#and it takes us through her killing people she loves

[meichenxi]

languages, travel, identity, grief

Maybe some of you have heard of Xu Zhimo's Second Farewell to Cambridge (徐志摩 再別康橋 Translation: Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again, by Xu Zhimo | East Asia Student). It's an achingly lovely poem about a Chinese scholar who studied in the UK, and how he left so gently, taking nothing with him as he went. It brought me solace over the last year.

I thought for a very long time about how I felt about having to leave China, and what it felt like to mourn for a future that was never going to mine. I cried. How am I supposed to explain why? I'm not Chinese. I've got no family there, or a childhood to look back on. I couldn't explain it even to myself.

That pain was coupled with a type of uncertainty, a discomfort at myself for feeling so strongly. This feeling was not allowed. It meant - what? Something awful, probably. I was a racist, probably. I should hate myself, probably. Fetishization is the word that gets thrown around for white people and their time spent in East Asia at one end of the spectrum - at the other end it's just seen as embarrassing and deeply, you know, cringe. It's a self-interrogation - why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel this pull so strongly anyway, to a country that's not even mine? Why should it matter so much when I leave? I didn't feel like this grief has any sort of legitimacy. But it has taken from September - eight months after leaving - for me to pick up Chinese again.

I felt, for months, hollow and unsettled and drifting from place to place. I opened my textbook, and closed it again. The memories there were too painful. I'm not going to write about why I had to leave, but it wasn't by choice. I had loved the people in the school, even if it was for a short time. When you have no internet and are training eight hours a day, the days are coloured more sharply: bright and hurtful and wonderful all at once. We had no running water. It was in an abandoned hotel. I miss the monk at the temple door opposite the school, always on time at 6am to open it for our classes. I miss the folk at the local shop who invited me to watch films on their projector; once they killed a chicken for us. I miss the woman in the woods who gave me the chestnuts she had picked. I gave the chestnuts to the cook, and we steamed them and ate them by the lake. He wanted me to marry his son; he wanted it so strongly that he brought me pork, and desserts, and gave me paper, and promised me I could have a jade bracelet, that he would buy me a house. I miss the oldest martial arts teacher, who spoke in such strong dialect I could barely understand him. When I was sad and missing home one night, he told me that I should stay after dinner. In the silence and against the cicadas, he started to play the erhu for me. Later, my friend told me that he hadn't know what to say, how to comfort me; I was a foreigner and a young woman, after all. We had very little in common. But nobody has ever played a piece of music for me like that before.

And I miss X, my best friend there and partner in snack-smuggling crime. She is 19 years old, and a janitor's daughter, and one of the wisest people I have ever met. (She also rides an excellent motorbike, and lent me her hanfu, and we sped through the city giddy with our own daring and trying not to be caught.) We got matching haircuts; she had always wanted to cut her hair like a boy, and was too scared to do it alone. When I left, I told her to stay in touch: she shook her head. She said that some people were meant to know each other for some time, and no more. I think the death of friendship by attrition, by - as Elrond said! - the slow decay of time, is one of the saddest things of all. I deleted Wechat. I don't want to read over the old messages. By having this place - her, and the chestnuts, and the cicadas - as a memory, I can tuck it away it. I can keep it close.

I wrote a poem myself on the plane. That was the last I thought about China, the last thought I let myself have, in eight months. I kept myself away from it. It felt like a wound. And against that hollowness, there was constantly the question: Why should I have any right to miss this place? Who I am there? Why does it matter? We are all different people, wherever we go, and whoever we are with; we wear different skins, large or small. In China I was [...]. She was who I was. That name, that I introduced myself to people with - she was bright and friendly and tried to translate things just so. Everybody who goes as the only foreigner to a place - or the only foreigner that speaks the language - is a little bit self-obsessed. It happens. It's unfortunate, and something to guard against. But it also gives you its own kind of identity in a way: your identity is Foreigner. Your identity is a cultural bridge. Everyone you meet, in a country as friendly and curious as China, has questions about you. You stand with your feet in both worlds, and are not really part of either of them. That identity is easy to slip into, like cool water, like trying on new clothes. It's easier that thinking: who am I outside of that? Where am I going? I don't really know. I don't think anyone really does.

And then the second thing happens. I speak Chinese well, by this point. My accent is there, but it's slight. I am short, and have dark hair, and a generally similar build to many East Asians - so the questions I have got in the last few years have changed. Sometimes people think I have been raised here. Sometimes they think I am ethnically Russian, and nationally Chinese. Sometimes I get asked if I am half Chinese. Usually they know I am a Foreigner, 100% white - but not always. There is a peculiar rush that comes from that acceptance; from feeling the relief, just for fifteen minutes, that you belong. It's not about 'passing', or race-bending, or anything twisted - it's nothing so unnerving as that. It's just the human need to belong. Everyone gets tired of being stared at, after a while. And after a while, you start to think - I wish I understood. I wish they understood. I wish this were easy.

But then the conversation keeps going. You don't know a local word, or you misunderstand. You say something in a strange way, or you make a strange gesture, and the glass shatters, and - there you are again, naked again, exhausted again, explaining yourself again. That's the other half of it. There's solace in the Foreigner identity, because that means that's all you are. You don't have to think about your parents, or whether they worry about you so far from home; of course they do. The Foreigner is good and filial and a wonderful daughter. You can craft her into any shape you like. But it also marks you out again and again, endlessly and again, as Other.

There was a paper published a while ago that showed measures of acceptance of non-natives in native-speaking communities. It highlights a strange, but familiar experience to those who have lived abroad - the people who spoke the language to a medium level felt more accepted and less lonely than those that spoke the language to a high degree. It makes sense, and mirrors what I have found with both Chinese and German. When you speak a little Chinese, you are a wonder - a curiousity! Look at the Western girl go! People are kind, and curious, and will slow down to include you in conversations. You are thrilled with what you can access - all this knowledge, that other people don't have! Look how special you are!

And then you get better. And then you realise, cut by cut, that you will never be one of them. You don't want to be Chinese, per se; but you do want to be accepted. You are happy to be British; but you miss China like a wound, an old one, festering, even when it was never yours. How do you tell your family that you are not grieving a lost romance, a beautiful girl, but a language and a life? That there are words of majesty, of playfulness, that will never be yours? You speak well enough that people no longer bother to dumb things down, or explain them; you sit with your discomfort, smile painted on, because - you know. It's not bad. You understand most of it. And on the edge of that circle, smiling uncertainly, following the vast majority of what is being said, you are not clever enough and not witty enough to keep up with the chengyu, the cultural references, the slang, and the raucous laughter around you erupts, and you don't know what you've missed, and everybody says - she's quiet, that one. Maybe all the foreigners are? And all you are doing is sitting and feeling the distance between You and Them as heavy and as stifled in your chest as an ocean of dark.

So you go back. Back to your people. But when you sit with the other foreigners, you are apart. They laugh; what are these nutters doing? The Chinese don't make any sense. The Chinese do this - they do that. You sit there, and then there is a pressure building in your chest too, a discomfort, the desire to stand up and say - well, actually.

You are responsible for everything the Chinese teachers do, and have to explain things in a way that the students understand - Confucian thought, and Buddhist philosophy, translated in pithy bite-size adages for the West. You have no qualifications for this; everything you assert, you feel unsure. Uncertain. Someone else could explain it better, more nuanced, and you need to do more reading anyway - but here you are, and here they are, and you're the only one. And you do know. Not enough, but enough that their jokes, their pains, make you uncomfortable. You feel the need to defend both parties; to be a diplomat, every second of every day. In turn, when the students come to the teachers with problems, you have to translate their grievances in a way that the Chinese teachers will be sympathetic towards. Once I got asked: why do you never join us after class? Why are you always so quiet when you're not working? As a translator, you are always working. Every time you speak, you are working; what you choose to say, and what you choose to not say, and where you choose to intervene. You are building relationships, and disappearing, and you are becoming invisible, and you're a nothing, and you're everyone and you're nobody and nobody realises you are doing anything more than translating at all.

I wanted to stay. I couldn't have stayed. I wanted to be accepted as one of them. I wanted to be accepted for who I was. That means a foreigner. I wanted to be true to myself, which means that I would always be the Foreigner, which means I would always be apart from them. It is that contrast and juxtaposition which causes the grief. And there was never an ending to it, a resolution, a chance to reconcile myself (in China) with myself (in the UK), because all at once I had to leave. The grief comes most from the second arrow - not the pain of leaving, but the bewilderment of not knowing why I was in pain at all.

It's been eight months. Slowly, as spring comes, I feel like I am on surer ground. I can look at my old books, those painstaking notes, and I could look at new ones too and I'm starting to think, because this is what I tell my students, and maybe there's some truth in it - it's okay if you're not perfect. It's okay if you didn't achieve what you wanted to, and that the language - in its wholeness, and who can ever know that? - will never, not quite, be yours. It's the struggle and the process that means that I will know and understand Chinese in a different way, in my own way, in a slanted-to-reality sort of way, that is a treasure in and of itself. There is beauty in its brokenness too.

And there is sorrow, too. The sorrow that comes with easing yourself into a different life, and it holding you gently for a while. I sat there - I spoke to them. It's not only missing a place; it's missing a person you were, a stage of your life, for a time. It's knowing that a place has reached inside your ribs and taken root there - even if you don't return, you can never fully get rid of that again. You are two people now, with feet straddling two oceans. There are parts of you that loved and suffered and hated and grew in Chinese, not English. You can't explain that. You can't even begin. Sometimes - not often - you are a stranger in your own land. The poets spoke of that. In the age of fast travel, of the weekend break, we have forgotten the ways a place can burrow itself inside you, and find its own home.

It's not the same as the grief that someone Chinese will face. But it's still grief. I have put my life into Chinese. Maybe that is all it takes to grow love.

Now, I turn back to Chinese - as a foreigner, as Melissa, as myself. It's a bittersweet thing. I know that I cannot hold all of it. It will spill out, like the sun, and there is no way I can be that without losing myself and my history and my own green woods. But I think I am ready now. I am surer, and a little steadier on my feet.

[gnomebinary]

This is my protocol bingo! (Thank you as always osric.com).

Lena is just doing her evil job - No thoughts, no morals, no alligence. Girlboss.

Nobody ever finds out Jmart's real names - I just think that would be tragic, and fit in with what RQ have been saying about this not being too attached to Archives.

Redemption arc - There was a notable lack of these in Archives even though forgiveness and making a conscious effort to behave morally were important themes in the later seasons. I'm ready for Mr Bonzo to have Kylo Ren's exact redemption arc where he's redeemed mostly through kissing. I don't even care who he kisses.

Froyo trip - It's pretty clear that we're being told that this is Somewhere Else through things like the Archives staff having tea and the OIAR staff having coffee. The s1 Archives gang iconically got icecream, so I'm gunning for a froyo trip, and a Gwen monologue about preservatives.

Colin dies first - He's just so killable. Plus, Celia can't die until they do her reveal and they'll probably want to build up to it, Sam can't die because he's the driving force behind investigation into Magnus, Alice can't die because she kinda makes the whole show, Gwen can't die because she's mid-arc and it is of the type that if left unfinished it would be anticlimactic not tragic, and Lena can't die because the impact would be pretty low.

Nostalgic PC games - I LOVE that RQ appears to be into old tech. I want to see Chester and Norris play Catz 5. Lowfi retro charm.

Dyhard - I go back and forth on this one, it feels too obvious what with the hot drinks imagery workplace annoyances to lovers stuff, but at the same time it does Just Make Sense.

Somebody becomes disabled - In Archives people were injured a lot, but none of that amounted to a long-term physical disability, except for Melanie's blindness. Feels like something to do in Protocol.

Police brutality - Feels like a theme that Jonny still has more to say about, and an incredibly easy one to weave into this kind of story.

Alice is hiding something - I actually think she isn't but y'all are saying it.

Alice naming stuff has consequences - She does it so much and Colin warned her off it, clearly seeming concerned but not explaining why, I think it will have unforeseen and damaging consequences.

Someone has a pet - In Archives, especially in the earlier seasons, everyone was notably unattached. Martin has a mum to take care of, but nobody has partners or children. I think this was partly because it made them easier to manipulate, and partly because it meant that tragedy could be dialled up: Sasha dying was sad, but not as gutwrenching as Daisy dying because Daisy's relationships were more fleshed out because it was later in the series. We're already bucking that trend with Celia's son, so I think we might see a pet too. Also, the pet will probably die.

Alice dies in the last season - Alice is very killable but she's also the heart and soul of the character relationships, so I think they will kill her but they'll wait to do it, and then do it mid-final season as an OOH THEY WENT THERE turning point, like how Tim dying brought in a new, darker era for Archives.

Conclusion that love isn't what makes you human - At London Comicon in October, Alex or Jonny (I forget) said that if Archives was about what makes you a monster, Protocol is about what makes you human. I think it's kinda trite if love is the answer, and I think the conclusion re love will be that monsters can love, because that's cooler. Hell yeah romantic monsterfucking.

Celia evil - I LOVE that we're seeing another Welsh person, but she doesn't sit well with me.

Agnes returns but we don't hear her speak - The tree on the other side of the rift is still alive, and if that universe was this one then that means that Agnes may still be alive. Jonny and Alex have said that they regret not doing more with Agnes, and I don't think they'll miss out on the opportunity to use her again. However, I think the fact that she doesn't speak is central to her tragic character and role as Jon's character foil, and I don't think they'll change that. I actually posted a tiktok about this.

Scene on London public transport - We're already seeing our gang at the pub and on dates, I think we're going to get some tube content.

Jmart fate worse than death - They're going to have us WISHING that they died in mag200.

Fears never treated as separate - I just think we're over that.

Breakup - They're getting the character relationships in early, so I'm predicting an onscreen breakup, because that's one of the few ways that we didn't see relationships between characters going bad in Archives.

Gerry's life gets ruined again - I'm sorry guys but I don't think they're going to let him have peace. He's going to get dragged into the OIAR situation and he's going to suffer.

Alice's brother lives - People are already noting similarities between Alice and Tim, I think that it'll be essentially the same character beat again if her brother dies. Adapt, improvise, overcome, RQ.

Another Michael - Just another character called Michael, unrelated to the four existing Michaels. I wasn't going to put this because Jonny is very aware of the four Michael problem, but this man plagurised his own full legal Christian name, so anything is possible.

