#help. is it good now. fighting for my life to outline this bitch

[springcatalyst]

5th(??) times the charm?????

[crimsonlyinglilly]

Day 15: salt in wounds / phobia / revenge

Still days behind but here’s day 15 for @augustofwhump. Would help if i stuck to my plan outlines but youtube fed me Saving Hope clip and this was born.

Also thanks to @theotherworld97 for listening to me ramble about this.

Spoiler for season 3 finale Saving Hope.

Saving Elijah - as a working title, after having his memory wiped instead of going to France, Elijah ends up becoming a surgeon in Toronto.

That was going great until something forced him to remember everything, leaving him missing his years without the weight of centuries crushing him.

—--

He had been happy, he had been good, a dick but good; saving people, helping, making things better.

He was human.

He had almost had a family, there was a little boy he should have gotten to raise, a woman he loved.

It was everything he wanted.

Dying had been quick, sudden, boom! and he was gone, far quicker than father’s blade in his heart or that damn thorn.

Waking up is worse.

His body regrowing because few things could kill him, but there was no escaping the damage that had been done.

He couldn’t scream or move, no air in his lungs or working vocal cords and his muscles were shredded.

Shrapnel was a bitch.

So he was awake as he slowly remembered why he wasn’t dead.

What he was.

Who he was.

Remembering is salt in the wounds.

And giving his complete body is a wound, raw and charred, that was saying something.

Because Joel Goran had died years ago, a stupid accident ending a life that should have brought hope to people, a bar fight ending in a knife to the heart.

Like his first time.

He didn’t appreciate the irony.

And Amalia, the brilliant loyal friend she was, who had been keeping something from him, a witch because magic and the supernatural were a thing apparently.

It had to be through luck that she just happened to find a vampire who looked like him, her lost friend and decided to use them, to give her friend another chance.

Why not? A Dr was better than a bloodsucker, helping people instead feeding and killing them, an improvement.

She hadn’t expected her victim to volunteer.

But what else was the amnesiac vampire going to do, after months of not knowing who he was, struggling with hunger and an ache in his chest he didn’t understand. If he couldn’t remember who he was, he’d take being someone else, someone better, who clearly had someone to miss him.

Elijah remembered now.

Everything.

He wasn’t truly Joel Goran, just given all his memories and skills, or maybe he was, for her to be able to interfere with him, an Original Vampire tainted by a piece of the Hollow. She was an exceptional witch, who's to say she hadn't brought her dead friend's soul back and placed it in the basically empty body, because that's what he had been. 

No memories, no desires, just a name that had meant nothing.

Now he was both Joel and Elijah and Elijah Mikaelson.

He would prefer the nothing back now than Elijah Mikealson. Nothing instead of the craving to check on his sibling knowing he couldn’t, instead of the hatred in Marcel’s eyes and the fear in Hayley’s.

He wanted just to be Joel again, with Alex’s love, his friendships in the hospital and a future.

All Elijah had was the loneliness and the crushing weight of his past.

Joel who felt worry for every life placed in his hands, who was haunted by the death that happened to him.

Elijah who felt nothing, nothing but self loathing and guilt, who killed as easily as breathing.

---

He’s not sure how long he had been trapped silent in his body as he healed-regrew but it was poor timing that it was after he heard the door open that he felt his muscles start to twitch.

He had enough thought to pray the person would leave before it spread, they hadn’t.

He couldn’t have stopped the noise but he managed to stifle it to a choking wheeze instead of the full scream.

He’s not sure how long he had been trapped silent in his body as he healed-regrew but it was poor timing that it was after he heard the door open that he felt his muscles start to twitch.

He had enough thought to pray the person would leave before it spread, they hadn’t

He couldn’t have stopped the noise but he managed to stifle it to a choking wheeze instead of the full scream.

There was a muffled swear as the person jumped and realised where the sound had come from, he focused on the sound of them coming closer to try to ignore the feeling of his muscles twitching as they woke up.

The cover- body bag because of course he was in a body bag, he pitted whoever was the one to gather him up, was unzipped and he found blue eyes staring down at him in shock.

What the hell! He should be with Alex and the baby. He thought in anger before he reminded himself that out of everyone Charlie Harris was perhaps the best person to find him.

Joel-Elijah used his twitching muscles to sit up getting a glimpse of his still healing skin, he shivered despite himself and hand caught his shoulders gently before he slumped back.

He had been blow up before- no Elijah had blow himself up to get at Finn, he had managed before, walking to find Cami and Hope, in the cold night ignoring the stinging pain of the too sensitive-all new skin.

He could manage now.

“How??” Charlie asked, looking shocked but not as shocked as most people would be, but then there had been something off about him since he woke from the coma some of the rumours had said.

He looked up at the older man- no he was a thousand years old, unable to even think of how to explain, wincing as he felt the skin of his cheeks heal, nerves suddenly awake to the cold of the room.

Charlie’s hands tightened on his shoulder digging into regrowing nerves that he couldn’t stop the groan of pain, causing Charlie to let go and Joel-Elijah fell from the table to hit the floor, body bag following to present what little dignity he had.

He wheezed a muffled whine as everything in his body struggled to adjust, various areas of his body fighting for the attention. He had been human for years, this level of pain and awareness wasn’t natural and the centuries as a vampire were reacting too slow.

He didn’t want to become used to it again, he wanted to remain human. 

“Shit! Joel?” Charlie swore, crouching down in front of him.

“Give me a minute.” he managed to gasp, before Charlie could touch him again, sounding much like the corpse he still pretty much was.

He stayed there for a moment ignoring the others’ eyes on him as he thought.

He was hungry, he needed blood considering how much he had healed.

He needed to know how he had been human.

How he hadn't needed blood for the last few years, how he had managed to walk under the sun without a daylight ring.

He had his one in a box back at his place, the only thing he had kept from the nothing Amalia had met and remade-

He needed Amalia, she could fix this, return him to just Joel, wipe away his rather more public death this time, he’d again start elsewhere.

Safer for Alex and the baby to be away from him. It would have to be Charlie’s anyway since he couldn’t have- 

He was human, somehow, no hunger for blood, no weakness to sunlight, slow healing, scarring. It could be, he could have had a child after a thousand years, thankfully Dahlia was gone but that would mean they would be in danger, if his blood was ever discovered.

He really needed Amalia.

“Phone.” he demanded, not sounding as gruesome, but the effect was likely ruined as he was still laying on the floor.

“Are you going to explain how this is happening?” Charlie asked, still sounding far too calm.

“After I make a phone call, ” he said, “and blood.” he added. For a brief moment he thought about explaining and compelling it away afterwards but if the child was his then Charlie would need to know everything to protect them better.

“Blood?” Charlie cocked an eyebrow at him, annoyingly unflappable, Joel wanted to be annoyed but the sight was helpfully calming, Charlie, like Alex, Maggie and Zach was Joel’s not anything to do with Elijah.

‘You're a thousand year old vampire, you shouldn’t need a human to calm you down.’ half his mind snapped at him

‘I don’t want to be.’ he snapped back

“Bag of it and my phone- from my locker.” he explained, ignoring how pitable he likely looked, staring up at Charlie from his position laying on the fall. 

—

By the time Charlie returned most of his skin had healed leaving him feeling raw and over sensitive, but he had managed to sit himself up leaving him curled on the floor with the body bag wrapped around him as he set the remains of the bomb that had been embedded in him to the side.

He returned with the asked for blood and phone as well as a set of blue scrubs.

Elijah-Joel had never been more happy at the sight of them, nine thousand dollar suits could burn for all he cared.

He had lived without the need for that armour, he preferred his jeans, shirts and scrubs.

[druidgroves]

Edit 04/16/2024:

Putting all this here because I don't feel like making a whole post for this by itself & would rather have it somewhere that those who are actually looking for it can easily find it!

I've been hemming & hawwing about rewriting BLP for months now (if you've followed me through my bitching I commend you) & finally decided that in order for me to be truly proud & invested in what I was working on, I needed to refocus on a lot of things.

First, I haven't really written any new content for BLP in...months. I've just been trying to rework what I had and getting increasingly unhappy with it because I felt that since I had dedicated so much time to these ideas, they should be used. This lead me to realize that the entire fic needed reworking in small and major ways. I definitely see myself using a lot of what I've written here for the rewrite, just recontextualizing it and connecting it in more substantial ways to the major themes I want to hit on. Which was another issue.

I thought I had a major theme/throughline for the fic. I did not. Or rather, I did and it got very, very clumsy. Part of this comes from the fact that I did the bare minimum outlining because I was so excited to write & share what I was making. Things sort of started to get away from me & I was treating each chapter sort of as a one shot in itself so they were all sort of disconnected in a way that I was never happy with but felt too far into to do anything about. The clumsy handling of supposed major themes also came from what I identified as my main issue: I wasn't writing the fic I wanted to be writing.

In recent months I realized I was holding back. There were certain scenes, kinds of relationships, and graphic/violent themes I wanted to write about that I was scared about being received poorly despite the setting of Fallout being host to all sorts of dark & taboo things. Because of this I would shoot down my ideas as I was writing & subsequently became displeased with what I was making because I wasn't really getting to the crux of what I really wanted to write. Like ghosting around it in a way that coming back to the fic now, basically a whole year later, did not jive with me.

There's also the matter of Georgia developing a lot more in my head than what I was writing down. It's like every time I would strike out an old idea I could feel her over my shoulder in a "you're butchering me, you're butchering my character arc!" way lmfao. Writing BLP has taught me a lot about my own OC, which is kind of wild. This was Proto-Georgia. Pilot Georgia. First Draft Georgia.

Despite it all though, BLP has helped me a lot in terms of writing improvement! It's also helped me find lots of cool people in the fandom with amazing OCs and fics of their own. So for that, I probably won't delete this version of BLP for now, if only so it serves as a reminder of where I started!

I thank everyone who read, reblogged, commented, & kudos'd my fic. It truly means the world to me that literally anyone was interested in my silly little oc & my take on her silly little merc. Mwah <3 Off to the rewrite!

