimes it seems as if he chooses it to be this way. He prefers to ignore the 'weak people' who can't even control their own turmoil.

And right now even the biggest canvas screams that something is terribly wrong.

Gojo thinks it might just be a momentary blue, giving you a little space before realizing how further away from reality you had started drifting.

You toy with the food on your plate, and the dark circles sink deep into your skin, like a pathogen invading your marrow.

Satoru frowns as he taps on the table, drawing you away from the haze.

"What is going on with you these days," he booms, his voice hitting that one nerve in your brain that webbed its way to your ears, pounding and static-- the sheer feel of the blood that follows through the peripheral makes you dizzy.

" 'M not hungry," you say while sucking a deep breath, eyeing the expensive liquor in front of you. Satoru's jaw clenches as he runs a hand through his jelled hair.

"You could've said so already instead of making me book the most expensive restaurant in the city," he says deeply with a growl, making this uncomfortable coldness run down your spine. The back of your eyes burns as you realise they are getting glossier.

"So moody," he grumbles under his breath.

"Sorry," you squeak out and he scoffs, biting back the vitriol about to drip from the tip of his tongue.

Satoru sighs and calls the waiter, fetching money from the wallet in his inner coat pocket and keeping a good amount of cash on the table alongside the tip.

Your heart seems to have ceased beating, plummeting to your stomach you felt as if you were going to get physically sick.

Gojo walks out of the restaurant and opened the car door harshly.

"Sit," he orders and you complied, if the void in your heart didn't kill you, Gojo's anger would definitely.

You put on the seatbelt as soon as you do that, Gojo speeds through the road with his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white.

"Toru' stop!" you cry out, gripping the dashboard for your dear life.

This calms him down, and he slows down until he stops the car in your house's parking lot. Removing the seatbelt from himself and you, he takes a deep breath and turns his head to your side.

"'Sorry for getting angry like that sweets," he reaches out his hand towards you, nimble fingers running down the crevice of your cheek like sin.

"'ssokay," you whimper, leaning towards the warmth of his hand.

A smile breaks on his face as he removes his glasses and keeps them on the dash.

"What's going on with you these days, Y/N?"

You bite your lips and looks down at the leather seat, “I’m sorry. We were supposed to have fun today.”

Gojo stays silent, his eyes scanning your features, urging you to continue.

“This is stupid--I’m stupid.” you cry out, the tears you had been holding for so long finally escaping.

Gojo pulls you in his embrace, hand running on the small of your back, shushing your hiccuping sobs, "you are not stupid, sweets." He says so but he is frozen cold, he can never get used to people crying, let alone you.

Satoru didn't know what to do when he pulled away and sees that self-destructive hurricane swirling in your eyes.

"You know Satoru, my childhood hasn't been the best one," you sniff out, "my guardian was emotionally abusive and that affected me a lot growing up."

Satoru's breath hitches when he hears the rumble of emotions that floods you.

"The things they said..." you choke and he rubs circles on your palm, "they keep coming back like a Tsunami. I feel so pathetic and worthless 'Toru, I don't know what to do anymore."

Satoru gulps and closes his eyes for a moment. He feels like the scummiest human to have existed on the planet, even more than your abuser.

You were right there, waiting for your silent cries to be heard, to have someone pull you out from the web of darkness that even the strongest sorcerer couldn't have overcome if he were you. He was a shitty husband to you.

"And as I grow older, I realize they weren't exactly wrong," you bite your lips till you feel a tangy and metallic nectar in your mouth.

"They weren't wrong when they said I am 'lazy', 'useless' , 'high-maintanance'," you aggressively wipe your tears.

Gojo feels his heart drop as if the circulatory system in his body had shut down.

"That's not true!" he proclaims, wrapping you in a breath-stealing hug, " 'm so sorry baby, I am the most stupid person, acted blind when my sweets needed me."

He kissed your knuckles gently, "y'know even though I have acted like an ass until now, only caring about myself, I hate it when you cry or feel sad."

After all, Gojo is oblivious. He seems insincere, loud-mouthed and nonchalant. He seems as if he only cares about himself, but you know that more than anyone that it is completely untrue.

Gojo is a caring man, but his ego blinds him.

It takes you hanging onto the darkest ebb for him to realize that people aren't weak. they cry when they have been strong for too long.

"I'll be there for you now Y/N," he whispers, kissing your temple. His lips brushing past your skin, ignite a warmth, deep within your heart.

"Let it out love, I know I can't change what those nasty people said to you, but right now I know you need a catharsis," he says, "Scream, scream as loud as you want, scream at the stars, scream at the clouds, just scream until you feel better,"

Your sobs turn into soft hiccups as you look at him with pearl-filled eyes.

"And once you are done, I'll be here to tell you how incredibly wrong those people were and how you are so much more than your bad memories."

♠︎ 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜 

⤷‧₊˚ Jujutsu Kaisen (呪術廻戦)

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