Jack is Agnes' Jack - I think it's cool if we all think about how there was actually a massive age gap between Agnes and Jack because she didn't seem to age past her twenties, so he was absolutely a child when she was an adult. Not that I want to have Discourse or anything, that relationship was hecked up and complex in plenty of other ways, just because it's interesting.

Onscreen kiss - They said they wouldn't do it during Archives and then they did and it wasn't that gross, so I'm ready to see it happening again. They might have a relationship between allosexuals this time, I don't think they're going as far as onscreen fucking, but I'm game to be surprised. Insert joke about reusing the whimpering noises from Archives here.

[azuresage]

It gets talked about a lot but I still can't stop nerding out about Link's characterization in TotK. It's done through his many creative dialogue choices and his expressions of course, but it's also done so subtly through what he *doesn't* say. Notably, he doesn't talk about himself. And this is why nobody recognizes him unless they've already met him. Because he doesn't tell them when they've got the wrong impression of him.

The meme about Link having Tony Hawk syndrome is so real. People will look at him and straight up say, "Wow, you look exactly like Link!" without a hint of irony. Lookout Landing has a detailed picture of his face in their watchtower and the search party still doesn't recognize him. Penn works with Link for a long time and thinks he's unlucky that the Yiga keep "mistaking" him for the Hero (granted, Traysi asked him to deliberately keep quiet, but Penn still didn't put two and two together himself). I think the reason for this, aside from it being really, really funny, is that Link just doesn't talk about himself. He doesn't feel the need to.

Characterization isn't just about what we see a character doing, it's also about how other characters respond to them. Link is so unassuming and humble that he doesn't match people's expectations of what "Link" should be like. The three Gerudo ladies hanging out around Outskirt Stable are one of many perfect examples. Link stands in front of them carrying the Master Sword, but they expect the Hero to be taller than they are, with a giant glowing sword, so they don’t believe it's him. Obviously that's not the reality, but they don't know that. Link doesn't correct them, either. Again, he doesn't feel the need to.

This is also why many NPCs from BotW don't recognize or remember Link. To them, he was just a passerby that did them a good turn once 6+ years ago. Nobody's going to remember a person like that for so long after. They had no way of knowing he was the Hero, unless it came up for story quest reasons. When they hear stories about the Princess's Appointed Knight who woke up from his 100 year nap, defeated the Calamity, and rescued Zelda, they imagine someone larger than life. Then when they see what Link actually is like, they can't put two and two together.

This is true even during the Hyrule Restoration efforts. Link always follows behind Zelda as her shadow, which she notes in her diary, but the people in the stable investigation quests and in Hateno don't recognize him either, even though he went everywhere she did. Link is just that unassuming. He resigns himself to being a shadow, allowing Zelda to take the lead and do as she pleases but always staying nearby to support and protect her. He doesn't need to be recognizable to do his job. And we know from both BotW and now TotK that he's wholly devoted to her. He's content with this. Many people more eloquent than I have spent many paragraphs elaborating on this. I just wanted to focus on what it says about his character.

Link is humble and unassuming, so much so that nobody believes that he's the Hero unless they already know him. He's devoted to Zelda, so much so that he's willing to do anything to chase even a glimpse of her. He doesn't talk about himself or correct people who have the wrong impression of him. He doesn't need to do that to chase his Zelda. He is a person of great humility in spite of his station. I think that's so interesting and neat how the comedy of him being unrecognizable also tells us all this about him. It's also cool how this is only one aspect of him; all the dialogue choices and expressions he makes during cutscenes and actions out in the world show a whole other, lighter side to him that meshes with this. It's all so good. I am in love with it. It always kills me inside when people dismiss his characterization as being nonexistant or flat just because it's not spoonfed to them or when they say Link being unrecognizable is lazy writing instead of a deliberate choice. I am biting and gnawing and gnashing over him and his relationship to Zelda. I love them so much.

[heliads]

Can you do Peter Pan x reader OUAT? Peter goes to the modern world with Emma, Snow, David and them as they are looking for someone. He meets this girl and takes an interest to her. He’s never seen someone with facial piercings, and dyed hair before, they come to realize she is the girl they’ve been looking for.

'magic finds magic' - peter pan

masterlist

Peter Pan is leaving Neverland. Worse, he’s leaving Neverland alongside Snow, Emma, David, and Hook. In terms of traveling partners, this has got to be the lowest of the low. However, the sand in Peter’s immortal hourglass is running out, and his first attempt at prolonging his life with the heart of Henry Mills didn’t exactly go according to plan. It’s this or nothing, even though Peter is starting to wonder if it would be better to just die than put up with these people any longer.

Never in his life did Peter Pan think he’d be working with the good guys. But never in his life did Peter think he’d be dying, either. A few compromises will have to be made in the name of preserving Peter’s everlasting life, and if that means he has to put up with some princesses and pirates for a few days, so be it. In no time at all, his immortal life will be restored, and he can go back to Neverland and put all of this behind him. Hopefully.

Peter was supposed to die back on Neverland. He was running out of time, anyway. He had set up the perfect scheme:  kidnap Henry, disorient the boy’s rescuers on his island long enough to win the Heart of the Truest Believer, and cut the organ out of the boy’s chest if necessary. He’d almost gotten away with it, too, except he was foiled at the last minute. Heartbreaking. So unlike him.

For some reason, though, he hadn’t been left to die in the caverns of Skull Rock. Emma and the others had needed him, for some odd reason, and although none of them trust him in the slightest, they do trust Peter’s single-minded selfishness to keep himself alive. So they claim, at least, and so they had gotten a spell to give Peter one more week of life in exchange for help. If this plan works out, Peter will have a way to continue his immortal life without needing to murder Henry. If it doesn’t, or if he betrays them, he’ll die anyway.

He can feel it now, the pang of his close call with death. There’s a pain in his chest that wasn’t there before, a certain weakness in his lungs. Peter gets tired more easily. He feels– well, he feels like Henry and Emma. He feels mortal. Like he could die at any moment.

Peter has, obviously, thought about double-crossing them, maybe even triple-crossing them, but it’s no use. He feels shakily mortal right now, and Peter does not much enjoy the possibility of his own demise. This is the closest he’s ever come to being beaten, and Peter hates the feeling. He’ll have to play along for now, but after that, he will have his revenge.

First, though, Peter has to do what the others want. They’ve been careful to reveal as few details to him as possible, but the idea is solid. There’s a magical person somewhere in the modern world, in a city far from Storybrooke. This person is like the embodiment of a true love’s kiss spell, designed to renew hope in storybook characters through small acts of power that ultimately drive two needed people together. They’re like a guardian angel of those on the brink of destruction, which is exactly what Peter needs right now.

Peter has plenty of time to mull this over. They’ve forced him into a terrible, small room with awful carpets– an apartment, Emma called it– while they talk out what to do with both him and their missing spell-person. Peter is trying to focus, but he’s getting stared at by Henry Mills again, which is absolutely ruining his mood.

“What do you want?” Peter asks, glaring at the boy.

Henry just goggles back at him. “Don’t you feel bad for trying to kill me?”

Peter snorts. “Why would I do that?”

Henry shrugs. “You pretended you were my friend. I know you like the other Lost Boys on your island, I thought you would have felt bad for killing one of them. I guess not.”

“I don’t feel bad about killing someone so I would live,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s arguing with a child. “Go preach your morals to someone who wants to listen.”

“The others are busy,” Henry pouts.

Peter eyes him unhappily. “And what, I’m your best option for polite conversation? You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I’d say you’re desperate. You’re the one who’s still talking to me.”

Peter can’t really argue with that, so he deftly changes the topic of conversation before Henry starts looking proud of himself again. “Tell me about our target again. You said you saw them before?”

“Only in a dream,” Henry admits, “but it was a clear dream, I swear. I saw a girl who looked about your age. She seemed like any other teenager, but there was something about her that was different. The way she spoke, maybe, or the glint in her eyes. She was magical, I’m sure of it. She can save Storybrooke.”

“And save me,” Peter reminds him. “That’s the important part.”

Henry rolls his eyes again. If he keeps that up, they’re going to get stuck like that forever. “Yes, I know, you’re only interested in keeping yourself alive. So long as it helps us find this girl, though, I don’t care.”

Peter leans forward. “What’s your plan for finding this girl, then? A little scouting party? This city is big. You’ll never find her.”

Henry shakes his head. “Magic has a way of finding magic. Somehow, our paths will cross.”

“That’s a terrible strategy,” Peter grouses. Why is he entrusting his life to this boy again? He remembers something about having no other options, but it doesn’t seem as good an excuse right now.

“Ask the adults, then,” Henry tells him, and gestures towards the miniscule apartment kitchen, where Emma, Snow, Hook, and David are currently huddled around a table, talking in hushed voices about what to do.

Not wanting to mess with the kid anymore, Peter pulls himself to his feet and heads over. “Tell me you have a plan,” he says.

The adults look up at him. “Find the girl,” Hook says shortly. “That’s our plan.”

Peter scoffs. “You could search this city for months and not find her. What if she doesn’t want to be found? If this girl has any brains at all, she’ll know that people will want her magic and she’ll hide. It’s what I would do.”

Emma sighs. “We don’t even know if this girl knows that she has magic. She’s probably just living an ordinary life, and we’re about to drag her out of it with all of our trouble.”

“Don’t tell me you feel bad for her,” Peter scolds her. “You want this, don’t you? So go get it, or I will.”

Snow tries to tell him to calm down, but David, so quick to anger when it comes to Peter, surges out of his chair. “How about you do something helpful and think with us instead of just insulting us?”

“I will do something helpful,” Peter informs him. “I’ll find her first.”

With that, he lunges for the apartment door, and is out of the tiny room and down the hall before they can stop him. Peter hears the thunder of footsteps after him, but he hurries down the stairs and out of the building. He has the advantage of being quick on his feet; if Neverland taught him anything, it’s how to run when you don’t want to be found.

Peter emerges into the bright sunshine of the city and stops dead in his tracks. He’s not used to the modern world, how the knives of its buildings slash up into the sky, how loud it is with those cars and signs and people. Peter swears he can even see metal things in the sky, soaring along predestined paths. It’s all so much compared to the world he used to know. No wonder some of the others had a hard time adjusting. His mortal heart lets out a pang of sympathy.

The door of the apartment building flies open, revealing Emma and the others hot on his trail. Peter curses under his breath and takes off in one direction, hurtling around pedestrians and shooting down the sidewalk. He heads for smaller streets, hoping to lose them in a swarm of alleyways. The others, more used to the terrain of the modern city, are gaining on him, and Peter is just starting to think that he’ll never be able to shake them when someone grabs him and pulls him into a nearby building.

Peter’s first instinct is to defend himself, but when he isn’t attacked, he realizes that the stranger is only trying to help him. There’s a window just to his left, and Peter watches Emma and the others appear seconds after him. They didn’t see him enter the shop, and keep sprinting down the road in the direction they thought he’d gone. Peter waits a few more intense moments, then decides that he’s lost them for good and turns back around to see who’s gone to the trouble of rescuing him.

He’s greeted with the sight of a girl about his age. She’s eyeing him cautiously, although the corners of her lips begin to prick up with a wicked grin. “Sorry for the rough introduction, but you looked like you needed some help,” she tells him.

Peter lets out a short laugh. “I’m glad to be rid of them, that’s for sure.”

The girl arches a brow. “What, did they catch you shoplifting? I’ve never seen people run that fast unless they were getting chased by the cops.”

Peter narrows his eyes, trying to figure out how on earth he would lift a shop, then decides it’s probably some slang term he doesn’t know. “Something like that,” he says evasively.

He studies the girl’s face to see if he’d answered correctly, and, judging by her impressed grin, he had. “Nice,” she says. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Peter,” he replies. He gets the urge to introduce himself as he usually would– Peter, Peter Pan– then remembers at the last second that Emma had warned him about telling people who he was. Apparently, telling people he was a fictional character in their world wouldn’t go over too well.

“Peter,” the girl repeats. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Peter says, and realizes belatedly that he means it. He feels like how he had at the start of it all, when the Lost Boys had first started appearing on this island, but this feeling is far stronger. He wants to get to know this girl. He certainly doesn’t want her to leave.

“I’m new to the city,” he says abruptly. “Any chance you could show me around?”

Y/N laughs, surprised. “You’re new and you’re already in trouble? You’ll fit right in, Peter.”

He grins, in on the joke a half beat late. “I like to have fun, that’s all.”

“Well,” Y/N says, starting to lead him back towards the door of the shop, “I like fun, too. Maybe we should stick together.”

“I’d like that,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s being so honest all of a sudden. When he sees Y/N’s smile– real this time, not sarcastic or joking, but genuinely because of him– he thinks he knows why.

The two of them step back out into the light. “Where to first?” Peter asks.

“I was going to ask you that,” Y/N replies. “What do you want to do? Sightseeing, maybe? We can get some food, or just talk.”

“Anything,” he says. He’d follow her anywhere. The feeling in him right now is like nothing he’s ever felt before. The pain in his chest, Peter realizes with some surprise, is gone. He feels immortal. Like living in this one moment could last forever.

They end up spending the next few hours together. Y/N shows him around the city, taking Peter to her favorite spots. Peter stares at the vast cityscape and finally starts to understand why someone might choose the modern world over the natural one. He’ll always pick Neverland first, of course, but seeing the world through Y/N’s eyes, it makes sense.

The two of them get along like a house on fire. Y/N’s got this rebellious streak to her that fits in perfectly with Peter’s, well, Peter-ness. No joke is too dark, no sarcastic comment too caustic. They feel the same. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who thinks so much like him.

As the sun starts to set in the sky, Peter feels his spirits sinking. He doesn’t want to let go of this day, not when he knows it can never happen again. He’s supposed to be finding Henry’s spell-girl, but all Peter wants to do is spend more time with Y/N.

His mood is especially ruined when they turn a corner and find Henry Mills walking towards them. Peter’s eyes widen and he tries to steer Y/N back in the direction they’d come, but it’s too late. Henry lets out an audible gasp and starts hurrying towards them.

“Peter,” Henry calls out when he’s close enough to talk, “We’ve been looking for you all over! Where have you been?”

Y/N glances at Henry dubiously. “Who’s this?”