Fandom: Fallout 4 Ship: Female Sole Survivor/RJ MacCready Characters: Canon Divergent Sole Survivor, RJ MacCready, Preston Garvey, Piper Wright, Nick Valentine, Original Characters List of Triggers: Self-harm, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy/abusive relationships, mentions of child death, (to be updated as they appear)

Summary: Georgia Tate has always had a plan. She planned to be a teacher, eventually a wife, and perhaps a mother. In the 2070s, she has a pretty good idea of how her life should turn out. But after she's thrust into a future where her old world ideals don't make sense anymore, she's determined to make the best of it. She's willing to fight for a safer world for her missing son to live in, once she finds him. RJ MacCready has always known what life is like in the wasteland. He knew just what it was like to be a leader, a mercenary, a father. To be a leader, you had to be tough, to be a mercenary, you had to be quick, and to be a father, you had to be there. So when a woman walks into the Third Rail calling herself the new General of the Minutemen with more caps than sense, MacCready thinks he might actually be able to pull of the job that brought him to the Commonwealth in the first place. What neither of them are prepared for is the Commonwealth getting turned upside down with Georgia at the epicenter, much less for making sense of the feelings steadily growing between them. But even with Georgia's boundless optimism and MacCready's endless realism, best laid plans can often go awry...

Table of Contents

Chapter One: Maybe I'll Say Maybe (Rewritten 01/20/2024; original)

Chapter Two: Crawl Out Through the Fallout

Chapter Three: Hit the Road, Jack

Chapter Four: Accentuate the Positive

Chapter Five: Dear Hearts and Gentle People

Chapter Six: I've Got a Feeling I'm Falling

Chapter Seven: Dream a Little Dream of Me

Chapter Eight: Rhythm of the Rain

Chapter Nine: I Get Along Without You Very Well

Chapter Ten: So Much to Do and So Little Time

Chapter Eleven: Just In Time

Chapter Twelve: Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall

Chapter Thirteen: It's All in the Game

[here2bbtstrash]

look down on me like that - 1 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst)

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 7.2k

contains: no sexual content ~*~yet~*~ but ya know, slow burn!!! plenty of reader being a dumbass, bestie jimin, cutie coworker jungkook and asshole producer yoongi tho. (and me having zero clue what goes on at this fake workplace i made up but doing my best to corporate BS thru it lmao) oh and a lotta references to alcohol, that's gonna be a theme throughout this whole thing jsyk!

A/N: i've got BIG PLANS for this series (no seriously, i have a 40 card storyboard and my OUTLINE is 13k alone) so buckle in!!! this is also on AO3 like everything i write~

masterlist | chapter two

“I still can’t believe you actually lied your way into this job.” Jimin nearly has to shout to be heard over the din of the restaurant. He shakes his head as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Believe it, bitch!” You grin, flipping your hair over your shoulder for emphasis. “I’m just that good.”

“Until you show up in the morning—hey!” He catches you in the act of trying to steal a piece of pork off his plate and slaps your hand away. “—and they realize you’ve never worked a corporate job in your life.”

You scoff at his physical and verbal admonishment and return to picking at the remains of your own meal. “Whatever. I’m sure being a waitress was a thousand times harder than whatever an administrative assistant does.”

Jimin pinches the bridge of his nose in the way that he does when you’ve said something exceptionally stupid. “I’m trying to decide which part of that sentence is worse. One, the fact that you got fired from the waitressing job.”

Having managed to steal some of his food while his eyes were closed, you interrupt mid-chew. “That wasn’t my fault!”

“You threw a drink on a customer!”

You roll your eyes. “He was being an asshole, and I’d had a bad day. You try walking in on your ex-boyfriend fucking the hostess and then having to work the dinner shift.”

“Oh please. You knew they were fucking for months, and you didn’t care.”

You shrug, running a finger around the rim of your empty glass. “Yeah, but doing it at our place of work was disrespectful. And in the walk-in? Unsanitary!”

Jimin leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “So what happens when some corporate douche pisses you off? You throw a drink on him, too? There are a lot of assholes in the music industry, trust me. You can’t go acting on your first impulse whenever someone makes you angry.”

“I don’t need your unsolicited therapy, Park Jiminie.” You tap your glass with a small smile. “What I need is another drink.”

“Forget about it. I’m cutting you off.”

You pause, another piece of pork from Jimin’s plate halfway to your mouth, and whine. “Jimin!”

“This brings me to my second point— the fact that you haven’t even bothered to look up what an administrative assistant is supposed to do! Are you trying to get fired on your first day?”

Defeated, you shake your head as you chew. He’s not wrong. You’d meant to do a little research, but you never got around to it.

“You seriously need to go home and study.” You pout and he leans forward, smacking a hand on the table. “I mean it! I didn’t put my ass on the line all for you to blow it after one day.”

The reminder makes you smile, and you take his hand in yours. “I really appreciate that you helped me, Jimin.” He says nothing, just eyes you with that death stare that you know means he loves you. “Now do the voice.”

“I’m not doing the voice!”

You kick him under the table. “Come on! Do the voice and I promise I’ll go learn everything there is to know about administrative assisting.”

It’s clear he’s fighting to keep the smile off his face as he puts on a deep, oddly accented voice. “Why yes, she’s been an incredible assistant to me for the last five years. You’ll be so very lucky to have her.” You cackle at his ridiculous persona for the fake reference that absolutely helped you land this job.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” You squeeze his hand.

“You fucking better.”

“So… will you pay for dinner?” You do your best to bat your lashes innocently at him. “I promise I’ll pay you back after I get my first big girl check.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, dropping your hand. “Drank twice as much as me, ate all your food and half of mine, and you want me to pay. You’re lucky I love you.”

You reach across the table to squish his cheeks with both of your hands. “Thank you, baby mochi.” He shoves you off of him, laughing even as he tries to look annoyed. He’s hated that nickname since you were both teenagers, but you’ll never let it go. As his best friend, it’s your sworn duty to annoy Park Jimin forever.

“Get your ass home! You have a lot of Googling to do!”

You stand up, slinging your purse over your shoulder. “I’ll be fine. It’s just answering the phones and shit. How hard can it be?”

~*~

Your alarm wakes you far too early the next morning and you stumble your way through getting ready. You attack your face with an ice roller, mentally kicking yourself for overdoing it on salt and alcohol the night before. You attempt to follow the first “office appropriate” hair and makeup tutorials you can find on YouTube. You slip into your boring corporate uniform of a blouse, pencil skirt and heels. You feel like a total impostor, especially when you check your phone and realize you should’ve left five minutes ago.

You have to sprint, but you just manage to catch the bus. Trying to fend off your nerves, you scroll back through the notes you took last night while Googling. Administrative assistant responsibilities include… Scheduling, reporting, filing, distribution, communications, time management, prioritization, organization.

You pick nervously at your thumbnail, wondering if Jimin was right, if you are going to get fired on your very first day. Why did you think this was a good idea?

The bus drops you off around the corner from the music company’s headquarters; your new office. You smooth out your skirt and take a deep breath, rolling your shoulders back. Fake it til you make it, you remind yourself, and then you put on your best corporate smile and walk in the front door.

Your new boss is waiting for you in the lobby, and he greets you with an aggressive handshake before guiding you to take the elevator up to the main office. He’s already a non-stop stream of information, firing off the agenda for your first day at a breakneck pace. You wish you had something to take notes on, but you nod along and try to keep it all in your brain. Tech set-up, then new-hire onboarding, lunch with the team, go over some highest priority deliverables in the afternoon.

“I know it sounds like a lot, but I’m certain you can handle it.” He smiles confidently and you do your best to return it. You step off the elevator and he pushes open the glass pane doors, gesturing for you to go first.

You’d forgotten how ungodly fancy this place is. The company is one of the biggest music groups in Seoul, so you don’t know why it surprises you, but it’s still just as overwhelming as it was when you interviewed. Your heart jumps at the polished decor, the expensive-looking art on the walls, and the sleek desk tucked into the corner just past the front doors.

“Home sweet home,” your boss jokes, gesturing to your desk, and you take a moment to take it all in. Even if you only last one day, you’re going to enjoy every second you can in this ridiculously bougie office.

You expected, especially from the brutal pace of his initial marching orders, that your boss would immediately throw you into work. Maybe ask you to run a meeting, or compile a bunch of reporting, or juggle flaming steak knives. But once tech support gets your laptop fully activated, which only takes a couple of minutes, your boss raps his knuckles against your desk.

“Well, I’ve got some urgent client stuff to process. All the onboarding should be on the company portal for you. You can call tech support with any access issues, and I’ll swing back to pick you up for lunch! Sound good?” You nod dumbly. He shoots you a thumbs-up and then disappears around the corner.

Just like that, you’re alone at your desk.

It’s suffocatingly quiet. You worry the inside of your cheek with your teeth and wonder if you’re allowed to put in your headphones and listen to music while you work. Surely a music company wouldn’t mind, right? Best not to chance it on the first day, you figure, and slide your purse under your desk.

Onboarding turns out to be a massive library of training videos, with the occasional interactive quiz. You learn about the company’s HR system, workplace safety, copyright and IP law. It’s mind-numbingly boring, but at least it’s easy.

Eventually the words start to blur on your screen, and you slump back in your chair, realizing you’ve been at it for over an hour. All that focus is more than enough to deserve a stretch break, you reason, and you push your chair away from your desk and stand.

The main corridor stretches off in either direction from the central lobby where your desk is. Both ways look identical to you, so you turn right at random and meander down the hall. You pass several glass-paneled meeting rooms, most of which are empty. When you walk by one that’s actually occupied, you do your best to quicken your pace and look like you’re headed somewhere important. There are the occasional closed, solid doors as well, most outfitted with name plates indicating someone’s office. The names are all unfamiliar to you, but you try to remember them in case you end up getting introduced later.

By the time you register the name on the third office door, you’ve already passed it, and you stop dead in your tracks. Surely you read that wrong. Your brain must be tired from all the training videos. You double-back, shaking your head.

Nope. You blink, dumbfounded at the sign. You did read it right. That absolutely says Genius Lab. You stare perplexed at the door and notice there’s a small paper sign taped to the wall next to it. “I’m busy working, please ring the doorbell.” Sure enough, a small black box with a single button is mounted there on the doorframe, and just above the door handle you see another box with a number pad.