“My little brother,” Peter blurts out.

At the same time, Henry chimes in, “My friend from school.”

Peter shoots the younger boy a quick glare, then turns back to Y/N. “Both, actually. He’s my step-brother. Recent marriage. We’re still getting acclimated. Our family is a little chaotic.”

“You can say that again,” Henry mumbles. Peter fights the urge to butcher him.

While Peter silently advises himself on why murder would be bad at a time like this, Henry stares openly at Y/N. All of a sudden, the boy’s mouth hangs open. “Oh my gosh, it’s you.”

Y/N’s brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, Peter feels a sick sensation in his stomach. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“You’re the girl from my dream,” Henry announces. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Y/N looks back at Peter. “What’s he talking about?”

The open, carefree expression, which had been on her face all day, is starting to be replaced with deep, unsettled fear. Peter hates to see it directed at him. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he begins. “Something about yourself.”

“You’re sounding a little creepy right now,” Y/N warns him. “Get to the point.”

“Alright,” Peter says. “You’re magical. So am I. We need your help to break a curse and save my life. How about that?”

Y/N shakes her head quickly. “This is crazy. Magic isn’t real.”

Peter can’t lose her, not like this, so he leans forward and holds out his hand. A ball of light appears inside his cupped fingers, glowing and bright. It’s a simple charm, one of the first he learned, but it has the desired effect. 

Y/N stares at it, transfixed, and when she speaks again, her voice is hushed. “That’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Peter says. “Not magic. Not even the fact that you would find me in this city by accident. Magic is drawn to magic.”

Y/N’s eyes slowly raise to meet his. “This is real, then. I have magic.”

“You have magic,” Peter confirms. “Come with us, we can show you. They’re good people, Y/N. You can trust them.”

It’s the closest he’s ever come to honesty. For once, Peter isn’t playing a game. He isn’t trying to trick Y/N over to his side. He just wants her to be safe, and he knows that isn’t through lies.

Y/N smiles at him. “I trust you, Peter. That’s enough for me.”

She reaches over and takes his hand. Now that he’s focusing on it, Peter can feel the slow loop of her magic when they touch. It feels like power, but more than that, it feels like life. A life with her, maybe. A life for both of them.

ouat tag list: @loveanimals0000, @eclliipsed, @w1shes43, @lost-ender

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Second Chance - Chapter 13

Masterlist

Warning: small amount of angst (talking about death, past trauma), mostly fluff, swearing, gay panic(both reader and Yelena are in love your honor)

Note: This has been my favorite chapter I've written so far this story.

Word Count: 3.5k

You understood why people rode motorcycles. There was no way to hear your thoughts over the engine’s roar. The whipping wind covered your arms and legs in goosebumps. As you swerved through traffic or made turns, your heart would pound. It was freeing. Yelena slowed down to a stop at a red light. “How are you doing, Easton?”

“Good,” you smiled. “Where are you taking me? You aren’t kidnapping me, right?”

“If I were, I would not tell you. That would be very dumb,” you rolled your eyes and pinched her sides. She yelped as the light turned. “You are so annoying.” You giggled and held onto her as she took off. This was oddly nice. At the moment, you weren’t a girl trying to beat a deadly disease. You were just a girl on the back of a motorcycle with no care.

*

“You brought me to an aquarium,” you said, a little shocked as you took the helmet off. Yelena helped you off the bike. Your legs were a little shaky.

“Yeah, you like to draw animals, so I thought it was a good idea,” she busied herself with locking up the bike, but you liked the blush that covered her cheeks. “If you want to go somewhere else, we can.”

“No!” You cringed at how aggressive that sounded. Yelena stood up with her eyebrows to her hairline. “I’d-” your phone started to ring and cut you off. Sighing, you pulled out your phone. It was Tony. You stared at it, weighing the options in your head. Either answer it and explain you’ll be back at the tower later or ignore the car, text him that the doctor’s appointment went well, and tell him you’ll talk later. You chose the latter and sent him a quick text. “I’d love to go with you,” you said to Yelena. “I may fact, ramble, so tell me to shut up if I’m annoying.” Yelena smiled.

“Never, I like listening to you talk.” It was your turn to heat up.

“Oh,” your voice cracked. Goodness, this woman was trying to kill you. Yelena chuckled and offered you her arm.

“Come on, Easton, let’s see if you know your stuff.”

*

“What the fuck is that?” Yelena asked, staring into the tank. You smacked her chest at her language as you saw some kids nearby. She looked offended, but you pointed at the kids. Rolling her eyes, she looked back at the creature.

“It’s an Atlantic sturgeon,” there was no need for you to look at the plague to know what it was. It was like that for all the animals you passed.

“I think you meant dinosaur,” you laughed and shook your hand.

“You are not wrong. They are considered living fossils,” you were looking at the creature swimming around, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw Yelena watching you, hanging onto every word you said. That also happened at every exhibit. Even though you were worried you were annoying her, she reassured you weren’t and to keep talking. That was different. You went to an aquarium with some girl you met online; she found you annoying after the first exhibit. You kept quiet after that. “There are over 28 species of sturgeon, and the earliest fossil was dated to the Late Cretaceous period.” You heard Yelena mumble, ‘So dinosaur.’ You smiled and continued, “Atlantic sturgeons were abundant but have declined due to overfishing, water pollution, and habitat impediments.” The blonde frowned.

“Why do humans suck?” You laughed as you moved to the next part of the aquarium.

“I think it stems from some of us believing they are entitled to an Earth that we share,” you shrugged. You were excited to walk through the tunnel and see the sharks. According to the pamphlet, they had a few black-tip reef sharks. “But conservation efforts have made positive efforts to undo some of the damage.”

“Do you think it’s enough?” You looked at Yelena. Her eyes were on the animal in front of her, but once again, she seemed a million miles away.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Over time, the scars may fade away, but the memory of what happened stays,” you sighed. “I don’t think that will ever go away.” You hated the sad look on her face. You pulled her to the next area, which focused on the restoration effects that the aquarium was part of.

“However,” it was perfect timing as an employee came out with a little penguin. The area soon became filled as everyone tried to get a look at the little creature. You watched Yelena’s eyes light up as the employee set the baby down and it waddled to its parents. You glanced at the temporary sign that explained what happened. The female penguin was rescued from a fishing net. She was pregnant, and her fin had to be amputated. The aquarium staff slowly introduced her to a lone penguin that wouldn’t mate. It was the aquarium’s first same-sex couple. “Even in the darkest times, something beautiful can emerge.”

You couldn’t help but look at Yelena. The blonde caught you staring at her, and her eyes glanced down to your lips, but she focused back on the penguins. You let out a shaky breath and pushed the thought of kissing her out of your head.

*

On the third phone call, Yelena couldn’t ignore her sister anymore. “Oh, so your phone isn’t broken,” she rolled her eyes at Natasha’s teasing comment. The blonde stepped to the side while you stayed at the touch pool. You tried to get her to touch some animals, but Yelena refused to put her hand in the water. “Did you kidnap her?”

“No!” Yelena huffed. “She came with me willing,” she sighed. “Okay, that sounded like a kidnapping plot.” Her sister laughed.

“You chose the wrong day to confess your feelings to her. Stark is annoyed.” Yelena thought that man was a giant toddler. Today was going perfectly, and she wasn’t sure if she would tell you anything. You needed a day away from doctor appointments and a reminder of what would come. You needed a day to smile, laugh, and see the beauty in life. Yelena wanted to give that to you.

“Look, I have a few more planned ideas, and Stark has called her three times. Can you get him off her back?”

“Will I be the maid of honor at the wedding?”

“Suka (bitch),” Yelena mumbled as her sister laughed again. “I’m doing this because her doctor appointment was not great.” She stopped laughing immediately.

“What do you mean?” So Yelena told her everything from the lie you told, refusing to use Morgan, and the next steps for your treatment. “Fuck, okay, I’ll deal with Stark. Just enjoy the day with your girl.”

“She is not my girl,” Yelena huffed. Natasha laughed, and Yelena hung up before her sister could say anything else.

“Here,” the blonde turned around and saw you with three bags from the gift shop. You were handing one of them to her. “I got you something.”

“Easton,” she whined. “I was going to buy you something.” You rolled your eyes.

“Just take the gift, Blondie,” she snatched the bag from your hand. Deep down, her heart skipped, and she was fighting to keep a smile off her face. “The dinosaur? Seriously?” She pulled out a stuffed sea demon from earlier.

“Sturgeon,” you laughed. “There is something else in there,” Yelena grumbled and opened the bag again. At the bottom was a small jewelry box. She opened it, and there was a ring inside. It was a simple silver ring with a turtle charm. “A ring to replace the one you gave me,” you explained. “Also, they donate a small amount of the proceeds to save turtles and,” you pulled out a small piece of paper from your pocket. “Every ring has a tracking number, so go to that website and track your turtle.” Yelena smiled. The turtles were her favorite part, and the face you picked up on that made her happy.

“Thank you. You did not have to get me anything,” you smiled, looking at the ground and shrugging your shoulders.

“It’s the least I could do for you taking me here. I had a lot of fun.”

“Well, the day isn’t over yet.”

*

A quick stop at her motorcycle to put away your bags, and Yelena gave you her jacket so you could walk by the water. You were grateful for the pockets to keep your hands to yourself instead of grabbing Yelena’s. “Do you want to know something funny?” You asked her. She nodded right away. “My mom was terrified of the water. She was so shocked that I was drawn to it,” she smiled at you. “I miss her,” you admitted. “Going through this without her sucks.” You felt your throat burn as you tried to keep your tears away. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to make this depressing.” You saw Yelena move her hand, and she whipped away a tear that fell down your cheek.

“Do not apologize for talking about her or your condition,” she said. “It is a part of who you are.” She stopped to pick up a seashell and handed it to you. You smiled and looked it over. It was a perfect cockle with different shades of purple. “The past can be complicated to talk about.” You slipped the shell in your pant pocket. You grabbed her hand instead of putting your hands back in the jacket. She smiled at it.

“You can talk to me about your past, too,” you told her. “I won’t force you to, though.” The blonde shrugged.

“There is not much to discuss,” she said. “I was trained to be a pawn in a man’s chess game.” You read the files on the Red Room that SHIELD had, so you knew a fraction of what she went through.

“But you are free now,” she nodded and kicked up some of the sand. You walked in silence until she sighed.

“I used to live in Ohio,” she said. “With Natasha and our parents.” You stayed quiet and allowed Yelena the space and time to speak. “It was a mission crafted by the Red Room, but it was the closest thing I had to a normal life. I was six when the mission was over.” Your heart broke for her. She was far too young to be subjected to such darkness.

“I bet you were a cute kid,” you said, knowing Yelena did not want your pity.

“Oh, the cutest,” you liked the smile that was now back on her face.

“And the biggest troublemaker,” you teased. The blonde gasped.

“I was an angel, a perfect child,” you rolled your eyes and dropped her hand.

“Keep telling yourself that, Blondie,” you pushed your fingers into her side and laughed at the yelp she let out.

“You are in for it now, Easton,” you took off running and heard her race after her. You felt privileged to listen to her laughter so unguarded and unrestrained. You wanted to hear it again and again.

*

You pulled Yelena into a small store while she led you to a nearby restaurant she found online. The reason was because you saw a small sketchbook from the window. It had a collage of pictures from the area. “Don’t you have enough sketchbooks,” the blonde teased you as you walked up to the counter with your sketchbook and a pencil.

“You can never have too many sketchbooks,” you left the store with your bag in hand. “And this sketchbook will remind me of our day today.” You smiled. Yelena’s face softened, and she grabbed your hand.

“Are you going to show me what you draw in it?” You shrugged.

“Maybe, Blondie, maybe.”

That is how you found yourself at a table with Yelena, whining to see your sketchbook. You finished your appetizers and were waiting for the main course. While you ate and talked about everything and nothing, you were sketching. It was nothing special; it was just basic line work of moments from your day. Later, you could add more details and color them. There were moments you couldn’t forget. The way her eyes lit up when she saw the penguin. Her smile when you got her the ring. You wanted to remember them forever.

“Come on, Easton,” she whined for the fifth time. “Let me see them,” you rolled your eyes and closed the book.

“They aren’t even started,” you sipped on your water. “I like to sketch out sides so I don’t forget them.”

“How did you get into drawing?” You smiled.

“My great-grandmother, actually. She died before I was born. She was an artist, and I thought she was the coolest person,” you explained. “So my mom got me an art set for Christmas. I feel in love with it.” Before Yelena could respond, the waitress approached the table with food. You both thanked her, and you took a pill to help with the nausea. If Yelena saw you take it she didn’t draw attention to it.

“So, can I see?” She asked and pointed to the book. She gave you perfect puppy dog eyes. With a shake of your head, you handed it to her. You observed her face as she flipped through the first few pages. The realization that you were drawing her dawned on her, and she set the book down.

“You are drawing me,” you nodded. “Why?” You wanted to give her many compliments, but they died on your tongue.

“My nana used to tell my mom to draw what inspires you,” you shrugged and focused on your salad. It’s easy to feel inspired when I’m with you.” You heard a surprise noise that came from the back of her throat. Her cheeks were light pink. “Making you blush is kind of cute, too.” The blush on her cheeks depended.

“You are so annoying,” she mumbled, throwing her straw wrapper at you. You laughed and focused on your food. It was so easy to act like this with her. It may be too easy.

*

The view was amazing. After dinner, Yelena drove back into the city and once again refused to tell you where she was taking you. It was far from the tower even though it was past 9 o’clock. Instead, she took you to one of the high-rise apartments where a young girl was waiting for you with extra jackets and gloves to let you in. So you stood on the apartment’s roof, leaning against the railing and looking at the city skyline. “Hot chocolate for you,” Yelena said, handing you a cup. You thanked her with a smile. She stood next to you, her arm barely touching yours.

“Why did you do this?” You asked. The question had been nagging at you since dinner. She shrugged.

“I wanted to,” you face her as she sipped on her drink. Finally, she sighed. “I saw you lose a little hope today at the doctor’s. He said for you to get through the nest phase, you can not lose that so,” she sipped on her drink again. “I was hoping today you would see something to help with that.” And she was right. It was annoying how easily the Black Widow could read you. During your appointment, you didn’t lose hope; you wanted someone to fight this battle for you. You wanted someone to hug you and not tell you it would be okay because that wasn’t certain. You wanted someone to be by your side through the good, the bad, and the ugly. You wanted her. That scared the shit out of you.

“You are supposed to be looking at the view,” she teased you. You weren’t sure how to tell her that you rather look at her. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to go through this alone to save yourself and her from the heartbreak.

Life has a funny way of testing you. Why did this disease have to bring you together? Soon, Yelena started leaning closer to you. Before your lips touched, you placed your hand on her chest to stop her. “What are you doing?” You questioned.

“I was going to kiss you,” she whispered. “Do you not want me to?” Oh, you wanted her to. You wanted to know what her lips felt like on yours or her hands on your waist. To finally feel her heartbeat against yours. But you couldn’t give her that. Instead of answering, you pulled away from her and ran inside. Running was something you excelled in. You ran from the pain of losing your mom and your friends. You ran to New York because DC reminded you too much of what was. So you went back to what you knew and ran.

“Wait,” Yelena called after you as you opened the door and threw your hot chocolate away. It was much warmer inside, and you pushed the elevator button. “Can we talk about this?”

“I don’t do this,” you pointed to the space between you and her. “While I’m going through this.” You refused to look at her.

“Because you are dying.” You nodded.

“It wouldn’t be fair to you,” the elevator opened, but Yelena stopped you from entering. “Let me go,” your voice cracked. It was pathetic how weak you sounded in your demand as if you never wanted her to let you go.

“Why do you get to decide what is fair for me?” She questioned. Finally, you looked at her. She has a determined look and a tighter grip on your hand. You’ve seen her like this only at training: determined, focused. When you stayed quiet, she continued, “I have thought about it. I understand the possible outcome, but what if you live and we wasted time because of fear,” your mouth became dry as you stared at her. “We all end up dying some sooner than others. Why should we let fear of dying stop us from living?” You licked your lips.

“I’m not afraid,” you weren’t. You told Pepper and Tony that. A small part of you was surprised you’ve lived as long as you had. You survived the car accident, the Blip, and a hurricane in the Atlantic. Still, you refused to die. It was like a bad joke that cancer was the thing that was going to kill you. Not the dangerous animals you faced, the unpredictable weather, and the less-than-safe places you visited as a solo female traveler. It was going to be cancer.

“I think you are, maybe not of death, and that is okay because I am afraid too,” she took a step closer, and your back hit the wall behind you. “But I have lost so many years because a man thought he was entitled to my body. I do not want to waste any more time.”

“I’m not afraid,” you repeated. Yelena softly smiled.

“Then prove it,” you rushed forward, your hands on her neck and your lips against hers. Her hands moved to your waist and pulled you closer to her. You could feel how fast her heart was beating, or maybe it was yours. You knew you were screwed as soon as your lips touched hers. They were soft and tasted of hot chocolate, the chapstick she used, and her dinner. You pulled away and rested your forehead against hers. You closed your eyes and tried to get your breathing under control. It was no surprise that she would leave you breathless.

“I don’t want to break your heart,” you admitted and opened your eyes. She closed them and let out a shaky breath that you felt against your lips.

“I do not want you to either,” she whispered. “But if you do, then I am glad I gave my heart to you to break.”

*

You snuck back into the tower and onto Yelena’s floor. Her hand held tightly onto yours. It was impossible not to follow her. Her apartment had a similar layout to yours but not as decorated. You had no time to look around as she dragged you into her bedroom and gave you some of her clothes to wear. Once you changed and your teeth brushed, you lay under the covers of her bed with her head on your chest. You chuckled. “What’s so funny, Easton?” She asked.

“Nothing,” you ran your fingers through her hair and felt her melt against you. “I didn’t like you’d like to be the little spoon.” You felt her tense. “Noting wrong with that,” you reassured her. “Everyone deserves some cuddles.” Yelena sighed, and you felt her fingers grab your free hand.

“I like listening to your heartbeat,” she whispered. “It is comforting.” Who would have thought that a Black Widow was such a softie? You smiled and kissed her head.

“Thank you for today,” you said. “I forgot how much I miss enjoying life with another person.” She stayed quiet, and that was okay. You figured today was a lot for the blonde, but the silence was comforting and less lonely.

_

Taglist: @likemick, @averagetmblrusser, @wandaromamoff69, @simpforyelenabelova, @cd-4848,

[ldrloverrrrrr]

can we fall in love? pt. 2

formerly known as be my baby !

matt x female!oc

moodboard is at the end bc i couldn’t fix it😭

song for the whole series:

ABOUT: the girl who believes she’s unlovable meets the boy who can’t take his eyes off of her and has too much love to give but can’t admit his feelings for her.

A/N: sorry if this is long, let me know what you think about the story so far and what you want to see. Thank you for reading <33

MATT:

“so do you skate?” i asked just wanting to her voice more. “nah i just like the vibe here plus it’s good for painting because there’s no old people telling me i’m ‘wasting my youth’” i laughed at that. Chris told me that nick was calling asking where we were but i didn’t want to leave Ava yet so i let him walk ahead telling him i’ll meet him at the car. “sorry if this is too forward because we’ve just met but do you wanna grab something to eat later? me, my brothers and a few friends are meeting for pizza in south end.” i bit my lip hoping she’d say yes. “sure! i’ve not got anything planned, i’ll give u my number and you can text me the details” silently celebrating we exchanged numbers and i caught up to chris. “i invited ava to dinner later with us!” i said to him excitedly, “matt.” “what?” “you so have a crush on her” “no i don’t what?” i lied “you’re blushing like crazy and all giddy” he replied, i just shoved his shoulder and walked around to the drivers seat. We hoped into the car on the way home, all i could think of was her and how i excited i was to see her again, but then i thought what if she thinks i was being weird by asking her so many questions? is she actually serious about coming? maybe it was a mistake. we got home and i felt my phone buzz.

Ava

hey!! what’s the plans for later?

i was instantly relieved, until i heard chris walk in and said to nick “matts in loveee” while making a heart with his hands, “shut up chris” i nudged him, nick was too distracted with something on his phone to care. “nick we met a new friend and i invited her to dinner later, if that’s ok with you?”

“yea no problem what’s their name?”

“ava”

“oooo ava” he teased

“not you now” i rolled my eyes

“what’s she like then” he said putting his phone down and walking over to the counter where i was sitting.

“we met her at the skatepark she was listening to lil skies so obviously we went over, she was doing some graffiti too it was really cool you should’ve seen!” chris mentioned

“i can’t wait to meet her then!”.

AVA:

i walked back home with mila telling her about the boys, “he sounds really nice” “i know right he invited me out for pizza later but i have no clue what to wear” mila stopped and squealed “ILL HELP YOU!!” i immediately agreed and we ran into the apartment. i put some songs on and she started to pick out some options from my closet, after deciding on my clothes she did my makeup all nice and i sprayed some perfume. “now listen, if anyone tries anything sneaky call me and i will beat their ass, no joke” she said deadpanned, i giggled “ i’m sure i’ll be fine mila” she wrapped her arms round me and sighed “sorry for ditching you tonight, i need a new job honestly this is killing my social life” i laughed and said “don’t worry about it” i looked down at my phone to see matt texted saying he’s outside i quickly replied and said bye to mila, running down stairs being careful to not fall down. chris waved through the window and pointed to the back door. “hi guys, thank you so much for inviting me!” “hey i’m nick, you must be ava?” i turned to my left “yes nice to meet you! oh my god i love your tattoos” he thanked me and i looked forward to where matt was to see him staring through the mirror at me, when i noticed he swiftly averted his gaze saying “ok are we ready to go?” “yep all good” i responded. On our way chris was playing songs on aux while i got to know them a bit better. “so what brings you to LA” nick asked “well honestly scotland is depressing as hell and i love the vibes here but most of the reason was my family” i took a pause before talking again “i’m just not that close with them” i didn’t want to fully unload my trauma onto them, i had only known them a few hours, “what about you guys, matt told me you’re from boston?” nick explained their reasons and by the time he was done we arrived at the restaurant. hopping out of the car i met their friends and we went inside. i decided to sit in between matt and chris in the booth seats and we ordered. in my head i was super nervous to eat anything infront of everyone, it had always been something i just couldn’t get over for some reason. i hadn’t realised i had zoned out before i felt a familiar tap on my shoulder “hey, you okay?” matt asked “oh yeah sorry i was just distracted” “you wanna talk about it?” he offered “oh no it’s nothing thank you though” why was he so kind to me, i had known him for under a day, i don’t know if it’s just because i’ve never had real friends but i felt almost guilty by being there. After eating i excused myself to the bathroom and their friend madi came with me. She was literally gorgeous, like something straight out of a magazine we instantly clicked and she really welcomed me into their group. “ava, i think matt likes you” she whispered “what?” “i don’t know for sure but he kept admiring you and he was super excited telling us about you before we went out” i didn’t really know how to respond so i just laughed it off. someone liking me felt other worldly, i was constantly teased at school and made fun of so it fully drained me of any expectations but madi seemed so sure. On the way home chris handed me the aux cable “since we already know you have good taste in music” he chuckled, i scrolled through my playlist and played ‘broken clocks by sza’ nick instantly turned to me and yelled “OH MY GOD I LOVE SZA” “STOP ME TOO” we started belting out the lyrics, matt and chris just laughed and we drives through the dark LA streets before reaching my apartment block. “thank you so much for the night, i had a lot of fun!” i hugged nick before jumping out the car and waving to chris and matt.

MATT:

2:00am

i was laying in my bed unable to sleep because i couldn’t stop thinking of her. i was listening to music until i heard my phone vibrate.

Ava

thank you sm again for tonight, see ya soon :)

My heart started beating fast and a smile plastered across my tired face before i replied and drifted off.

AHH LET ME KNOW WHAT U GUYS THINK 🤍🤍

[doctorweebmd]

i want to write something new :(

[abrushwithdeath]

[lastoneout]

Like I know we all love making ADHD seem cool but like, don't forget it's actually a disability? My ADHD is bad enough I've nearly been evicted for forgetting to mail the rent check to the property manager, I've forgotten to pay the utility bills and had my water or power get turned off or had to pay fines bcs I missed a credit card payment. Once I was supposed to cat sit for a friend and I lost the house key she gave me but didn't realize until she was already out of town, and she had to call the apartment office to get someone to give me the spare so her cats would have food for the week. When I'm unmedicated I can't even get myself to shower half the time, forget eating or cleaning. Before I started living with my fiance I'd just like, not eat for days because I didn't have anyone to remind me to eat or go buy me food. I've forgotten to turn the stove off so many times and ruined kettles and tbh been DAMN fucking lucky the house didn't burn down. I've done stupid, impulsive shit that's nearly gotten me KILLED. I can't remember to close the shower curtain reliably even through my fiance points out every single time I forget, and he's almost out of soap rn bcs for the last MONTH neither of us have been able to remember to order more once we get out of the shower.

I've had such bad memory my entire life that to this day someone suggesting I forgot something because I simply didn't care enough is a legitimate trigger that, in the worst cases, makes me have a breakdown.

I get that for some of you this is just something that makes studying hard or you forget to take a pee break when you're playing Minecraft or whatever, that's still a valid struggle and you do deserve help and understanding, but like, ADHD is a disability. It's disabling. It's not impossible to improve and learn coping skills, meds help a lot, there are great accommodations out there(LIKE CLEANING SERVICES), but not every case of ADHD is the same, and a lot of them are pretty ugly ngl, and just because you managed to do something doesn't mean someone else is gonna be able to manage it too, or that they're being lazy for struggling. And that obviously doesn't mean ADHD people have a free pass to never work on themselves and make everyone cater to their every need or whatever, but we do deserve some understanding when we explain that our disability is actually disabling in ways that aren't palatable to you. So like, idk, maybe don't immediately recoil in horror when you find out that someone with ADHD can't keep their house clean. And for fucks sake don't ridicule them for it.

[pharos-ryoji]

My sorcerer is level 17 now and I just can't believe how far she's come over the course of the campaign 😭 genuinely shocked she's still alive after hitting 0 hp so many times, but now my bb girl has a Wish. How far she's come <3

[kingkatsuki]

— my protector

Tengen needs your help in trying to locate his wives on a mission, and Sanemi is furious.

Get me a man who’s only soft for us, stat😫😭

Pairing: Shinazugawa Sanemi x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, established relationship, reader is a fellow hashira, jealous Sanemi (for literally no reason), possessiveness, rough sex, slight degradation, fingering, multiple orgasms, breeding, creampie.

Word Count: 4.2k.

All Sanemi could see was red, fiery red as he roamed the halls of the Butterfly Mansion, ignoring the pain in his right arm from the wound Aoi had just patched up moments earlier.

“Shinobu will kill you if she finds you drawing your sword in here!” Aoi called after him, but Sanemi could care less as his eyes sought out the Sound Pillar.

He had just returned from a three-week-long mission to find out that Uzui had enlisted you for help on one of his missions. Practically offering you up as bait to try and find his wives who had gone missing, like that was even your problem. And Sanemi knew you were always so eager and willing to help, it was something he loved and loathed about you at the same time.

The rage continued building inside him as he pulled open another sliding door aggressively, the wood gliding back from the force as he skimmed another empty room before continuing further through the mansion.

“Listen to me, Shinazugawa.” Aoi huffed, followed after him as one of the only people inside the mansion who weren’t scared of the white-haired man, “I told you Shinobu won’t be pleased to find out you’re breaking all her doors.”

“Fuck her,” Sanemi rolled his eyes, “Where’s Uzui?”

“If you would’ve actually stopped for five minutes to let me explain, instead of being such a jerk,” Aoi crossed her arms over her chest with a huff, “He left with her a few hours ago. Said it couldn’t wait much longer, that his wives may be in danger—”

“How the fuck is that her problem?” Sanemi growled, “So he isn't here?”

“No, but I would advise you don't follow him. Your wounds—” Sanemi ignored Aoi, already halfway down the hall as he marched towards the entrance, determined to find you on his own. It was when he stepped into the courtyard that he saw Uzui coming in by the front gate with a wide smile on his face.

“Ah, my crow told me you were back!” Uzui made to step towards him to finish the conversation, but Sanemi’s sword was already drawn as he stepped towards the larger man, “Perfect timing, my friend!”