A doorbell and a passcode lock? What the hell is in there? You try not to laugh at the spectacle. You’re wondering if this is your boss’ office, and what sort of nightmare you might have gotten yourself into with this job, when the door swings open and someone nearly runs you over.

You practically jump out of your skin and stumble backwards. He does the same, clearly taken aback by a stranger standing outside his door like a psychopath. “What the fuck?”

You drop your gaze apologetically, terrified to look him in the face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was—” you scramble for an excuse “—uh, just looking for the bathroom.”

You chance a glance up at him; his dark eyes are fixed on you. You’re nearly eye-to-eye with the added height of your work pumps. He’s young, probably close to your age if you had to guess, and he’s dressed in far from the business casual attire you would’ve expected of your fellow coworkers. He looks more like he’s headed to the gym in a white long-sleeve, black joggers, and pristine-condition sneakers.

Determined to save face, you extend a hand and give him your name. “It’s my first day. Apologies, still figuring out where everything is.”

He blinks once, twice, his mouth a flat line, his blank expression betraying no emotion. “Bathroom is at the end of the hall, on the right.” He brushes past you without another word, heading for an office door back the way you came.

You’re left standing there stupidly, and quickly drop your hand when you realize you still have it extended in mid-air. Great job, you mentally scold yourself. What an introduction.

You hurry down the hall to the bathroom before you can have any more awkward run-ins. Once safely behind the door, you press your palms against the cool tile of the sink counter and will your heart to quit racing. You check your appearance in the mirror, but your hair and makeup are still neatly in place despite how disheveled you feel. You fasten and unfasten the top button of your blouse, wondering how to straddle the line between fashionable and professional.

Whatever, you think to yourself, smoothing your shaking hands over your skirt. It was a fluke, that’s all. Maybe you caught him at a bad time. Maybe he was on the way to a meeting where he’ll be fired, and you’ll never have to see him again. You force a smile in the mirror, wishing it looked a little more genuine.

You’ve been away from your desk long enough now that you know you should head back, but curiosity forces you to check out the other end of the hallway, just to see what’s over there. You figure you can use the bathroom excuse again if anyone yells at you.

The first door on your right opens up to a large, sunny break room. It’s well-stocked with a wall of refrigerators, two coffee pots, and several vending machines. Sliding coins into the machine nearest to you is yet another coworker, and your stomach flips. You’re still so frazzled from the last encounter that you consider backing out of the room before he sees you.

You’re not fast enough. He’s already turning around, and you can’t stop your own smile at the joyous look on his face as he cracks open his vending machine prize, a container of banana milk. Already a thousand percent less intimidating, thank goodness.

He glances up and meets your gaze and his smile goes from sweet to blinding. At least you haven’t joined a company that’s entirely full of antisocial assholes. He’s even appropriately dressed in a simple button-down and slacks.

Your coworker pauses and looks down, seemingly realizing that his hands are full, then quickly replaces the lid on his drink so he can extend a hand to you.

“You must be the new admin!”

His handshake is firm but pleasant, and you nod sheepishly. “Guilty as charged.” You give him your name.

“Jeon Jungkook.” He takes his first sip of milk, clearly unable to wait a second longer, then continues. “Social media and marketing. It’s nice to meet you.”

This kid is adorable, and you return the compliment with a small nod. “I’m glad this introduction is going well,” you admit with a shy laugh. You don’t know why, but you already feel like you can tell him about your embarrassing moment. “Unlike the run-in I just had with…” It occurs to you that you have no idea what the guy’s name is. “… uh, Mr. Genius of the Genius Lab.”

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle knowingly as he takes another sip, then swallows. “I take it you met Suga.”

Your jaw drops. You may have entirely faked your credentials to work in this place, but you still listen to music. You don’t live under a rock. You’re absolutely familiar with the incredibly in-demand producer Suga. You just didn’t realize he worked here.

“Suga as in, Suga the producer? The one who’s worked with IU and Heize and Halsey?”

Jungkook nods. “And he did Psy’s comeback that’s coming out next month.” His eyes widen. “Oops. I didn’t tell you that. I mean, you work here now, so you’re probably allowed to know. But still, maybe don’t tell anyone.” You mime zipping your lips shut and he smiles.

“Wow.” You take a second to process this new information. “And is he always such a…” you trail off, unable to find a workplace-appropriate word to use.

“Pretty much.” Jungkook gives an uneasy shrug. “He just kind of stays in his lab, works crazy hours, drinks a lot of coffee. He can be a little cranky. I try to work around him.”

He looks like he’s going to say more, but his words have an idea already forming in your head. You cross the room to the dual coffee makers, opening nearby cabinets until you find one full of company-branded mugs. You retrieve one and fill it up with coffee from the half-full pot. You pause for a moment over the cream and sugar, then decide to go without. He definitely seems like a black coffee person.

“Hold that thought for two seconds,” you call over your shoulder to Jungkook as you slip out of the break room and back down the hall.

You approach the Genius Lab door, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes at the label, and press the doorbell, then knock a couple times for good measure. Enough seconds pass for your self-doubt to creep in—maybe this is a dumb idea, or maybe he’s still in whatever meeting he was on the way to—and then the door cracks open.

Suga has that same look on his face as before, somewhere between tired and mildly pissed off. His dark hair falls in his eyes as he leans around the door. You wait for him to say something, but he just stares blankly at you. You shine your brightest waitressing smile at him.

“Hi, Suga. Um, I think we maybe got off on the wrong foot. I’m the new administrative assistant.” Your eyes flicker down to the mug in your hand, then back up to him. “I was told you like coffee, so I thought I’d bring this as a peace offering.” You extend the mug towards him. “I’m actually a really big fan—”

He blinks at the mug in your hand and grunts, “I don’t like hot coffee.” Then he slams the Genius Lab door in your face.

You storm back down the hallway so angrily that you threaten to snap a heel. To his credit, Jungkook is still in the break room, now sitting at one of the tables and scrolling through his phone while he sips his milk. He winces when he sees the look on your face.

“Sorry, I probably should’ve stopped you. Suga only drinks iced Americanos.”

You grit your teeth. “Even his coffee order is pretentious,” you mutter as you dump the contents of the mug down the break room sink.

“Hey! I would’ve drank that…” Jungkook says softly. You give him an apologetic smile.

You politely excuse yourself, doing your best to not immediately ruin the only good first impression you’ve made so far. Your head spins as you slump back into your desk chair and return to your training videos.

He’s just one stupid person, you tell yourself. You know his opinion of you shouldn’t matter. Jungkook very clearly told you he’s like this with everyone. But you can’t ignore the nagging mixture of embarrassment and anger, or the heat that lingers in your face even an hour later. Is it that fucking hard to be nice?

Before you know it, your boss is back at your desk. “I see the training videos haven’t completely put you to sleep yet. You’re a trooper for knocking those out. Ready for lunch? I’ll round up everyone else.” You smile and grab your purse.

You’re introduced to a flurry of coworkers, most of their names immediately flying out of your brain the second after your boss says them. Jungkook is there too, and he beams at you and gives a tiny wave.

As you all file out of the building and head down the street, you fall into lockstep with your boss. “So, um… Will Suga be joining us for lunch?”

He laughs like you’ve told a joke, shaking his head. “A fan of his work, are you?” You have to fight to keep your expression pleasant. “No, he’s not much of a social outings guy. He really doesn’t leave the office much. Come to think of it, I don’t even know that he went home last night.”

You let out a small hum of surprise and your boss nods solemnly. “This is actually a great segue into something I wanted to cover with you today.”

He stops walking for a moment, just enough to let the rest of your group get a little further ahead, giving you some privacy. You stay behind with him, and he fishes into his pocket, retrieving a small silver key on a company-branded keychain. He drops the key into your hand.

“An important part of your job that I wanted to make sure we cover today is this: I’m asking you to be the sole key-holder moving forward. That means you’ll be responsible for unlocking our doors each morning, and locking up at the end of the day. Sound good?”

You nod, eager to add a responsibility to your list that you actually know how to do. Your boss continues.

“We’ve had some… issues recently when it comes to workplace security. And circling back to what we were discussing, I think it’s important to set a good example of work-life balance with our employees.” He chuckles. “Now, some of our employees may not take too kindly to this change, being used to coming and going as they please. You will probably need to stand your ground a bit. I remember you mentioned in your interview that you have a very direct communication style, so I’m not worried at all.”

It’s not hard to read between the lines of your boss’ platitudes. The thought of having to stand your ground with Suga—who apparently works so hard he doesn’t even go home—makes your stomach drop.

“It’s not good for employees to work too much, you know?” He turns to look at you, and you quickly nod your agreement. “I think this will be a good change for everyone, and good for the health of the company overall. Would you agree?”

You fake the brightest smile you can. “Oh, absolutely.”

Lunch is delicious, and the fact that it’s all on the company’s dime makes it that much better. You have to put a hand over your mouth to hide your laughter when Jungkook loads his plate up with thirds. The rest of your coworkers seem to be nice, normal people, and the conversation flows easily. You’re starting to believe that Suga’s attitude really is a fluke, or maybe just a byproduct of his work schedule. Lord knows you’d be a huge bitch if you worked for two days straight.

Once you all return to the office, your boss stays at your desk while the rest of the team disperses. “Alright,” he claps his hands together. “Boring stuff is over. Ready for the real work to begin?”

You do your best to look excited and not scared shitless. The act gets harder when he slides open the bottom drawer of your desk and retrieves a hefty stack of files. They land with a thud next to your keyboard.

“I know,” he starts, “it’s ugly. I’ve been putting these off until we were able to hire someone, and now, here you are! This is our spend data for the last quarter, and it really needs to get input and reconciled before accounting has my head. I know you used the same system we do in your last role; your reference said you were a pro at it.” You don’t know if you want to kiss Jimin or kill him for that. “Think you can knock this out today?”

You swallow hard at the intimidating stack of papers in front of you, willing yourself to act natural. “Um, yeah, absolutely. It won’t be an issue.”

“Amazing!” Your boss smiles, then glances down at his watch. “Oh man, I’m late for my pull-up. Gotta jet.” He’s already marching down the hallway, and he calls over his shoulder, “You’re killing it today!”