“You fucking left her there?” Sanemi barked, “Why are you back here?”

“I came to get you at the request of your lady love,” Uzui grinned as Sanemi curled his lip in irritation at the pet name, “She made me promise to tell you as soon as you got back from your mission because she wouldn’t be around. And I thought you'd prefer a personal greeting.”

“Why the fuck are you sending her on your missions anyway,” Sanemi continued, ignoring Uzui's grin, “And leaving her there!”

“It hasn’t even been twelve hours,” Uzui shrugged, standing in place even as Sanemi stepped towards him.

“That’s already twelve hours too damn long, you prick.” Sanemi drew his sword as he made to lunge towards his fellow hashira.

“She’s probably safer there than she’d ever be out in the field,” Uzui dodged a blow with the hilt of his sword, the guard barely protecting his hands as he used his body weight to push the Wind Pillar back.

“Probably?” Sanemi roared, “She’s probably got sick fucks like you all over her right now.”

“Oh,” Uzui’s lips curled into a cocky smirk at the admission, standing upright as he pushed some fallen hair away from his eyes, “So that’s it— you’re jealous.”

“I ain’t jealous, you fuckwad.” Sanemi grunted as he attempted another slash towards Uzui, knowing it was serious when the wind user hadn’t even bothered to use his power.

“Sure seems like it,” Uzui scoffed, taking another step back to avoid his attack, “Nothing is stopping you from visiting her, you know. She’s only a few towns across and I'm here to take you right to her.”

“Oh, you’re taking me to her,” Sanemi spat, “Right fucking now.”

“Someone is asking for me?” You raised a brow suspiciously at the implication. Wondering if this meant the demons had realised that you were in fact a slayer intent on taking their head. Your stomach swirled in trepidation as you tried not to show any fear, smiling at the young girl by the door as you bowed your head.

“Yeah, and frankly I’m glad,” She clung to the belt of her kimono, “He looks scary!”

“I definitely don’t want to spend the night with him,” Another girl grimaced, “I don’t think I’d make it out alive.”

You frowned, worried that you wouldn’t have time to access your katana to holster it beneath your kimono. Instead, all you had was the small dagger strapped against your thigh, which you were certain wouldn’t be enough to protect you from the attack of a demon. But at least it was better than nothing, knowing he wouldn’t attack until you were at least secure back inside this room as you bowed your head. Following her down the stairs to the entrance of the establishment, feeling a cool breeze tickle your ankles from the open door and curtain flowing in the wind.

Your heart stilled when you noticed the familiar man standing by the entrance, glaring at anyone who dared look his way as you felt your chest swell with familiarity. You hadn’t expected to see him here this night, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to be asking after you.

“Is this the girl you were asking after, my Lord?”

“Yes,” He grunted as the Madame motioned him to step forward and follow you back to your room.

You had to stop yourself jumping him in the foyer, wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and cling to his broad shoulders.

Feeling the heat practically radiating from his body as you slid open the sliding door to your room, stepping to the side to allow Sanemi to follow before sliding it shut. And in an instant, his rough hands were grabbing hold of the fat at your hips to pull your body against his, your lips meeting in a bruising kiss.

Your hands reached up to thread through his messy hair as the scent of the woods mixed with his natural sweat invaded your senses. He clearly hadn’t bothered to bathe when he returned from his mission, far more concerned with finding you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He spoke against your lips when you finally pulled away for air, still holding onto you as your nails dragged against his scalp, “I had to come home to find out you’re helping Uzui?”

“Tengen needed my help,” You murmured, and Sanemi’s nose scrunched in irritation at the use of the Sound Pillars' first name.

“Tengen,” He mocked the pitch of your voice, “Has three fucking wives that can help him, I only have one.”

“Technically,” You parroted his tone, giving him a cocky smirk as you felt his fingers press into the skin at your hips, “I’m not even your wife.”

“You’re as good as,” Sanemi scoffed as he stole another kiss, “And Uzui would do well to remember it.”

“His wives are missing,” You mumbled sadly.

“So does that mean he’s looking for a fourth?” Sanemi frowned at you as you couldn’t help but smile and shake your head at his jealousy.

“No,” You lowered your voice to a whisper, “He hasn’t heard from them for a few days, the letters have stopped coming— and he thinks something bad may have happened to them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sanemi couldn’t lie that it had hurt to find out from someone else that you wouldn’t be there upon his return, whether it was jealousy or the fear of losing you he was unsure. But either way, it left him with that familiar sense of dread that pooled in the pit of his stomach and threatened to boil over.

“I’m sorry, but there wasn’t much time,” You did wish you’d sent your crow to warn him, but Uzui had promised you that he would let Sanemi know. Especially since you were doing this for the sake of his wives, “He needed my help, so I offered.”

“You’re far too nice.” Sanemi shook his head, using his grip on your hips to pull you into another sultry kiss.

“I thought that’s why you loved me.” You teased.

“No,” Sanemi scoffed, “I love you for your perfect ass,” He spanked your cheek for emphasis, “Everything else is either a bonus or a crux on my life.”

“You pig.” You scrunched your nose as Sanemi couldn’t stop himself from stealing another kiss.

“I’m kidding, sweetheart,” Sanemi’s eyes softened as he reached up to cup your face in a calloused palm. His thumb stroking gentle circles against your cheek as you leaned into his touch, “But you really should stop putting yourself in harm's way.”

“I’m a hashira,” You replied simply, “It’s what we do to protect others.”

“Protecting others doesn’t mean becoming a whore.” He spat, although you knew there was no malice there. The harsh tone covered up the fear and dread he felt in your gut at the prospect of something happening to you.

“And yet here you are, at the whorehouse requesting me by name.” You smiled back, relishing in the pink hue that dusted his pale cheeks.

“I just don’t want to lose you,” His tone sobered, resting his forehead against your own as he stared down into your eyes, “What a pitiful existence it would be.”

“You won’t lose me, Sanemi.” You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull his body against you, feeling his semi-hard cock press against your hip. The time without you made even more conspicuous when he's now surrounded by the comforting scent of you again.

“Did anyone touch you?” He immediately pulled back, concern evident in his features as he looked you over.

“No, I’ve been fine,” You shook your head, “They’ve mainly had me sitting down for tea with travellers passing through.”

“Good,” He pressed a kiss against your forehead in relief as he exhaled softly, “You have no idea how much I missed you, sweet girl.”

He peppered kisses along the curve of your jaw as you tilted your head back to give him more room. Your hands smoothed along his collarbones before dipping lower to trace patterns against the marred skin that scarred his chest, pressing your fingers into the ridges as you felt the tacky sweat clinging to his skin.

“I missed you too,” You whimpered gently as his teeth found your pulse point, biting down on the sensitive skin as his tongue lashed against it.

Sanemi bullied his muscular thigh between your parted legs to keep you steady against the wall as he shamelessly fiddled with the belt of your kimono. Letting the fabric fall open as he drank in the sight of your bare skin beneath, his firm hands immediately paw at your bare sides. Noticing the small dagger that you had holstered against one of your thighs as he ran his fingers over the handle of it in satisfaction.

“That’s my girl.” He murmurs, “Not planning to use that on me are you?”

He teased, pushing it back into the holster as he moved his hands back up the curve of your hips towards your chest. Truth be told, he was relieved that you had some form of protection in here. Especially when there was the chance that a demon was responsible for the spate of missing persons in the area.

“It depends if you’re nice to me or not,” You mused.

“I’m always nice.” The words coming from Sanemi’s lips alone were enough to have a melodic laugh rumbling in your chest, as for most, Sanemi and nice were complete contradictions.

“Liar,” Throwing your head back in a pretty laugh that had Sanemi’s heart rattling against his rib cage.

“I mean, I’m always nice to you, aren’t I?” Sanemi’s thumbs stroked the underside of your breasts as he delighted in the way your body responded to him, curving your back towards him as your bare cunt pressed against the flat of his thigh.

“We shouldn’t,” You murmured, “Not here—”

“Let me have this, sweetheart,” He hummed, leaning down to capture one of your pebbled nipples between his lips as he sucked hard, “I am a paying customer, after all.”

In fact, he was going to get that money from Uzui for his pure subordination.

“Why pay for something you can get for free at home?” You teased as he afforded your other breast the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as you let out another airy moan.

“My girl wasn’t there when I arrived home, and I had heard the girls here were beautiful,” He played along, “Apparently there’s one with the best fuckin’ pussy.”

“Oh yeah?” You gasped as you felt his fingers press against the indents of your thighs, dangerously close to your labia as you bucked against his leg. Giving your clit some slight relief as Sanemi continued forward, his thumb brushing through the wet slick that coated your folds as it drooled out of your neglected hole.

“Yeah,” He repeated, pulling away from your breast with a pop as he found your clit. Pressing sloppy circles against it with the calloused pad of his thumb as he watched you shamelessly grind yourself into his touch, “Apparently she’s already fucked into the shape of another guy though.”

“Must be a lucky guy,” Your eyes rolled back, knocking your head against the wall when you felt two of his thick digits slip inside your tight hole with ease. Scissoring them to loosen you up as he pulled back to watch you inquisitively through half-lidded eyes.

“The fuckin’ luckiest.” Sanemi grinned as he felt your walls throb around his fingers. He deliberately curled them towards the spongy spot inside you that he knew would have you seeing stars as he began to focus each roll of his wrist against it.

His name continued to spill from your lips as he kept his movements poised and focused, his rough thumb kneading circles against your clit as he worked you towards your release. No one knew your body better than he did, and he knew after being pent up for so long how little effort it would take to have you dangling on the edge of your release.

“Fuck, Sanemi.” You moaned, already feeling yourself dangerously close to falling, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Then cum.” He spoke as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and his blase tone immediately had your cunt clenching around him as you swan dived directly into your bliss. The pleasure surged through your body hard and fast as you came undone, his darkened eyes focused on your movements a he kept his fingers pressed against that same velvety spot. Following the wave of your hips as you rode out your release, unrelenting against the sensitive area as he already had you hurtling towards a second.

It was too much, and not enough at the same time. Your pliant walls throbbed around his slick digits as you wished for something more, something bigger.

“‘Nemi, fuck me please.” You whined pitifully.

“Such a filthy mouth on such a pretty girl,” He teased, but he pulled his fingers away from your sopping heat, lifting them up to the light to spread them as you noticed the silvery webs of your release clinging to them as he pushed them between your lips to taste yourself.

You tried to speak, but the pads of his fingers against your tongue muffled the words as you cleaned them off. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he pulled them out of your mouth, dragging your glossy bottom lip down in the process as both hands immediately reached for his belt.

“When we get home I am fucking you like you deserve.” Sanemi spoke coolly, “Not some quick fuck in a whorehouse.”

“I deserve everything you give me, 'Nemi.” You smile up at him lazily before watching him tug his pants down, revealing his fat cock to your prying gaze.

You immediately reached for it, and he let you. Hissing when your smaller palm wrapped around the girth of him, giving him a teasing jerk that had his nostrils flaring and his jaw locking. Your thumb swipes over the swollen tip to gather the pearl of pre before smoothing it down his length, delighting in the choked grunt that rumbled at the back of his throat.

“Is that so?” He continued, “So bending you over the moment I get you home will be deserved,” His voice darkened, his own palm joining yours against his length as he tightened your grip on his cock, holding your hand steady as he fucked himself into your fist, “You tease.”

“Fuck,” Your cunt throbbed around nothing at his suggestion, as you instinctively spread your legs further apart, “Please, 'Nemi.”

Sanemi curled a palm beneath your thigh to hoist it up against his hip, spreading you open for him as you guided the leaky tip of his cock between you. Stroking it against your drenched folds as you coated him with your essence, moaning when the swollen tip nudged your puffy clit. Feeling yourself growing more impatient as Sanemi pulled his hips back to tease you, pushing your hand away from his cock as he wrapped himself in a fist. Pressing the head against your tight entrance as he felt your hole tremble against him, trying desperately to coax him in as he indulged himself with your reaction.

“‘Nemi, don’t be an asshole,” You pouted as you tried to can’t your hips forward, feeling the tip breach your entrance before he was quick to move his hips back. More than content with teasing you, despite being in such an open, compromising place.

“If I were an asshole I’d leave you unsatisfied like this to search for the demon myself,” He goaded, pressing his hips forward once more.

“Sanemi,” You whined in irritation, “Don’t tease me, please, it’s been too long.”

He didn’t give you a moment to think before he was bullying his cock inside your tight cunt. Your inner walls stretched to accommodate his girth as he moulded you to the shape of him once more, reminding you of exactly who you belonged to. The sensation stole the air from your lungs as you could do little but cling to his broad shoulders as he afforded you a moment to adjust to his size, dragging himself from your velvety walls before canting his hips forward again. Setting a languid motion as he slowly rolled his hips against you.

“Sanemi,” You sighed in satisfaction as you felt whole once more. Too many lonely nights were spent dreaming of this as you felt him finally bottom out, the coarse hairs at the base tickling your clit as you bit down on your bottom lip.

“We’re in a whorehouse,” He mused, still sluggishly rolling his hips into you, “It only seems right that I treat you like one.”

Your cunt clenched around his cock hard at the notion, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Sanemi who grinned in satisfaction. His fingers tighten their grip around your thigh as he takes this as his answer.

Sanemi is brutal as he fucks into you, not sparing you a moment's peace as he uses you for his own gratification. The sound of skin against skin echos the small room as his balls slap against the curve of your ass with each forward cant of his hips. The ferocity of his thrusts has your breasts bouncing and your thighs crying out for some relief as you struggle to stand upright, thankful that Sanemi’s strong body has you pinned against the wall as he fucks into you.

“Oh my god,” You cry out, nails digging into his skin as he maintains his pace. His other hand squeezes at the fat of your ass as he angles his hips, the curve of his cock drags against the spot inside you that he knows will have you seeing stars as the blunt tip kneads your cervix.

“Look at me.” Sanemi growls, his warm breath fanning your face as he keeps a consistent pace.

Your eyes meet his and you’re certain you’ll cum under the intensity of his gaze alone, your cunt clenches in retaliation as he continues to thrust into your sopping hole. Each sultry moan he pulls from deep in your chest has him rolling his hips with more vigour, eager to have you repeat them as he works you towards your climax.

It’s pitiful really, how easily he has you submitting to him as you already feel the telltale signs of your climax ebbing in your pelvis. The pressure builds up as it nears breaking point as Sanemi pushes into you with more ferocity, using your body for his own means as he works himself to his own release.

“I’m going to leave you pumped full of my seed,” He growls against your cheek, his chest heaving as he feels his balls begin to tighten, “Leave it drooling down your thighs when I’m finished with you. So that everyone knows who you belong to—”

You knew this was a direct attack on Uzui, and the fact that he’d handpicked you for his assistance on this mission. Even though there was nothing in it beyond securing the safety of his wives, it had Sanemi oozing with jealousy and he was intent on reminding the Sound Pillar that you were not his plaything.

“Do you also need a reminder of who you belong to, sweetheart?” Sanemi spoke lowly as he fucked into your pliant walls, slipping a hand between your connected bodies to press sloppy circles to your clit.

“No, ‘Nemi—” That familiar sensation throbbed between your thighs as you teetered on the cusp of your climax.

“No? Then who do you belong to?”

“You, ‘Nemi. You—” You choked out, leaving messy red lines against his chest now as he pressed harder against your clit.

“Louder.”

“You, ‘Nemi! It’s always been you!” You cry out, certain that the rest of the floor could hear you as you began to gush around his cock. Your hips bucked wildly as he pinned you in place, keeping his thumb firm against your clit as he watched you ride out your climax. Indulging in the debauched noises that escaped from between your pretty, bruised lips.

“Good girl,” He snarled before moving his hand from your clit to resume a damn near savage pace. Rutting hips against your own messily, working himself towards his own end as he felt the way your walls continued clenching around him in the aftershocks of your climax, “Such a good girl for me.”

He arched his back so he could look down at where your bodies were connected, watching the way his thick cock disappeared inside your velvety walls. And the creamy ring of slick that you’d left around the base of him, the silvery lines matting into his pubes as he felt his balls begin to seize. Certain he wouldn’t be able to last much longer before giving a few more sloppy thrusts and emptying his balls into your warm, wet cunt.

Sanemi stayed buried inside you, feeling the last spurts of his orgasm surge through him as he coated your walls in thick, white spunk. Cherishing the final few flutters of your walls around him as you both came down from your highs, peppering kisses against your face as you placed a palm against his chest to feel his racing heart, the dull thump of it soothing you as you felt your thick lashes begin to flutter.

“Don’t fall asleep, sweetheart.” Sanemi rasped, starting to pull himself out of your spent cunt as you whined in objection. Trying to tighten your thigh around him to keep his hips in position as he grinned down at you; pressing an apologetic kiss to the side of your lips before looking down to see the mess of your combined release stringing against his length as the silvery lines split apart, “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta.”

You knew he had to go, Uzui was probably still waiting for him on a rooftop somewhere. Hopeful that you’d have some news to share with Sanemi about the whereabouts of his wives, but you felt the regret begin to pool in the pit of your stomach as reality settled back in.

“If you want to leave with me, I’ll take you right now,” He said as though it was the most simple thing in the world, “But if you want to stay in I’ll be watching.”

You didn’t have to tell him your answer, he already knew. Placing a final, lingering kiss on your lips as he held you in his arms, “Nothing will ever happen to you as long as I’m around.”

[quizzicalwriter]

Cola

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were off for spring break, why not introduce yourself to your parent’s new next door neighbor?

Warnings: SMUT. MDNI. Infidelity, older Ellie, touching, kissing, fingering, squirting, strap usage (r!receiving)

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Part two / Part three

“Those two always argue.” Your mom huffed out, eyes flickering over to the open kitchen window, the sounds of a shouted confrontation pouring in through the screen. You turned your head away from your mom, squinting to see through the mess of trees and bushes that separated your parent’s house from their neighbors.

Whoever they were, they didn’t sound happy. Some of the words exchanged made you wince, eyes widening as you looked back to your mom with a faint and semi-embarrassed laugh, as though you’d heard too much from someone you didn’t even know the face of.

“Sounds like it.” You replied, hopping down from the kitchen counter to pad over to the island, leaning down on your elbows as your mom kneaded out the dough for her bread. The house smelled lovely, reminding you of your childhood when you’d bother your mom to bits because you wanted to ‘help,’ not realizing your help usually meant tripping your mom up or making her forget important steps in her cooking.

So for now you just watched, committing it all to memory in hopes you’d be able to accomplish something even the slightest bit similar once your break was over and you were forced back onto campus. As your mom placed the bread into the oven you padded upstairs, deciding on changing out of your pajamas, after all, it was nearly one in the afternoon and you had plans to go out not too much later.

You sorted through your dresser, humming to yourself as you stripped yourself of your clothing. You’d never given much thought to your bedroom windows, one faced the backyard and one faced your neighbor's house. You’d never worried about your neighbor before, or now, given the argument you just overheard not too long ago. As you pulled your sundress over your head you turned to your window, consequently locking eyes with your parent’s neighbor who stood dumbstruck in her backyard.

“Fuck-“ You cursed, immediately moving from the window's line of sight as you pulled your dress on. “Great, haven’t even been home for a day and I’ve already flashed the neighbor.”

The embarrassment was still ripe in your mind as you made your way back downstairs, hopeful that some homemade bread would soothe your mind. As you walked into the kitchen you noticed your mom wrapping the bread, her eyes casting over to you.

“There you are!” She stated, smiling brightly. “Can you take this over to the neighbors? Figured that poor girl can use some homemade bread with her wife yelling like that all the time.”

You feigned a smile, not one to turn your mom down for something so simple. So you took the bread, holding it close to your chest as you slipped your sandals on, padding down the front porch steps and over onto their lawn.

It was beautifully manicured, the nearby garden buzzing with birds and bees. You’d only ever seen such manicured lawns on the nicer side of town, where dads took utmost pride in ensuring their lawns looked picture-perfect. Maybe the neighbor was one of those people? You mulled the thought over as you walked up their front porch steps, ringing the doorbell with your elbow after.

You could hear the sound of sports blaring from inside the house, the sound suddenly muted, followed by the subtle sound of footsteps approaching the door. What you hadn’t expected, or at least hoped wouldn’t happen, was that the same woman who’d just seen you naked would be on the other side of the door.

You paled, as did she, her eyes flickering between yours and the bread you now appeared to be crushing in your grasp, the crackling of the crust sounding in the awkward silence shared between you two.

“You’re going to kill it.” She muttered, pointing down to the bread. You jumped, looking down at it, silently cursing at yourself as you loosened your grip.

“My mom-“ You started, clearing your throat as you shook your head. “She made you bread, wanted me to deliver it.”

You handed the bread over, feigning a smile as she took it from your hands, smiling down at it as she flipped it over in her grasp. For some godforsaken reason, you blurted out the one thing lingering on your mind, instead of being a normal human being and brushing past it.

“I’m sorry you saw my tits.”

The words hung heavy in the air, causing her to stiffen as she looked up at you, her face soon twisting into a smile as she broke out into laughter. She laughed for a bit, enough for you to calm yourself and laugh a fair bit yourself.

“Blunt, aren’t you?” She laughed out, wiping beneath her eyes as she caught her breath. “Jesus, kid. It’s not your fault, I shouldn’t have been looking. I’m- I’m Ellie.”

You smiled, extending out your hand which Ellie quickly took, giving it a slight shake, although you could tell she was holding herself back as she did. It made you wonder just how strong her hands were, especially since her arm muscles seemed to be made ever more apparent in the midday sun.

“Nice name.” You stated, dropping your hand back down to your side. “My parents are your neighbors, I’m just visiting because I’m on break.”

Ellie nodded, pursing her lips as her gaze flickered over to your parent’s house. “High school?” She asked, looking back at you.

“College.” You replied, rocking back onto your heels. “First year.”

Ellie’s fingers smoothed over the cellophane, the wrinkling of the plastic underneath her hands filling the silence once again. She exhaled then, turning halfway toward her front door before smiling back at you.

“Tell your mom I said thanks.”

You gave her a brief thumbs-up, walking back down the porch steps into your parent's yard, completely oblivious to the fact that Ellie watched you walk back the whole way, eyes fixated on your hips and ass.

Much to your chagrin, your parents were pinnacles of their neighborhood, knowing everyone and everything that went on within the little suburb. It was nice, in a way, the little neighborhood block parties and the way they always had friends to talk to. It certainly took the pressure off of you in some aspects, but what you hadn’t figured was that they’d throw a party during your break.

They swore it was for you and for you to catch up with everyone, you had been gone for a while at college, so in a way, you were thankful and found it cute. What you didn’t factor in was Ellie attending, her hair tied back in a half-bun, white shirt sleeves rolled up halfway, practically sex on legs. You’d hardly heard your mom asking you to cart out some drinks to the table in the middle of the cul-de-sac until she nudged you with your foot, to which you profusely apologized and made your way outside.

Ellie was conversing with your dad, a bright smile on her face, a drink in one hand as the other rested in her front pocket. Your dad noticed you approaching, smiling at you as he waved you over, you put on a brave face and placed the drinks down on the nearby table before making your way over to them.

“Ellie, this is my daughter.” He stated, pulling you close as he smiled over at Ellie. Ellie only nodded, taking a sip of her drink before replying.

“Met her yesterday, she dropped off some bread. Really good bread, by the way. I’ll have to thank your mom in person.”

Your dad laughed and nodded, about to say something further until a few of his friends from around the neighborhood called him over. He gave Ellie a brief apology, walking over in their direction after, leaving you and her alone.

“Nice dress.” She murmured, eyes flickering over the fabric, how it hugged your hips, the way your breasts strained against the top, it made her have to clear her throat.

“Thanks.” You replied, smiling up at her. You took a moment to look around the party, wondering where her wife was amongst all the other partygoers. “Where’s your wife? You have one, right?”

Ellie snickered at your question, nodding in response as she took another drink from her cup. “I do have a wife.” She stated, tone hinting toward a fair bit of irritation on the subject. “She’s with her parents for a while.”

Sensing the irritation on the subject, your eyes widened, looking to the table between you as you pursed your lips. You’d never been one for awkward situations, they always made your nervous laugh flare up. As if on cue, your lips quirked into a smile, one Ellie noticed right away.

“Am I missing out on a joke?” She asked, words sarcastic as she placed her now empty cup down on the table. Your smirk turned into laughter, your hand shooting up to cover your mouth as you shook your head.

“No, fuck-“ You started, laughter continuing as you squeezed your eyes shut. “I have a nervous laugh, your response made me laugh.”

Ellie’s shoulders seemed to drop then, a smile of her own making an appearance as she chuckled, breathing out a lungful of air as she looked over to you. “You’re weird.” She noted, although a hint of something warm lingered in her words.

“I’ve been told.” You replied, tilting your head as your laughter died down. “I’m sorry for asking about your wife, by the way. You seemed pissed at the mere mention of her.”

Ellie shrugged then, sighing quietly as she itched the back of her neck. “It’s no problem, I guess it’s a sore subject. She’s- well, I’m sure you’ve heard.”

You nodded, not wanting to pry on the subject. After all, you were fairly certain everyone in the neighborhood had heard Ellie and her wife arguing at the asscrack of dawn. You’d never been close enough to overhear specifically what it was about, but it was loud enough to startle you on more than one occasion.

“Why don’t you leave?” You asked, knowing the question was a bit loaded. “I mean, you guys argue a lot. I was just wondering.”

She waved off your concern. “I get it, I’ve heard my fair share of it. I’ve thought about it.”

A sigh passed her lips then, one she shook off as she reached for another drink, popping the top off with her thumb before drinking some. As she swallowed she looked back to you, faint worry lines evident against her skin. You wondered how much older than you she was, she had to be at least ten to fifteen years older. The thought aroused you, making you pull your gaze from hers as you tried to focus on the table.

“How old are you?” She asked, seemingly reading your mind. You looked back up at her, smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Nearly twenty.”

She laughed then, eyes widening as she looked away from you. “Would not have guessed that.”

You laughed in response, moving over to her side of the table, propping yourself up on it as you met her gaze. “Why?”

“Well, I’m twice your age, that’s why.” She responded, words soft as she looked down at you.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the ever-present ache in your lower stomach at the near condescending tone she used with you. Her age shouldn’t have made her hotter, but it did, it really did.

“You look good for your age.” You replied. “Really good.”

Ellie chuckled in her throat, eyebrows lifting for a moment as she shook her head, eyes fixated on the rim of her cup. “You’re bold.” She stated, words spoken with a sigh as she turned her head to look out at the amassed crowd. After a moment she turned back to you, a coy grin on her face. “You haven’t seen my house, have you?”

There was a hidden insinuation in her words, in the way her eyes hovered over your chest before flickering back up to your eyes. You’d be a fool to say anything other than ‘no.’ So you shook your head, the motion causing her smile to widen as she nodded to her house, inviting you to follow her. Part of you pulled, begged for you to go in the opposite direction, knowing exactly what’d happen once you were inside her house - she was married, for Christ’s sake, but you couldn’t. The way her hand flexed around her drink made your stomach twist, panties coated in your wetness already.

You felt thankful that everyone seemed too preoccupied with the huge pile of fireworks to notice you and Ellie ducking off, even more so once you were inside her house, wordlessly following her through the halls. There were pictures of who you could only assume were Ellie’s family, photos with her smiling brightly, in the middle of fits of laughter, it was precious. You couldn’t help but smile at them as she moved into her kitchen, placing the cup down on the island counter.

“I like your photos.” You stated, moving into the kitchen after her, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of her leaned back against the counter, muscles in her forearms evident.

“Take off your clothes.” She responded, tone nonchalant as though she were asking you to hand her a plate. You didn’t hesitate, eyes locked with hers as you reached behind yourself, unzipping your dress. The fabric slipped down your form, exposing your bare breasts to her eyes. She smiled, moving toward you, raising a hand to hold your hip as the other moved to your breasts, kneading the flesh in her palm as she took in your body. “No bra?”

You shook your head, breaths coming out shallow as her finger brushed over your hardening nipple. “Don’t like them.” You whispered, eyes flickering up to meet hers. “They wouldn’t go with the dress.”