You let out a long exhale, staring wearily at your doom. It was a good run, you think to yourself. At least you got a free lunch out of it. You can already picture the disappointed look on Jimin’s face.

That thought is enough to snap you out of it. No, this will not be your undoing. You can bounce back from this. You know you’re not the first person to have lied about a skill on a resume.

And besides, you reason. You’re a millennial. You have the innate power of the internet on your side.

Trying to be as subtle as possible, you reach down and slip your earbuds out of your purse, plugging them into the jack on your laptop. You pull up YouTube in an incognito window and search for a beginner tutorial on this stupid finance system.

You open the application and dock it next to the video, following along as the steps are explained. It’s a painfully slow process, but you’re able to figure it out, even if you have to rewind the video half a dozen times until you understand everything.

You’re just starting to get into the zone, unaware of the passage of time, when someone clears their throat directly behind you. The sound might as well be a gunshot for how badly it scares you. You nearly have a fucking heart attack, ripping your headphones out of your ears as you spin around in your chair.

Suga is leaning up against the wall behind your desk, arms crossed over his chest. You have no idea how long he’s been there. He’s traded in his blank expression for the most patronizing smirk you’ve ever seen.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

The question makes your mouth go dry, but he doesn’t give you time to respond.

“Wouldn’t think an experienced admin would need to look up a beginner tutorial.” He quirks an eyebrow. You’re silent, unable to think of any response as he kicks off the wall and begins to head for his office.

You’re on your feet before you can stop yourself. “Um, Suga?”

He stops and turns over his shoulder to look at you, saying nothing.

“I just wanted to make you aware that, as part of my duties, I am officially the sole key-holder here now.” You stand up straight and meet his disinterested gaze head-on. “We’ll be closing at 6:00 tonight, and everyone will need to be out by then.” You do your best to be as pleasantly assertive as possible.

Suga rolls his eyes. You tilt your chin ever-so-slightly as if to say, try me.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He turns and continues down the hall. After a moment, you hear the unmistakable sound of a door slamming.

You’re so keyed up that you nearly miss your chair when you go to sit back down. For a moment all you can do is lay your head on the stack of files as adrenaline courses through your veins. When you sit back up to resume working, you can’t help the triumphant smile on your face.

The rest of your day passes in a steady stream of numbers and finance codes. It takes an eternity, but you finish the massive stack of papers just shy of your end-of-day deadline. Over the last hour, the rest of your coworkers have already trickled out for the evening, each saying their goodbyes to you.

You pack your things up slowly, wondering how the hell you’re going to drag the genius out of his lab, when you hear a door slam. Maybe you won’t have to.

As you slip your laptop into your purse, Suga rounds the corner. You wonder if you’re imagining it, but you think he looks even more pissed off than usual. That’s fine, you think to yourself. He doesn’t have to like you, so long as he respects your authority.

“Have a good night, Suga,” you say in your sweetest voice. His stride doesn’t falter, and he doesn’t even bother to look your way as he pushes the glass doors open. You wait for the telltale chime of the elevator’s departure before you follow suit. The last thing you need is extended time in a small space with your new least favorite coworker. You set the alarm the way your boss showed you, then fish the office key out of your purse and lock the door behind you.

You press the button for the elevator and text Jimin to meet you for a well-deserved drink.

~*~

The next morning, Jungkook is there waiting for you when you step off the elevator.

“Good morning!” He says with a cheerful smile, looking fresh-faced as ever.

“Hey, Jungkook.” You’re a little less enthusiastic, considering it's 7:30 in the morning. You do your best to smile back as you dig through your purse to retrieve the office key. “Sorry I made you wait. I was hoping to be the first one here.”

He steps aside to let you unlock the door, both of his hands grabbing the strap of the backpack he has looped over one shoulder. “Oh, it’s not a big deal. I do a 6 AM boxing class right around the corner, so I usually get here way early.”

The phrase 6 AM boxing class alone makes you want to crawl back into bed. Where does he get the energy?

You open the door and he follows through behind you, continuing on as you turn off the alarm. “I forgot that they changed the locks and my key doesn’t work anymore, so this one’s my fault, really!” He gives a self-conscious laugh and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t feel like you have to get here early on my behalf, though. I can always go to a coffee shop or something.”

Stifling a yawn, you set your purse down on your desk. “I appreciate that.”

Jungkook rocks back on his heels, clearly searching for something else to say as you plug your laptop in and turn it on. “So, uh, you’ll be at the team meeting this morning, right?”

“Um…” You attempt to keep your composure as your email starts up. Grateful that Jungkook is on the far side of your desk, you blindly click random buttons along the menu bar until one pulls up the calendar. It takes an agonizing few seconds to load, and when it does, it is a virtual nightmare of overlapping events and names in a myriad of colors. You squint at the screen until you find Tuesday and— there it is, “Team All Hands”, your first meeting of the day. “Yep, I see it! I’ll be there.”

He smiles. “Cool, cool! What else did he put you on?” Before you have time to stop him, he’s circling around to peer over your shoulder at the screen. “Woah! Why does it look like that?”

You wince. Is it not supposed to?

Jungkook reaches for your mouse and you shrink back. “Ohhh,” his eyes widen as some realization dawns on him. “I guess you have access to everyone’s schedules. That makes a lot more sense, but wow, hard to read. Let’s turn some of these off.”

You internally praise every god you can think of as he opens a small pane on the left-hand side of your email that you never would’ve found in a million years. You see a long list of your coworker’s names, and he begins unchecking them in rapid succession. The overlapping rainbow insanity of your calendar dissipates with each click.

You’re watching Jungkook work, bottom lip between your teeth, when you hear the sound of the glass front doors being pushed open. Through them steps Suga, which surprises you— you didn’t exactly take him for a morning person. He doesn’t look like one in his dark wayfarers and all-black tracksuit, and he’s got a pretty obvious death grip on the large to-go cup in his hand. An iced Americano, naturally. You will yourself not to roll your eyes.

Jungkook finishes clicking down your calendar and steps back from the keyboard. “There, that’s better.” Your schedule is still pretty packed, but at least you can actually read it now. He looks up as Suga passes your desk. “Good morning, Min Suga!”

Suga’s pace doesn’t even slow as he heads straight for his office, saying nothing. Jungkook looks thoroughly unbothered by the lack of greeting.

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you say, mildly embarrassed. “We, uh— used a different software at my last job.”

Jungkook nods sympathetically. “Yeah, Outlook kind of sucks. I’m honestly jealous you haven’t been subjected to it until now.”

It’s nearly imperceptible, but you swear you hear a soft laugh echo down the hallway, from the same direction Suga headed. If Jungkook hears it too, his expression doesn’t show it. 

In fact, he’s still chattering away. “It’s just not very intuitive, you know? I’ve been trying to get the boss to switch to GCal forever, but no dice yet.” He pauses, stepping in towards your computer again. “Do you mind if I show you some stuff that helped me?”

It’s like he’s an angel that was sent from heaven to personally help you fake your way through this job. “That would be amazing, Jungkook, thank you.”

You try to keep up with Jungkook’s rapid-fire clicking and typing, but your brain is stuck on that damn laugh that you swear you heard. Did you hear it? You’re probably imagining things, you tell yourself. Just being paranoid. Focus, you tell yourself, and forget about Suga. Min Suga. Whatever his stupid name is. It doesn’t matter.

This train of thought circles around and around in your brain until Jungkook triumphantly hits a final key, then drums his knuckles on your desk. “Alright! You’re all set. I threaded your email conversations, which makes them way easier to follow. I set up some rules so that all the unimportant company notices go to their own folder and don’t clog up your inbox. Uh, I pinned your calendar to your inbox so you can see it at-a-glance. Oh, and I added a to-do pane so if you flag any emails for follow-up, they’ll show up right there, so you don’t forget.” He crosses his arms, looking thoroughly impressed with his handiwork.

“Jesus, Jungkook.” You maybe understood half of what he just said, and that’s being generous. “I feel like you should have this job instead of me.”

He shrugs. “It took me forever to figure this stuff out on my own. I won’t put you through that same torture for no reason.”

His words drag you back to your train of thought. You know you should probably wait and investigate your personal vendetta when your coworker isn’t standing over your shoulder, but you can’t help yourself. You flip back to your calendar and scroll through the list of names, clicking the box to pull up Suga’s.

Jungkook is already laughing as nothing changes on your screen. When you uncheck your own name to remove your calendar from the view, the week goes entirely blank.

You’re trying so hard not to be petty, but Jungkook’s giggling encourages you. “I’m sorry, is Suga allergic to meetings?”

“Kind of. He’s a notorious decliner, especially when he’s got a lot on his plate. I doubt you’ll see much of him, honestly. He doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you huff. As you pull your own crowded schedule back up, you wonder how it’s fair that Suga gets to skip out on meetings just because he doesn’t like them.

Jungkook is unstoppable, and you wonder what his energy levels must be like before the morning boxing class. He talks you through the rest of your schedule for the day, explaining the purpose of each meeting, deliverables required, and who the key players are. You’re in awe that he can recall all of this like it’s nothing, and it seems like hours before he so much as pauses to take a breath.

He checks his watch. “Oh wow! The time went by so fast. We need to get to the meeting. Do you know where it is?”

You almost laugh. Of course you don’t. “Mind showing me?”

You grab your laptop and hurry to follow Jungkook as he hangs a right down the hallway. The two of you are the last to file into the large conference room, and you give a small wave to the rest of the team as you take your seat.

To your surprise, Suga is already there, his coffee cup sweating onto the fancy reclaimed wood table.

The team meeting is a blur of priorities and updates, and you try to match each face to a name you learned yesterday. You do your best to take notes on everything everyone is responsible for, but the pace is breakneck.

It also doesn’t help that Suga is sitting directly across from you; at this point his presence alone is enough to make you feel incompetent. He leans back in his chair with his arms crossed, saying nothing apart from the occasional grunt of acknowledgement when addressed. You can’t stop glancing up at the sour look on his face.

The hour flies by, and your boss closes out with a recap of everyone’s takeaways before adding a final comment. “One last thing, team. As some of you already know, our new administrative assistant has also graciously agreed to be our key-holder moving forward.” You try to keep your composure as you feel your face get hot. 