Ellie nodded, smiling to herself as her other hand looped around the hem of your panties, bending down slightly to help you step out of them. You’d half expected her to toss them to the floor, but she balled them up, shoving them into her back pocket. The act was perverse, leaving you clenching around nothing as you watched her stand back up straight.

She traced the back of her hand along your curves, touch so gentle it almost didn’t register in your mind. It almost seemed as though she meant to commit every facet of your being to memory, the thought alone making your thighs clench together, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by her. Her green eyes flitted up to your face, brows quirking up in amusement as she trailed the back of her fingers along your inner thighs, fingertips barely brushing the outside of your cunt.

“Are you aching?” She asked, already knowing the answer, but needing to hear you admit to it. You nodded, wetting your lips. She tutted, turning her hand over to press her middle and ring finger to your folds, applying just enough pressure to gather your wetness on the pads of her fingers. Your legs practically buckled beneath you, a whine dying in the back of your throat as you held onto the counter behind you.

She pulled her hand away then, examining her fingertips under the warm hue of the kitchen lights, a smug smile on her face as her eyes flitted back up to meet yours. She held up her fingers then, pressing them to your lips, to which you eagerly opened your mouth. Her fingers pressed down on your tongue, the taste of your arousal coating your tastebuds as you sucked her fingers clean.

A soft moan passed her lips at the feeling of your tongue laving at her fingers, causing her to ache as well. You could see her pupils dilate, her breath coming out haggard as she removed her fingers from your mouth, brushing her thumb against your bottom lip after. You kept your gaze steady with hers, having to remind yourself to breathe every few seconds.

“Want me to fuck you?” She asked, the question so bold that you nearly forgot to respond until her eyes flicked up from your breasts to your eyes, her brow quirking in question. You nodded.

“Please.”

She bit back a smile, grabbing your wrist before leading you back through the house toward the staircase. The walls and furniture passed by your mind in a blur, only finding yourself able to focus on Ellie’s back and the occasional glance toward you she’d toss over her shoulder. Her being fully clothed while you’d been stripped of everything you’d worn was not lost on you, if anything it seemed to heighten your arousal.

Her bedroom was modest, with a nice king-sized mattress in the middle of the room and two big windows overlooking the backyard and the side of your parent's house - the view was partially skewed by some trees, but you could see your bedroom window. Ellie led you over to the bed, letting you sit down as she moved over to her bedside table. You watched in silent amazement as she removed her clothes, each layer removed exposing more and more of her toned skin to your eyes.

You’d hardly been paying attention to anything else besides her abdomen and arms, finding yourself surprised when she moved back in front of you, hand languidly pumping her strap. She looked at you expectantly, to which you moved from the bed and onto your knees, opening your mouth obediently. She hummed out a laugh, fingers brushing your hair back from your face as she used her other hand to slap the tip of her strap against your tongue.

You wrapped your lips around the silicone tip, relaxing your throat as you began bobbing your head, earning you an affectionate coo as she cradled your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. Her hips moved forward, pushing her strap farther down your throat, causing your eyes to water as you held back an involuntary gag. You could hear her holding back a grunt at the sight of you struggling to take her strap down your throat, spit coating your chin and dripping down to the top of your breasts.

“You look so good choking on my cock.” She whispered, tone full of pride as she smiled down at you. Her fingers grasped your hair, sharply pulling you back, a string of drool connecting you to the tip of her strap. You licked your lips clean, taking in several deep breaths as you looked up at her. She nodded her head toward the bed, helping you to your feet before guiding you onto the plush mattress, positioning you on your hands and knees.

You rested down on your elbows, arching your back, feeling the cold air against your bare cunt. Her hands smoothed up the back of your thighs, harshly grabbing at your ass, giving the skin there a sharp slap. You whined, leaning forward, only for her to grab your hips and pull you back. You bit into your bottom lip, feeling her drag the tip of her strap up and down along your folds, finally pushing in after you let out a particularly needy whine.

“Fuck-“ You cried out, resting your head on your forearms as you let her hoist your body up, fucking you hard enough for the bed frame to clatter against the wall. You could feel your cum dripping down your inner thighs, each push forward of her hips creating a sheen of your juices around the silicone.

She was hitting so deep within you, surely bruising your cervix, each thrust leaving you gasping into her bedsheets, fingers twisted into the maroon fabric. Her hands grasped harshly at your hips, nails digging into the plush flesh as she fucked her strap into you.

“Take it so good.” She murmured through grunts, voice breathless and strained. Her praise went straight to your cunt, causing you to squeeze around her strap. Her hands moved to your lower back, pushing down until your chest and stomach were flush with the bedding. “Arch that back, baby. Fuck-“

You could hear the lewd noise pooling from between your legs, cum slowly dripping down your skin. You were putty in her hands, wanting her to do everything she wanted with you - and she would.

Her right arm hooked around your waist, hand immediately moving to your cunt where she circled her fingers around your clit, slick noises emanating in the air between your near pathetic whines for her to fuck you harder, deeper - you couldn’t get enough of her. She pressed kisses down the back of your neck to the top of your spine, gently nipping at the skin as she continued rutting into you.

“Gonna cum on my cock, baby?” She all but purred into your shoulder, placing an open-mouthed kiss on your skin in between her words. “Go on, cum for me.”

You could hardly formulate words to reply, all you managed was a strangled cry of her name into the bedsheets, hips jerking in her hold. She didn’t slow down, still fucking her strap into you as she circled her fingers around your clit. Your hands pushed at hers, wordlessly telling her it was too much, all for her to use the hand she’d been using to circle your clit to hold your hands together by your wrists.

“Just stay like that, baby.” She grunted out, cursing under her breath as the base of the strap bumped into her clit over, and over again, bringing her to the cusp of her orgasm. You’d never been one for overstimulation, but the way she had you pinned to the mattress paired with the way her strap rutted against your g-spot left you teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

You were cumming around her strap before you’d even registered it, hips pathetically pushing back to meet her thrusts as you cried out her name into the bedsheets. Everything in your mind seemed to be muddled, finding yourself only able to focus on the sheer pleasure coursing through your veins paired with Ellie’s moans as she fucked you through her orgasm. It wasn't until after you were able to finally fill your lungs full of air that you realized your inner thighs were soaked.

“Holy fuck.” Ellie laughed out, eyes widened with amusement as she pulled out of you, strap dripping with your cum. “You soaked the sheets.”

You felt your face alight, nervous and breathless laughter leaving you as you brushed your hair from your face. “‘M sorry.”

She shook her head, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder, undoing the harness before tossing it to the other side of the room, her breaths coming out in shallow pants. “Fuck, don’t apologize for that. Here- wait here, okay?”

You gave her a weak nod, collapsing down onto the comfortable mattress, feeling your thigh muscles twitching beneath your skin. She returned moments later, your dress in one hand and a wet washcloth in the other. She placed your dress beside you, seeming to hesitate in her movements before wiping down the inside of your thighs, the feeling pulling a tired whine from your chest.

After that was a bit of a blur, you’d managed to get yourself dressed and presentable. Ellie put on a different outfit, grumbling something about how her clothes had gotten soaked during the whole ordeal. She was far more gentle than she had been beforehand, seeming to not meet your gaze without a faint blush painted across her cheeks. As she moved with you down the staircase and toward the front door, you turned to her, a naive hopefulness in your eyes.

“Can I see you again?” You asked, giving her a small smile. She looked down at you, lips quirking at the sides. Although you could tell she was struggling with her moral quandary centered around her infidelity. You didn’t know if you’d get the truth from her, but you’d let yourself believe whatever she responded with.

“Sure.”

A/N: This one is so long, I’m so sorry. I have a thing for older Ellie. I ain’t apologizing for that. Anyway!!! If y’all have any requests for Ellie or Abby or anyone from TLOU2 let me know! I hope you guys enjoy this, and thank you for reading or skimming or whatever you do - I appreciate the interactions nonetheless. And you can find all my works over on my AO3 under the user, “Unscriptural.”

[atyourmerci]

Vengeance (500 followers celebration!!)

The boat scene we deserved ;)

♡ ♡

Summary: Abby finds you drunk, hiding away on a boat. Will you leave your girlfriend and run off with your childhood love?

Warnings: smut, MDNI, dom!abby, sub!reader, hate sex, abby being possessive, cheating (tsk tsk don’t do this), fingering, slapping, slight overstimulation, dubcon since reader is drunk but consenting

A/N: so this is the overall winning poll for the celebration so I hope you all enjoy! I don’t think I’ve ever read boat scene for queer abby so I’m like lowkey scared if this is uncharted territory lmao. Also this like loosely?? Follows what happens in g2 but I just made it gay as fuck also unrealistic for the relationship dynamic but I! Don’t! Care! Okay bye!

♡ ♡

“Thought I’d find you here,” she looks disappointed, but knowingly. Of course she would find you here, where the fuck else would you have gone, home? There was no home.

“Ya’no he’ll kill you too for just coming to find me,” slurs out your mouth, you’d be drinking since dawn perhaps. Drinking every bit you have left, not like you’d have a rainy day in store for you come sunlight.

“I’ll take my chances…” she situates herself up on the bench with her forearms lazily cast over her thighs, “how much have you had to drink,” it’s not accusatory, more of a redundant question she knew the answer to before she’d ever taken off to find you.

You take another hefty swig straight from the dirty bottle, letting the lip knock against your teeth. “Fuck off,” you throw out at her, eyes cast on the doorway she had walked through, both dead men walking now.

“So you want to tell me what happened,” now she begins to pry, all the rumors she had heard, maybe they were true, but she thought she knew you better. Once she did, when she was yours, if you could even call it that. Perhaps unspoken puppy love, a trauma bond of sorts. Whatever it was, was over, not that you ever had the decency to tell her. You were with someone else now, whether it was right or not, it was your newfound reality.

“I’m not like you…” your gaze meets hers at last, the words trail off, she knew what she had heard was true. “I couldn’t fucking do it, she was pregnant, begged for me to spare her…the kid. You don’t understand what it’s like, my morals are fucked from those people. This isn’t us. This isn’t you.”

“You don’t think I’ve been put in fucked situations?”

“That’s my point abby, this is all fucked…” you throw your hands hazardously in the air that springs droplets of the honey liquor flying out. Your feet move on their own, bringing you into an upright position as you begin closing in on her, “we are all just chess pieces in their game, when will you understand that.”

She rises out of her seat to meet your stance, she was much stronger, much more intimidating than you could ever surmount to, but the honey liquid encouragement was working overtime. “So you’re just going to run off? you can’t escape this,” her words reek of venom now.

“Come with me,” it comes out as a plea, but confident in meaning. She lets out a scoff at your attempt, shaking her head at your scheme. “What you’re just going to leave her?” She didn’t need to give a name, a further explanation, you both knew the predicament well enough.

Would you leave her?

“Yes.”

“You’re a fucking ass you know that-“ she begins to walk past you but you take grip at her muscled bicep, you feel as it twitches under your grasp.

“Abby-“ you begin to plead. She gives you one last look of adoration before ripping you to pieces.

She begins backing you into the nearest wall, pushing her hands into your chest to get you to her desired location, “no- fuck you- you don’t get to do that anymore.” She continues to dig her palms into your chest, you try to pull them off of you to no avail, on any day you’d be no match for her strength, but today the liquor only worsened your case.

“You know you’re different,” you bite at her, deepening your gaze, letting your eyes speak louder than your words could. She takes a moment to stare at you, truly wondering if you’d even meant it, if she knew the truth. “Don’t fucking do that-“ her palm grips at your throat now with no real threat as her other palm continues to dig into the flesh of your chest.

“You know it’s true abby.”

“God I fucking hate you,” she says through gritted teeth. She can barely get out the sentence before clashing her mouth against yours. She ravenous, eating you alive, digging her fingers into your soft flesh. She wasn’t allowed to have you for so long, but now, for however long she could, she’d reclaim what was hers.

Shes sloppy, mouth messy against yours as you both fight for dominance, dueling for the right over one another. While her teeth begin to bite down at your lip she brings her wavering fingers to the button of your jeans, attempting to break you out of any confines that are in her way. She rips them down off of you with no generosity as she whips you around so that your chest and palms are pressed into the wall.

You can’t see her, she wanted it that way. This was wrong, but she couldn’t stop herself. In the end you were always hers anyways.

You’re left panting into the cold wood of the walls, awaiting her punishment. Her large hands grip into your bare hips, jutting them out so they meet her completely clothed pelvis.

“Always were so pliable huh?” She taunts into the shell of your ear, making you shutter under her breath.

“I hate that you made it happen like this,” her hand swings down and lays a stinging smack into the meat of your ass, you breathe out hoarsely. “I hate what you do to me,” another smack is laid into you, this time eliciting a whine to escape your throat. “I fucking hate what you make me feel,” this time the infliction came harder than the rest, the slick now beginning to run down your thighs, aching so badly to be touched.

“Abby- please.”

Her knee comes between your own, opening them up wider for her, your slick stringing a sticky web between your thighs. Her hand snakes around your waist, without warning leaving a gentle smack onto the mound. You let out an eager whimper at the decadent pain. She rubs the wound quickly after, feeling your built up arousal in her fingertips that elicits a smug groan in your ear.

She continues to rub down your slick slit with no true target in mind, coaxing as many pathetic moans she could get at her indirection for your pleasure.

“Does she touch you like this?”

You don’t respond, brain too fuzzy to play into her antics. Another smack is laid into the soft pink flesh, hitting your swollen clit perfectly.

“Do you let her?” She says with more aggression this time, rubbing harsh circles around your clit now. You can’t help the guttural moan that comes out, “y-YES.” You should lie, but you didn’t want to know what she would do if she found out you were lying.

Her pace doesn’t falter, continuously circling the swollen bud, “does she feel better.” You pause for a moment, knowing the answer but forced with the moral dilemma of speaking it- “no.”

“I know.” Her fingers come off your clit causing a pathetic whine out of you. Her hand comes to the back of you now, her fingertips prodding at your fluttering hole, teasing the impending doom of her cruelty.

“Deep breath,” she commands of you. You pace your rapid breathing to suck in deep- when she hears the air hit your lungs she plunges her pointer and middle finger deep inside. There’s no grace, no sympathy as she beats into you. Her fingers already coated in your slick haphazardly plunging into your sweet spot.

Your screams don’t stop now, so completely full from her fingers, lust coating your eyes over white. You bite into her forearm placed next to your head to stabilize herself, teeth cutting close to the bulging veins. Her own breath beginning to falter, you can hear the faint moans trailing out her own mouth, almost completely covered by your moans.

Your walls start closing in on her fingers, she rips her free hand out of the tight enclosure of your mouth, in seconds working tight circles on your enlarged clit. The sensation of both stimulants drawing you to the edge of your climax “abby- I’m going t-“

“Tell me you don’t love her.”

She wasn’t going to make this easy, of course she wasn’t. But you’d do anything for release now. “I don’t- I- don’t!”

Her fingertips on your clit stop circling as she pinches onto it, and thrusts even harder into your hole, “say her fucking name.”

You’re screaming out, breathless, mind numb, you’d kill to finish at this point.

“I don’t love Ellie! Please!”

“Good girl now cum on my fingers,” and like that she continued, fucking into you relentlessly, fingers barely stable coated in slick at your clit.

Your ears began to ring as your orgasm took full autonomy over you, sending waves of pleasure down your pathetic structure and out through your needy throat. All you could muster out was incoherent spells of curses and the name of your capture. She took everything she could from you, never letting up till you begin to shake from the overstimulation.

Her fingers trailed from your clit to your hip, she dug her nails into the flesh there. The fingers wedged in your hole remained, gently thrusting when she felt it pulse, eliciting strained whimpers from you.

“I hate that I love you,” as she pulled her fingers out of you, leaving you there limp.

What happened before this?

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson5 @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow @a-little-bit-of-everybody

[xenodile]

"Shuro loves Falin for the same reasons he hates Laios" Completely and utterly wrong, could not be further off base.

I get the impression a lot of people watching Dungeon Meshi as it airs, or are a bit removed from its original manga run, have forgotten that Laios and Falin being monster freaks wasn't actually apparent until the events of the story. The only person that knew Falin loved monsters as much as Laios was Marcille because they were best friends at school.

Once Laios and Falin were in an adventuring party together, they both had public facing personas because they had both learned through their separate upbringings that being super interested in monsters and dungeons wasn't normal. Laios is the blunt but well meaning, outspoken and opinionated guy we all know, but Falin was way more withdrawn and soft-spoken, non-confrontational, easy to get along with. Everyone that interacted with Falin would say she's a sweet, gentle girl that everyone likes. Because she was, frankly, kind of a doormat.

The whole thing with Toshiro's infatuation with Falin is he doesn't actually know her. She is outwardly very polite and reserved, and that appeals to Toshiro because it meshes with his cultural sensibilities and how he was taught people are supposed to behave. Then he sees her marveling at a caterpillar in a private moment and decides on the spot that she's the ideal woman and proposes without actually talking to or getting to know her.

And his lack of understanding of Falin as a person is brought to the forefront in every action he takes after she gets eaten. He leaves the party and makes no attempt to contact the two people that Falin loves the most. Whether it's a matter of him just not knowing how much Falin cares about her brother and Marcille, or actively avoiding Laios to rescue Falin himself, he's demonstrating that he doesn't actually know what's important to her or understand how she feels.

Then when he meets Laios's party on the lower floors and they go over what happened, it's made even more blatant that Toshiro's affection is shallow and half-baked. He came into the dungeon a week too late and neglected his health the whole way down, so he was in no state to actually try and save Falin when he got there. When Laios talks about eating monsters, something Falin was thrilled about, Toshiro is disgusted. He threatens to kill Laios and turn Marcille in, which would never fly with Falin. His anger at the use of black magic is entirely based in his selfish idea of Falin being tainted and blaming Laios and Marcille for "ruining" his attempt to rescue her, as Kabru points out that Toshiro would have done the exact same thing in their shoes and that he's being a hypocrite. To say nothing of how he'd rather kill Falin after she's been transformed and "put her to rest" rather than put any effort into saving her, because that would require further involvement from Laios and Marcille and methods that Toshiro doesn't approve of.

And there's the fight he has with Laios, and Toshiro's subsequent confession that he had hoped to just take Falin home with him. He at no point gives consideration to what Falin feels or what she might want, only what he has decided about her based on the most surface level observation. Just like how his problem with Laios arises from his refusal to just talk to him about his boundaries, he has no actual connection with the woman he claims to love because he just wouldn't actually talk to her.

Like it's not a coincidence that every time his attraction to Falin is brought up, another character goes "yeah he's being weird about it".

[yandere-writer-momo]

Need more Liam and Jesse headcanons

You write men way too fine

It’s not good for my health

I can only ever date fictional men now. You’ve ruined me. I hope you’re happy

I live to ruin people and their perception of love

But yes I can. And I’ll also share more lore on Liam Isbert.

Yandere Headcanons: Happy Family

Yandere single father and Yandere platonic stepson

Getting used to living with Liam and Jesse was strange. First you had been abducted to live with the two of them. You do not ever expect to play happy family after you yourself had went through an abusive relationship.

For many years, you had been scared to love again. So this is all very new to you. You did not expect to be loved so intensely by a father and son who are so desperate for love to the point they’d abduct you from your life to be in theirs.

Liam often bought you roses to try to make up for your abduction. He would take you on dates and clumsily attempt romantic endeavors with you. Such as fancy diner dates with exquisite clothes you could never dream to afford. Or he would take you and Jesse on vacation to tropical Islands. The world was at Liam‘s fingertips… you had no idea a man could be so wealthy.

Jesse often snuck into your room to sleep beside you. The young boy desperate for your affection. He’d always bring a book with him so you could read to him every night.

Jesse often would want to try to get you to help him tie his shoes or cut his crusts off his sandwiches too. He’d even try to get you to style his hair for him, he adored your love more than anyone. And he wasn’t happy about you shying away from him and his dad. Couldn’t you just accept them?

Liam never touched you in ways that made you uncomfortable (save for that kiss many months ago before he took you home). Liam was apologetic about his actions but he didn’t want to return you… he too was scared by a relationship

In confidence, Liam shared with you his trauma without Jesse present. It turned out that Liam was assaulted by a woman who wished to be involved with the Isbert family at a dinner party his father organized. From that traumatizing night, Jesse was conceived and that woman did her best to threaten Liam to pay her or she’d ruin his name.

Liam was lucky she had died during childbirth but his experience with her made it hard for him to bond with Jesse. He knows that Jesse was not to blame and was just as much a victim as him, but Liam saw snippet of Jesse’s mother in him.

Liam was so grateful to you for showing him how to love and move past his trauma. That he wished to do the same for you despite not knowing much about comfort.

Liam truly wants a happy relationship and he’s willing to give you as much time as you need to accept him, but he won’t give you back your freedom. Liam has too many enemies and snakes that desire your spot, you could be killed and he’d never forgive himself for that…

It takes a few more months for you to open up to trying a relationship with Liam and he’s over the moon.

Liam is a bit clumsy as a lover, but he’s trying. He’s turned off his emotions for so many years and he’s not used to expressing them in a healthy manner so you’ll have to teach him how to love

Over all, he’s not a horrible husband and father. Liam is very easy to guide and teach.

And Jesse is just thrilled to finally have you as his mommy. He finally has the happy family he had dream about since he was three.

[odinsblog]

“I first started noticing the journalists dying on Instagram. I'm a journalist, I'm Arab, and I've reported on war. A big part of my community is other Arab journalists who do the same thing.

And when someone dies, news travels fast. Recently, I pulled up the list that the Committee to Protect Journalists has been keeping and looked at it for the first time. There are 95 journalists and media workers on it as of today.

Almost everyone on it is Palestinian. Scrolling through, I started to get angry. These were the people carrying the burden of documenting this whole war.

Israel is not allowing foreign journalists into Gaza, except on rare occasions with military escorts. These people's names are being buried in a giant list that keeps growing. What I want to do is lift some of them off the list for a moment and give you a glimpse of who they were and the work they made.

I'll start with Sadi Mansour. Sadi was the director of Al-Quds News Network, and he posted a 22-second video on November 18. That was a report from the war, but it also gave me a picture into his marriage.

Sadi's wearing his press vest and looks exhausted. He's explaining that cell service and the Internet keep getting cut off, and it's often impossible to text or call anyone, including his wife. So they've resorted to using handwritten letters to communicate while he's out reporting, sending them back and forth with neighbors or colleagues.

He ends the video with a picture of one of these letters from his wife. In it, she writes,

‘Me and the kids stayed up waiting for you until the morning, and you didn't come home. We were really sad.

I kept telling the kids, Look, he's coming. But you didn't show up. May God forgive you.

Come home tomorrow and eat with us. Do you want me to make you kebab or maybe kapse? Bring your friends with you, it's okay.

And give Azeez the battery to charge. What do you think about me sending you handwritten letters with messenger pigeons from now on? Ha ha ha.

I'm just kidding. I want to curse at you, but we're living in a war. Too bad.

Okay, I love you. Bye.’

A few hours after he shared that letter, Sadie and his co-worker Hassouna Saleem were at Sadie's home, when they were killed by an Israeli air strike that hit his house.

His wife and kids, who weren't there, survived.

Gaza is tiny, and the journalist community is really close. Reading the list, you can see all the connections between people. Like with Brahim Lafi.

Brahim was a photojournalist, one of the first journalists to die. He was killed while reporting on October 7. He was just 21, still new to journalism.

On his Instagram, you can see that in his posts just a few years ago, he was still practicing his photography, taking pictures of coffee cups and flowers. Then he started doing beautiful portraits and action shots. You can really feel him starting to become a journalist.

Clicking around on Instagram, I found a tribute post about Brahim from his co-worker Rushdie Sarraj. In this photo, Brahim staring intently at the back of a camera, his face lit up by the light from the viewfinder. He looks so young.

The caption reads, My assistant is gone. Brahim is gone. Rushdie himself was a beloved journalist and filmmaker.

And I know that because he's also on the list. He was killed just two weeks after Brahim. I read the tribute post to him too.

I saw this over and over again. Journalists posting tributes, who were then killed themselves soon after. And a tribute goes up for them.

And then the pattern continues.

Thank you.

Something else I saw over and over on the list, journalists later in the war who had become aware that they could be making their last reports. They'd say it at the beginning of their videos. And those were the hardest to watch, especially when it was true.

One video like that was posted by Ayat Hadduro. Ayat was a freelance journalist and video blogger. Her videos before the war covered a wide range from what I can tell, interviews about women in politics.

She even appeared in a commercial for ketchup-flavored chips. She clearly liked being in front of the camera. Once the war started, Ayat's pivoted to covering bombings and food shortages.

On November 20, she posted a video report from her home. You can hear the airstrikes hitting very close to where she is. It's scary.

‘This is likely my last video. Today, the occupation forces dropped phosphorus bombs on Beit Lahya area and frightening sound bombs. They dropped letters from the sky, ordering everyone to evacuate.

Everyone ran into the streets in the craziest way. No one knows where to go.

But everyone else has evacuated. They don't know where they're going. The situation is so scary.

What's happening is so tough, and may God have mercy on us.’

She was killed later that day.

Targeting journalists, in case you didn't know, is a war crime. So far, the Committee to Protect Journalists has found that three of the journalists on the list were explicitly targeted by the IDF, the Israeli military. Investigations by the Washington Post and Reuters, Human Rights Watch and the United Nations have also raised serious questions in these three cases.

And the Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating 10 other killings. When we reached out to the IDF for comments, they said, quote, the IDF has never, and will never, deliberately target journalists. That's the answer they always give in these situations.

Meanwhile, dozens of seasoned reporters have fled Gaza. Journalists who worked for Al Jazeera, the BBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post, Reuters, Agence France-Presse. So many media offices were demolished in Israeli airstrikes that the Committee to Protect Journalists stopped counting.

It's not just individual lives that have been destroyed. It's an entire infrastructure.

Thank you.

The name on the list that was hardest for me to look at was Issam Abdullah, because I'd crossed paths with him once. Issam was a Lebanese journalist, a video journalist for Reuters for many, many years. He had just won an award for coverage of Ukraine.

I'm Lebanese and still report there sometimes, and I'd worked with Issam a couple of summers ago. He helped me film a sort of random story in Beirut. I was interviewing this entrepreneur who had started a sperm freezing company after an accident where he spilled a tray of hot coffee on his private area, burning himself.

I know, ridiculous. It was a really silly shoot. Right after we said cut and started to rap, Issam started this whole bit about being in his late 30s, reconsidering his own sperm quality and everything he now realized he was doing to hurt it, and no one could stop laughing.

It was a really good day that felt good to remember and to remember him that way. Issam was killed by the IDF on October 13. His death was one of the three that the Committee to Protect Journalists has identified as a targeted killing.

He was fired upon by an Israeli tank while standing in an empty field on the Lebanon-Israel border with a small group of other journalists. Everyone was wearing press vests with cameras out. They were covering the Hezbollah part of this war.

A few other journalists were injured in the attack, which was captured on video. The IDF says they were responding to firing from Hezbollah, not targeting the journalists. But multiple investigations, including by Reuters, the United Nations, Amnesty International and the AFP, found no evidence of any firing from the location of the journalists before the IDF shot at them.

The journalists in the group and video footage confirmed that there was no military activity near them. I had only met Issam once, barely knew him, but it affected me so much when he died. I know that he understood the risks of his job, but somehow it still felt so random and unfair that he would be struck down like that, following the rules, wearing his press vest and helmet, and a pack of reporters on a sunny day in an open field.

I find myself thinking about him all the time. His last Instagram post was commemorating another journalist, this iconic reporter Shereen Abou Aql who had been killed by the IDF. When I first saw that post in October, I thought how ironic because a week later, Isam also was killed by the IDF.

But then, after spending time reading the list, I realized how common this had become. I still haven't finished going through the list and looking up the people on it. I keep finding things that stick with me, like the funny way this one radio host would cut off a caller who was rambling on for too long.

A tweet from reporter Al-Abdallah that quoted Sylvia Plath. It read, What ceremony of wars can patch the havoc? I'm going to keep going down the list, even though this story is over now.

Just for myself. My own way of bearing witness. Which is, in the end, all that these journalists were trying to do.”

—DANA BALLOUT, The 95. Dana sifts through a very long list—the list of journalists killed in the Israel-Hamas war, and comes back with five small fragments of the lives of the people on it. Dana is a Lebanese-American, Emmy-nominated documentary producer.