“To ensure security after recent events,” your boss continues, putting a strange emphasis on his words, “we have changed the studio locks, so your personal keys will no longer work. Our admin will be solely responsible for holding onto the master key, and she will open and close the office each day.”

This seems to be the first topic of conversation all meeting that actually piques Suga’s interest. He sits up in his chair, lazily lifting one hand as if to ask a question, his elbow resting on the table.

“Is that really necessary?”

The room goes dead silent. Even the normal little sounds—people shuffling, typing, and making side comments to each other—all evaporate. You get the idea that Suga rarely even attends these meetings, so the fact that he’s here and speaking up is more than enough to net him everyone’s full attention.

Your boss laces his hands together and rests them firmly on the table, seemingly unfazed. “I’d be very interested to hear your argument about why it’s not necessary, given what happened last month. An incident you were responsible for, if I recall correctly.”

You see a muscle in Suga’s jaw twitch. “Look, I fu—” He corrects himself, clearly trying to avoid an expletive. “I, uh, made a mistake. I was overtired and on a deadline, and I wasn’t thinking straight. It was a big mistake, yes, but I covered the expenses out of pocket. I don’t understand why I’m being punished.”

“I don’t understand why you are hellbent on viewing the company taking measures to heighten security as your personal punishment.”

It really feels like you shouldn’t be witnessing this exchange. You glance over at Jungkook next to you, but he’s staring down at his lap, anxiously twiddling his thumbs.

“Because it is!” Suga smacks the table with his fist and you flinch hard. “You know the kind of schedule I prefer to keep, and you’re forcing me to change it. How is that not punishment?”

Your boss leans forward and fixes Suga in his withering gaze. You hope never to be on the receiving end of such a look. You’d probably quit right on the spot. Or die.

“Min Yoongi,” he begins, and you and Jungkook instantly make eye contact. His eyes are wide and you’re sure you look about the same. Must be serious if your boss is using Suga’s government name. “The company is in agreement that your current work schedule is unsustainable. If you’re working so late and leaving in such a state of exhaustion that you can’t remember to lock the door, we’re more than entitled to step in and find a better solution. Especially considering your careless mistake led to a loss of thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment and a potential privacy breach.”

Holy shit.

“I understand, I fucked up, but—”

“Now,” your boss cuts him off. “I’m sure our administrative assistant would be happy to coordinate with you directly to figure out something that suits your needs, while also keeping our assets secure.”

“But what about when I have a breakthrough in the middle of the night?” Suga is clearly not backing down. “Am I just supposed to call her and beg for the key?” He gestures a hand in your direction but doesn’t break eye contact with your boss. You’d laugh if the room weren’t so tense. Like he’d ever stoop to such a thing when he can’t even so much as say hello to you.

Your boss leans back in his chair and you can tell the conversation is over. “Why don’t you ask her what she’s comfortable with? We don’t need to keep the entire team tied up for your personal temper tantrum, Yoongi.” He pushes his chair back from the table and rises, buttoning his suit jacket. “Just keep in mind, she and I have already discussed this, and she confirmed she’s very comfortable with setting firm boundaries. I’m not going to ask you twice to respect them.”

You swallow hard, unable to look anywhere but at the wood grain of the table. That’s not exactly how you remember the conversation going, but your boss is already dismissing the team and exiting the room before you can say anything.

You scramble to save your notes from the meeting, but just end up aimlessly clicking around on your laptop for a few seconds, too overwhelmed to do anything. You finally snap your computer shut and glance over at Jungkook who is staring down at the floor, eyes still wide. He exhales a slow stream of air in apparent disbelief.

The room feels like a bomb has just gone off. The moment the door shuts behind your boss, everyone seems to move at lightning speed to pack their things and depart.

You stand, grabbing your laptop and praying it’s not obvious how much your hands are shaking. You can feel Suga’s eyes burning holes in you and you don’t dare look up to confirm it.

Jungkook is faster than you and is already halfway down the hallway by the time you push open the conference room doors. You hug your laptop to your chest and are about to hustle to catch up to him when a voice stops you.

It’s Suga, saying your name. You’re surprised he remembers it, given how cold he’d been to your introduction. You feel like you’re moving in slow motion as you turn to face him.

“I’m sure Jungkook will be glad to show you how to lock up, too.” His deep voice is monotone, betraying no emotion despite his outburst only moments earlier. “Assuming your last job didn’t have doors, either.”

It takes a second for his words to make sense. Your mouth drops open before you can attempt to put on a poker face. He’s calling your bluff, you understand. Loudly. Your boss or anyone who was just in the meeting might still be able to hear him if they were nearby.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” is all you can think to stammer, but Suga doesn’t stick around to hear your reply. masterlist | chapter two

[velvett-tearss]

Checkmate — Eren Jaeger

summary: A vicious cycle where you and Eren fight over who gets to light the match while dousing each other in gasoline.

warnings: toxic relationship, manipulation, domestic altercation, slut-shaming, gaslighting, cheating, heavy cursing, suggestive themes, mentions of alcohol and marijuana use, fem!reader (she/her)

genre: modern au, angst (?)

word count: 3.4k

a/n: my venus scorpio hates to love Eren lmao pls don’t think this is a healthy relationship, (lmk if i forgot any other warnings pls), this was on repeat while i wrote, hope you enjoy it <3 (again, pls lmk if I missed anything!) and stay safe!

You knew it was wrong. Everything about you and him was wrong. Nothing could justify it anymore, you knew that much. You didn't think you could lose yourself in the game, but you had.

And, all of it was Eren's fault.

He didn't worry about feelings, responsibilities, or duty. He didn't care if he came back later than he said he would you, if he left you waiting in that pretty dress you had picked out just for him.

And, you loathed that about him. You loathed that Eren Jaeger was free. Totally and utterly free of everything and anything. Nothing would hold him back. He wouldn't allow it to come to pass.

He had his freedom, but you had something else.

You questioned things when you weren't satisfied with the answer you had been given. You did things just to see what would happen after. You pushed people just to see how long it would take from them to fall over the edge.

You had often been told you were simply too much to deal with. That you pushed people's buttons until they no longer wanted to be around you. That you stole parts of their sanity until they had no choice other than to run away.

But, you never saw it like that. You didn't mean to be a parasite who ate away at people's peace and patience. You simply liked testing your boundaries.

So, you preferred the word curious.

Maybe Eren had been walking around the earth without shackles his entire life, but you knew everyone was a prisoner to something, even someone like him.

Naturally, you wanted to see what it would take for Eren to break. He was so shameless, so completely free of any care in the world. Eren obeyed his own rules and his alone. He was such an inconsistent asshole half the time, but you couldn't help yourself.

You wouldn't forgive yourself if you had looked away from that charming smile and those pretty teal eyes.

Despite the facade of him being a simple-minded person, you found out what was truly hiding underneath the mask.

Eren was intemperate with a sharp tongue and a loud mouth. He did things his way, and there would be no other option. There was such a mix of emotions boiling inside him, it was like it was asking to be disrupted.

How could you not indulge yourself?

You knew it would be gratifying to see how he would react when backed into a corner. Would he cry like the others? Would he fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness? Or, would he shut down?

How long would it take for him to leave you?

Eren was already known to be hot-headed, and you wondered what it was like to burn. You figured it wouldn't take long to find out how far you could push him. He was the crybaby type, so you didn't think he would be hard to crack.

But, he wasn't like the others.

See, Eren Jaeger wasn't a person who would easily crack. He wasn't the guy who gave up under pressure. In fact, he was the complete opposite. He was a fighter, and he would stop at nothing till victory was his.

It was only too bad for him that you were the same. Your thirst would only be quenched when you saw him break. You needed it more than you had ever needed anything.

You pushed, and he pushed harder. You shouted, and he shouted louder. You bitched and moaned and complained and did awful things to him, and Eren did them right back.

It was an endless cycle between the two of you.

You would do something to tick him off. Maybe it was telling him how Jean looked so sexy in black or how Armin's intelligence was out of this world you didn't know how he wasn't dating anyone.

Perhaps you were a parasite who ate away at your own liberty to do what you wished. You stretched yourself to push him into a corner, and it always worked.

Whatever it was, Eren would explode on you. You knew it pushed his buttons, it fucked with his mind, and that's why you did it. Because maybe it would be the day he finally gave in to the pain you inflicted on him and leave you for good.

Sometimes it would be him doing something that rubbed you the wrong way. Perhaps you wore something too short, so he called you a whore before fucking you like one. Or, he didn't answer your texts all night because he was with God-knows-who.

You shouted at him, called him all sorts of different names, and even trashed his apartment if you felt like it. Eren would fight with you, blame you for pushing him far enough as to dip a toe in the unforgiving pool of infidelity, and the two of you wouldn't speak for a week or so.

"I can't even walk around my own damn apartment without you being so annoying!" Eren shouted with so much force you held back a flinch. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down, green eyes wondering about the room.

You didn't know if he was shit-faced, high, or a mix of both. You didn't care anymore. It seemed like you had been arguing for hours, but who really knew? All perception of time was lost on you when you were around Eren.

All this started because he asked you to stay the night at his apartment. He usually preferred to go out and have some fun around town, but this was his way of making it up to you for leaving you stranded at the restaurant on your last date.

Well, it was a way for the both of you to make up with each other. Before Eren decided to steal your phone and drive away without you, the waiter serving you had left his number for you. It was only the consequence of your actions earlier that night.

You spent most of the evening flirting with him every chance you got. Batting your eyelashes at him, leaning against the table the slightest so he could get a peak of the dainty little necklace that sat pretty on your cleavage.

He wasn't even that attractive, really — you and Eren both knew that — but he still let his emotions get the best of him. If there was one thing you could trust to be consistent it was his red-hot anger.

"Don't leave when I'm talking to you!" Eren ordered, green eyes blazing hard at the back of your head. He watched you walked around the house, following you to continue your argument. "What? You're gonna go and cry like a little bitch now?"

"Why can't you leave me alone, Eren?!" you screamed, grabbing your sweater and shoving it into your bag. You turned around only to find him inches from your face. "I'm not staying here if you're gonna be a dick!"

He let out a dry chuckle as you continued gathering your things. "What a perfect fucking excuse to go fuck that jerk in your class, right?" Eren hissed, reaching to grab your arm. "Gosh, can't you ever just keep your legs closed for a night?!"

"Keep my legs closed?!" you shot back, shoving him away from you. "You're the one who's been out doing who-knows-what, Eren! You're the one who comes home with lipstick stains from whichever whore you fucked!"

"You shouldn't talk about your friends like that."

You snapped your neck to him.

His face was stony with his jaw clenched, and his hands balled up in fists. None of those things frightened you, though; it was those eyes of him. Those pretty green eyes that had once stared at you so sweetly, so lovingly long ago.

Now, all you could see were glaciers in his irises.

You swallowed down the thick lump in your throat. "You are such a fucking dick." you declared, averting your gaze from his cold one. You advanced to the door, but he caught your arm in his grip again.

"Let go of me." you ordered, attempting to pry his hand off your arm, but he wouldn't budge. "Fuck, Eren. Are you fucking stupid and deaf? I said—"

Your voice got caught in your throat when he shoved you against the wall of his bedroom. He had you caged in, one hand pinning you to the wall and the other right beside you.

It seemed like Eren learned from the last time he tried to keep you from escaping. His last efforts of getting you to stay put were always futile, and you somehow still managed to break away every time.

He always tried to grab you a second time, but you left his cheek with a bright red outline of your palm, smacking him good and hard before leaving his apartment in a fray.

None of your past escapes mattered right now, so you continued squirming around in effort to release yourself from his iron clutch. "Wow, I guess you're not as stupid as you look." you scoffed, your other hand clawing at his.

"Don't be such a bitch." Eren ordered, but you continued your attempts to leave that were only feeble against his strength.

"Why don't you go with your other girlfriends, hmm?" You scoffed, reaching for his wrist and struggling to release your arm. "Tch, Eren, you're fucking hurting me. Stop—"

He brought you towards him, pulling you into his arms. You let out a grunt of disapproval as you tried to shimmy out of his crushing hug. "Oh, my gosh, let me go! I don't want you!" you protested, pushing your hand against his hard chest to create space between you, but he thrusted you back into his chest.

"Don't be such a bitch." Eren murmured into your ear. He had one hand wrapped around your upper back, keeping you close to him, while the other held your wrist tightly to stop you from pushing him away.

His shirt still smelled like the cologne you gifted him for his last birthday. Eren was extra kind to you that day, holding your hand and giving you kisses on the cheek.

The fresh scent was familiar on your nose. You breathed it in, allowing yourself to give in to his touch. "I'm not a bitch." you told him, closing your eyes. You hoped it would help you travel back in time to that beautiful spring day.

He only grunted in response, leaning his head against the top of yours. You felt the slight brush of air down your neck when he let out a sigh. The hand that held your wrist released it, finding purchase on your waist.

A few moments of silence passed between the two of you. Eren's fingers found solace in the ends of your hair. You hadn't realized how much his words affected you until you felt your hair twirl around his fingers.

Did he really think you were a bitch? Is that why as much as you loved his cologne, you could still smell the unfamiliar scent of someone else on him?

If he cared about you, why would he leave you alone in his messy apartment all night? Why would he even bother inviting you? Why did he make an effort to speak to you so lovely that your heart fluttered?

"I just wanted to have a nice time with my girl, and you're making that so difficult. Why?" Eren questioned softly, a strand of your hair between his fingers. "Why do you go out of your way to do shit that irritates me?"

Tears prickled your eyes. "I could ask you the same thing." you replied, holding back the urge to sniffle. How could you not cry when he hurt you? You loved him with so much of yourself, and everything he did seemed like it was just to cause you harm.

"You're so mean to me, Eren. You never treat me like you should."

"I know." he said, the movement of his mouth against your head. "I don't mean to treat you like that, baby. I'm sorry. I really am." You didn't believe him, though. You didn't even want to look into his eyes because you feared you would be right.

You let out a sigh, wiping the tear that escaped the corner of your eye on his shirt. "You're bad for me, Eren." you stated, turning your head to rest against his shoulder. "You're a bad guy and a bad boyfriend. You cheat on me and call my names, and you make me cry."

Eren hummed, rubbing your back in circles. "I'll be better. I'll try harder this time." he offered, his tone almost sounding pleading on your ears. "I promise I'll do better for you."

You didn't believe it. Eren couldn't do better. He was sick with an incurable disease. He no longer felt safe in his own body. He couldn't trust his thoughts to lead him to the correct answer. It all started when he met you, and your infection spread throughout his entire system.

You had infiltrated his way of thinking and acting, his way of feeling and speaking. Eren Jaeger would never be the same person he was before he met you.

He couldn't hide his disdain when he was around his friends, not with all the remarks you made of them. Did you really think Jean was better looking than him? Was it his hair?

Maybe he should start spending more time in the library. Would that make him him look smarter in your eyes? Would you come to him for help with your homework or would you still go to Armin?

And, it was in your silence that his questions of doubt were answered. "You don't believe me." Eren stated as if he were reading the very thoughts from your mind.

A bolt of lightning shot through your spine at his tone. This was the side of your boyfriend you hadn't quite figured out yet. He could loving and playful and crack jokes all day, and mean and standoffish where he wouldn’t even look at you, but he could also be fucking sadist.

His fist curled into the roots of your hair, yanking your head back to meet his gaze. There was a sharp ache pounding on the back of your head, but you forgot all about it when you saw the slight curl of his lip.

"No one else would put up with you. You know that, don't you?" Eren asked you, green eyes appearing darker than they ever had. "You know no one would ever give you the time of day like I do."

"I know." you managed to tell him, leaning into where he gripped your hair to ease the pain you felt.

"Do you?" he questioned, raising a brow.

You tried your best to keep the hammering of your heart against your chest from showing on your face. Eren may have been a sadist, but he wasn't the only one.

"Yes, Eren." you stated, deciding to take a risk and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. You felt him tense under your touch. "You misunderstand me. I only what what's best for you and me. That's all I ever wanted."

He furrowed a brow at your words.

Sure, you would admit that Eren had power over you. He was stronger than you, taller than you, quicker than you. He was the one who had your back against a wall, and it was your hair in his fist.

But, you had something he didn't. You honed the skill he wouldn't be able to polish for years to come. He may have been overly aggressive and carried the ability to make an environment where he would always be the person with the most power, but you had experience.

And, that was something he couldn’t create.

"I've done so much for you, Eren. Why would I go through all this struggle if I didn't want to be with you?" you explained, forcing a pout on your lips. "Is that how you feel about me?"

His grip on your head began to loosen. "No," Eren forced out, eyebrows so scrunched forward they lost their sharpness. "That's not what I want. I was—"

"If you know that, then why would you stand me up?" you demanded, gazing you at him. "If you know all I want is for you to be happy, why would you start a fight with me? You know I would never hurt you like that, baby."

"I didn't mean to start a fight." Eren admitted, swallowing. "I just don't want you to leave me. I don't want to be alone. I don't know what—"

"I know. You don't have to explain it to me, baby. I know exactly what you're thinking." you told him, reaching for his hand to hold in yours. "It's okay, Eren. I know you wouldn't ever want to hurt me, right?"

He nodded, teal eyes watching as you brought his hand to your pillowy lips. You placed a feathery kiss against his knuckles. It had been so soft, so sweet that he wanted to cry.

He had just had car sex with one of the girls who lived in your dormitory's building, and you were kind enough to give him another chance. He did something that hurt you, and you still only wanted what was best for him.

"I love you." Eren sputtered out. His eyes were wide at you, and his voice sounded like he was begging you for something you refused to give him.

You let out a sweet sigh, eyes snapping to his. "You love me?" you repeated, taking a moment to savor the way the words felt on your tongue. Your brows furrowed at the words. "Do you really?"

He nodded quickly, maneuvering his hand to hold yours. He peppered kisses along your fingers, your knuckles. "I do. I really fucking do. I love you." Eren assured, kissing the inside of your hand before grabbing the side of your face.

You raised a brow as he planted soft, needy kisses along your cheeks. "How much do you love me, Eren?" you inquired, bringing your hand to massage his scalp.

Eren swallowed, looking up at you. He was quiet. You blinked back at him, waiting for his answer. You had been so surprised to find he had nothing to offer you in that moment.

You quirked a brow at his silence. "How much, Eren? How much do you love me?" you repeated, voice advancing from a curious tone to a demanding one.

He shook his head, bringing your lips to meet his gently. He tasted like . . . was it honey? Or was it just how sweet the lies he told sounded on your ears?

You weren't able to tell what his mouth tasted like, but you knew you had earned another spit sister? Had he kissed her the way he kissed you? Did he feed her the same lies he did you? Could she taste him? Was she able to put a finger on what the candied flavor on his lips was?

Eren pulled back from you slightly. You couldn’t tell if it was his turquoise eyes that were glassy or if it was yours. "Too much." he told you, lips brushing against yours. "I love you too much." He collided his face with yours, tongue slipping into your open mouth.

His kisses travelled lower — along your jaw, down your nec. He sucked hard when he found your pulse-point, only stopping once a soft moan escaped your swollen lips.

There really wasn't a way you would ever leave him, even if you tried to. Despite all the fights, all the times you professed your hate for him, all the times you tried tried to break it off, Eren stayed with you.

But, it was the same for him. Even if you hurt him, flirt with his friends right in front of him, cuss him out and manipulate him the way you had already done a profuse amount of times in the past, Eren would always love you. How could he not?

Maybe it was because both of you were equally fucked in the head, or because you both loved the concept of pain whether you be playing the role of the inflicted or inflicter, but in some twisted way, you never wanted to leave him.

Somewhere in the messed up relationship that you two had, you realized you loved him. God, you fucking loved him, even if he treated you like a pet.

And, he was your favorite toy. Yours to use and to lie and to fuck. Whether Eren Jaeger was so free he couldn't help but trample over you, or you were too much, too curious that you pushed him to the very brink and a little more, one thing wouldn't change.

You knew it was wrong. Everything about you and him was wrong. Nothing could justify it, you figured that much. You didn't think you could lose yourself in the game, but you did.

And, all of it was Eren's fault.

note: welp they were toxic huh

[user21340]

my only exception

(i don’t own this gif or any of the characters in this fic)

summary: you and nat are separated when in the Red Room. you both are reunited. after holding onto a couple things to give her for a couple years you both realize love is well and alive.

warnings: violence, abuse, swearing, lil angst, fluff

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

word count: nearly 1.8k

a/n: omg i don’t know what to say! thank you for all the support on the stuff i’ve released so far. it’s super crazy seeing some of my favorite writers following me. thank you so so much for 30 followers! much love 💕💕

(italics in dialogue mean the person is speaking russian)

sorry for any mistakes i wrote this at 3am and have to get up for school at 6 😪 no bueno

It was a cold and stormy night as the power in the Red Room continuously flickered on and off even with the help of a high powered generator.

You and Natalia had been waiting for an event like this to occur so you could break out. Even though both herself and you lived only a small bit of life outside in the real world before you were taken in and trained to become a weapon, both of your humanly morals knew right from wrong. The Red Room’s treatment definitely being a wrong.

Madame B and the other monstrous staff at this facility put all you girls to bed roughly an hour ago. Nat and yourself undid your cuffs connecting your wrist to the metal bedframe so you could pack the few things you both owned before you made your escape. Both of you had talked this plan over through and through so you both were on the same page as soon as you saw that flicker of a power outage surge though the site.

At the moment you both were eighteen years old meaning both of you had proven yourselves worthy enough to hone a spot at this academy and had graduated a couple months prior.

GAME PLAN

Some information you had gathered which the staff weren’t aware of was every time the power flickered off, it disarmed and unlocked the exit door/s for nearly five seconds. The weather has been dry but cold lately not making this discovery too useful. The plan was to sneak over to uncuff yourselves in the middle of the night when these brief power outages were occurring, pack your items, and as you were about to escape bang on the wall of the large room where the girls kept at the academy would sleep to create enough of a distraction before you were out and free for good. Easy right? How wrong you’d be.

When it was time for the distraction, Nat stood by the door waiting for the next surge of lightning of whatever broke the electricities stability as you walked to the far side of the sleeping quarters where you were sure you’d have enough time to bang on the walls and sprint out of that door.

You heard a crash of thunder so you knew your escape chance would be soon. As you were about to start banging on the walls you see a door knob parallel to Nat but far away none the less start turning.

BAM

Lightning strikes, what seems to be right outside of the building. You sprint for the door only to have your arm caught by one of Madame B’s henchmen.

Just like that the power flickers.

five.

Without much thought you break away from the man’s grasp lunge at Natalia who happened to be at the door.

four.

“We’ll meet again Natalia.” you speak softly

three.

You shove her out of the door with all of your might.

two.

You use all of your remaining strength that you can muster up to slam the heavy metal door closed.

one.

Click

The door locks once again.

“You stupid little bitch. Get over here NOW!” the man practically growls.

You slowly and steadily walk over to the man as he gruesomely pummels and kicks you.

Sure the beatings, mind torture and manipulation hurt, but you’ve never experienced any kind of pain on the same caliber to what being separated from Natalia feels like.

Madame B is more than disappointed, enraged and annoyed with one of her ‘star students’. You receive daily beatings and long, tiresome training hours for helping Natalia escape. Although everyone is ‘replaceable’ in the minds of the staff as well as Madame B, they just lost Natalia so they couldn’t afford to lose you as well.

Months later the beatings finally slow down to a couple a week which you are able to endure. Madame’s mission now is to make a monster out of you by pushing you to and past your limits when training.

One night you finally drift off to sleep. You hate sleeping. It’s a constant replay of your last night with Nat. Only hoping that she made it to civilization safe and sound and is living a normal teens life. However, tonight’s dream is different. In this dream you see yourself shoving your packed-escape bag between your mattress and bedframe as you are bleeding out on the ground from the beatings. You wake up in a cold sweat and manage to kneel on the ground and slowly lift up your mattress only to find that same, small bag filled with the few, but important belongings of yours and Nat’s. You open up the bag forgetting all about what you both had packed. The most important items you see is a picture of Natalia as a toddler with alongside her mother and father, a small metal ring which you had made for her after stealing a small teaspoon at dinner, banging it against the concrete floor with a rock to flatten it out as you’d continuously bend it back and fourth so only the thinnest part is of the spoon is left which you bend into a ring before surprising Nat with it after you know she had a pretty rough day training, and lastly Nat’s papers containing important info about her such as her full name, birthplace, parents names, and birthdate.

November 22, 1984

November 22, 1984

November 22, 1984

November 22, 1984

You make sure you have this date burned into your head, latching onto any important information about her you can learn.

You hang onto those three items keeping them hidden.

Two and a half years later...

It’s late at night when you hear gunshots and fights breaking out throughout the facility. You quickly get up out of bed (once again undoing your cuffs) and grab those three items from under your mattress. You place them in your pocket getting ready to make a break for the outside world. As you reach for the door you turn back taking one last look at the place you’ve been living for pretty much the entirety of your life, only before a man in a funny red, white, and blue costume enters your view.

You bring your hands up ready for a fight.

“Look kid, I’m not here to fight you. We are breaking you out.” the man ensures

“Who even are you?” you sternly question

“Steve Rogers. But the public calls me Captain America.” his gaze settles on your figure, “Mind telling me who you are?” he pushes

“Names y/n, but look I’ve got places to be ma-“ you are cut off when Captain America’s jaw drops.

“No, we both know you don’t. But, you ARE coming with me.” you know there isn’t much room for protest but that won’t stop you from trying. You lunge at him and push him to the ground as you wave a small goodbye and sprint towards the door only for your body to fall on the ground limp. Realizing you’ve been stunned by something temporarily.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” you shriek, he only chuckles.

“God, Nat was right about you.” she shakes he head with a small grin on his face.

“N-nat?” you whisper as you vision fades black.

You regain consciousness and look around only to find yourself in a weird windowy, loud vehicle type thing. You see a group of people standing around you but you see one particular familiar face hovering directly over yours lightly combing through your hair with one one hand and gently outlining your jawline with the other.

“NAT!” you screech, your brain is feeling too many emotions to comprehend at the moment.

Once she sees and hears you are awake she pulls you into a bone crushing hug.

“Y/n/n I’m so sorry I left you and you had to stay in that hellhole for so long alone I don’t know how I would’ve help up it if that-“ you cut her off

“Natalia, all that matters is I’m here with you right now.” you reason.

After getting off of what you learned is a ‘plane’ you and Nat spend hours together clinging onto one another as if, as soon as you separate you will be absent in her life for another couple years, vice versa.

Months pass by. Even though you and Nat have yet to label yourselves as a couple your hearts belong to one another after being attached to the hip to one another for pretty much every activity or mission you both do. In this time you were also recruited as an Avenger due to your skillful hand to hand combat and your masterful types of fighting you have nearly perfected from your time in the room.

The date just happens to be November 22. You are pretty sure no one in the compound is aware of Natalia’s birthday, hell, you aren’t even sure if she’s aware.

Today is the day you decide to return the missing items from her bag that you recover after she left.

You wake up next to her and wake her up with a long, graceful, soft kiss on her lips to which she responds shortly after by kissing you back as you feel as tiny smirk against your own lips.

“Hey, what was that for?” she asks playfully

“Ohhh nothing. Just maybe it’s for my favorite girl’s special day today.” Nat blushes.

“H-how’d you know?”

“Oh honey, I know e v e r y t h i n g.” you reply

Before she can respond you pull her to sit up on your shared bed and hand her an envelope containing her papers as well as he one and only photo of herself and her family.

As soon as she sees both items she sobs into your chest. (more because of the picture, you really only included her papers so she too would know all the most crucial parts of her life pre-red room era.

“Uh, uh, uh’” you tut,”One more thing.” you reach for her hand slowly and tell her to shut her eyes. You slowly slide the makeshift ring on her finger.

“Open.” you instruct

To which she gasps at the sight and just like the day you both were reunited you hugged and kissed for hours on end.

“Nat, will you be my girlfriend?” you ask with a sheepish smile.

“Of course y/n/n, I thought you’d never ask.” she takes a breath,“I know love is for children, but you are my only exception.”

“Ditto.” Natalia chuckles, “That is what the Americans say, right?” you backtrack with flushed cheeks.

She holds you tighter and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Sure.” she breathes out.

[bokunosimpfiction]

Yandere!Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Synopsis: Heisenberg kidnaps the reader. And she’s pissed about it. And so is he. Turns out there’s a lot more to it than it seems, tw: kidnapping I’m not tagging for violence because it’s less graphic than even the mild stuff in canon. Like reader gets a concussion and a dislocated arm, that’s it.

A/N: first time ever writing for Resident Evil. I haven’t even played the games, only watched a play-through and immediately fell in love with this hobo. Honestly, there’s a lot of room to make a sequel or some more from this but I have commitment issues and it probably won’t happen.

Oh and one last thing! Do you think I should add resident evil: village to my fandoms I write for or no. Let me know please!

             It’s dark in your small cottage, claustrophobic with the way you stumble to the front door as fast as you can. You try to take deep breaths, but you can’t, not with someone chasing you. You cut through the kitchen, and when he reaches out to grab you, you slam the door to a cabinet as hard as you can. You can hear his pained yell.

             “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, (y/n),” he says.

             “I’ll make it as hard as I damn please!” You put your hand on the handle to the front door, twist and right before you manage to open it, a body slams into yours and you hear your arm pop. Loudly. And it burns at the elbow like someone poured gasoline on it and set it on fire.

             You can hear his heavy breathing and feel the warm air on the crown of your head. “You put up a good fight, I’ll give you that much.” He presses his body further into yours, and you feel everything. The toned muscle under a layer of fat, the harsh fabric of his shirt and jacket, and the bulge that presses into the small of your back.

             “You’re so small,” he coos, like he’s talking to a dog, “I can’t wait to break you.”

             You manage to wiggle one arm free and jab him in the side as hard as you can with your elbow. You hear him say oof under his breath, and you take this as the opportunity to press your foot into the door and push back into him as hard as you can, to at least get him to stumble back.

             It doesn’t work, he just leans his whole-body weight on you and uses one hand to smash your head into the door. He could have done it harder, you reckon, but it still hurts like a mother fucker. “Shut the fuck up before I do something I regret.”

             “Like you don’t already regret breaking into my house and trying to kidnap me? Like you don’t regret slamming me into my door and dislocating my elbow? What are you going to do to me that you’ll regret? Huh?”

             He looks down at you through those yellow glasses of his, light from the glass peephole reflecting off of them but his hat shading the rest of his face. “I said shut the fuck up!” He presses your head even further into the door, and your temple digs into the frame. It hurts, and your eyes water from the pain.

             “Who even are you?!” You end up shouting. His grip loosens a little bit, just enough for you to move your head off the door frame and onto the actual door. “I’ve never met you in my goddamn life and you break into my house, say you love me, and try to kidnap me!”

             Something in him breaks, you can tell, the outline of his features look crestfallen. “You don’t know who I am?”

             “No… I don’t. And here you are in my house, chasing me around like I’m some goddamn animal you’re hunting.” Your eyes water. “I know you don’t mean a damn word you said this entire time.”

             “Shut your goddamn trap woman!” His grip on your hair tightens. “I love you and we both know it; I know everything about you.”

             “So, you’re a stalker? Huh, didn’t think I was pretty enough to have one.”

             “I knew you had a mouth on you, and it was attractive till it was pointed in my direction.” His voice is low and gravelly at this point, like a thin string that’s pulled taut and about to snap.

             “Well get used to it you fu-” You don’t get to finish your sentence, because a piece of metal from his hammer slams you hard in the face, knocking you out cold.

             When you wake up, it’s hard to open your eyes. It’s too bright and the room is spinning when you move your head up. That must be one hell of a bump on your forehead. You go to feel it, only to find you hands chained up to a metal pipe on the wall. Your feet are too, but that chain is a lot slacker.

             You’re lying down on the floor, a cheap scratchy blanket separating you from rough, worn down cement. It’s still hard and cold, but it didn’t scratch up your skin, so that’s something to be grateful for. You look around the room, only to find an old tv, that’s on, and playing static. That’s what was so bright, you realize.

             Suddenly the noise from the t.v. stops, and you hear a voice. It’s still sounds like static, but it’s audible enough to understand the words and recognize the voice. It’s the same guy who kidnapped you. You don’t really process what he’s saying, it’s just noise to you, and you close your eyes and curl up as best as you can. Maybe you’ll wake up, and everything will be okay.

             “Quit ignoring me girlie.”

             You snap out of your daydreaming. The days of that warm bed and leaky bathroom faucet are over, and this cruel situation is your reality for the time being.

             “Okay. Okay. But just quiet down my head hurts.”

             “I’d be sorry, but you brought that upon yourself,” he says.

             You can’t help but be snarky, you’re tired and already sick of this shit. “I’m sorry you don’t have the self-control to not kidnap people and knock them unconscious via flying pieces of metal.”

             “Touché.” You hear back.

             “Can you at least get me some Tylenol for my head or something.”

             “Why should I? After all the attitude you’ve given me, I should just leave you in there to starve.” Looks like he knows how to be snarky too.

             “Because you were the one who hit me in the head and locked me in here?”

             “Apologize and I’ll consider it.”

             You go back to your curled up position. “I guess I’ll just starve down here then.”

             The t.v. cuts off again, or you just tune him out, just run your hands along the chains to try and find a lock. You find the one attached to your left ankle and begin to plot your escape. Maybe you could pick the lock with a bobby pin? You run your hands through your hair, not only to find that it was down, but all of them were removed.

             You run your hands down your pajama pants. Maybe you have something in your pockets? They also turn up empty.

               “Are you looking for something to pick the lock with?” You hear from the t.v. You turn back to look at it, only to see his face. He’s not wearing his glasses, and he’s taken off his worn-out bucket hat, so you can see his untamed salt and pepper hair. “I took the liberty of searching your person while you were knocked out. I highly doubt you’ll find something to pick the lock with.”

             “You’re an asshole, you know that.” You find yourself saying. To be fair, you probably shouldn’t, considering that he: is holding you hostage, threatening to leave you to starve, and is clearly a psychopath, despite his claims that he loves you.

             “Calm down, you know it makes me upset to see you mad.”

             You can’t help but raise your voice at him. “Quit fucking taunting me! You won this stupid ass game. You kidnapped me! You can come down here and kill me now!”

             “You think I wanna kill you?” He asks, you can tell he’s just as furious as you are. He chuckles lightly. “You know I love you. I did this for your own good! There are people out there. People who want to taint you and your innocence! People who want to hurt you!”

             “I can handle myself just fine! I had before your psycho ass came along and kidnapped me!” Your furious, desperately searching for a weak point on the pipe with your hands while you yell at the t.v.

             “And what would have happened if I didn’t?” He asks you, “lady supersized bitch in the castle would have gotten to you first… I can’t have that.”

             “I’m sorry who?” You ask. Suddenly things have gotten more confusing.

             “I’m not the only one who’s after you,” he clarifies. “You think I’m the one who’s a psychopath, there’s a woman out there who wants to drink your blood and eat your flesh! And monster that wants to drown you and swallow you whole-”

             “Slow down! I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!”

             “Don’t interrupt me! I want what’s best for you!” You can hear him take a deep breath. “I’m going to bring you upstairs and explain everything. And you’re going to behave, am I clear?”

             You just nod your head.

             “Good. Now stop trying to find a weak point on that pipe to get loose before I get down there. It has carbon monoxide in there, you’ll poison yourself before you get to that door.”

             You immediately stop twisting the connector and drop your hands to your sides.

             “Good girl…” His praise makes you want to vomit. “Now stay still while I come get you.”

             When he comes down and opens that iron door and unceremoniously tosses you over his shoulder, you can’t help but comment on it. “Am I a bag of potatoes to you?”

             “Don’t complain, I could be like that Dimitrescu bitch and turn you into wine.”

             You shut up immediately and grasp the back of his coat for balance. You don’t know why, but his empty threats scare you immensely. You watch the hallways blur into one another, trying to see if you can find a window, or an escape rout of some sort, hell, even a vent he couldn’t fit in but you could would work well.

             He smacks your thigh. Not hard, but enough for a slight sting and to get your attention. “We’re in the center of the factory, there’s no need for you to be tracking an escape route, especially because you won’t be leaving any time soon.”

             Eventually, you end up in a small office like space, with a desk, a cork board with several pictures of people on it, and a large grate that leads to a tunnel downwards. He pulls the metal chair out of the corner with his powers and places you in the chair. “Stay.”

             “So…” He turns towards the cork board. “Since your out of town, I’ll explain the run-down-“

             “I don’t really care for the details.” You stand up from the chair and go to walk towards him, but he crosses the room in a second and slams you back down.

             “I told you to stay in that goddamn chair!” He opens his mouth to explain but a whirring noise starts out of nowhere. It’s loud, obnoxious, and coming from the vent. He opens it. “Shut your goddamn trap!”

             “Anyhow, (Y/N),” he starts, “the other three lords decided that they’re interested in you, for whatever their reasons are. I’m assuming they want to kill you.”

             “That’s a veeeeeery extreme assumption.” You roll your eyes, and prop your head on your hands.

             “Well two of them are well know for turning people into dolls and drinking their blood,” he says casually, “it’s only a fair assumption they want to do the same with you.”

             “I’m sorry they what?”

             He turns to you, surprised for a moment that you don’t know what he’s talking about. “Super-sized bitch over here,” a sharp piece of metal lands on the photo of a pale, middle aged woman with bold red lipstick and a black hat, “is one of the other three lords, known for drinking the blood of girls like yourself. Wouldn’t suggest meeting her, she’s not that pleasant.”

             “Known for?”

             “Sort of, most of the towns people don’t know,” he turns to you and leans on the table by the cork board, “they’re too busy worshipping Mother Miranda.”

             “I’ve heard her name before,” you say, “doesn’t she protect the town?”

             You can sense the anger you caused before you can take it back.

             “That Miranda bitch doesn’t protect anybody from shit. She’s the one causing all the issues, kidnapping people and mutating them, killing them and throwing their lives away like table scraps.” You slams his hand on the table and you visibly flinch. He quickly apologizes.

             “You keep mentioning ‘the other three lords’ how many are there, and who’s the one your excluding in that statement?” You question as soon as you get the chance. He’s talking, loudly, quickly and it’s filling up the space in the room with an anxious sort of white noise.

             “Pardon me,” he says, and waltzes over, almost over-dramatically. He brings your hand to his lips and places a light kiss. You can feel his stubble and chapped lips on the top of your hand. He desperately needs to use chap-stick. “I’m Heisenberg, one of the four lords, but you can call me Karl.”

             “Okay… Karl.” You test the name out on your tongue. “What are you going to do with me, now that I’m here?”

             He gets down on one knee in front of you, still holding your hand. “Oh (Y/N), I’m going to treat you how you deserve, like a princess.”

[blind-rats]

The Rise & Fall of Joss Whedon; the Myth of the Hollywood Feminist Hero

By Kelly Faircloth

“I hate ‘feminist.’ Is this a good time to bring that up?” Joss Whedon asked. He paused knowingly, waiting for the laughs he knew would come at the creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer making such a statement.

It was 2013, and Whedon was onstage at a fundraiser for Equality Now, a human rights organization dedicated to legal equality for women. Though Buffy had been off the air for more than a decade, its legacy still loomed large; Whedon was widely respected as a man with a predilection for making science fiction with strong women for protagonists. Whedon went on to outline why, precisely, he hated the term: “You can’t be born an ‘ist,’” he argued, therefore, “‘feminist’ includes the idea that believing men and women to be equal, believing all people to be people, is not a natural state, that we don’t emerge assuming that everybody in the human race is a human, that the idea of equality is just an idea that’s imposed on us.”

The speech was widely praised and helped cement his pop-cultural reputation as a feminist, in an era that was very keen on celebrity feminists. But it was also, in retrospect, perhaps the high water mark for Whedon’s ability to claim the title, and now, almost a decade later, that reputation is finally in tatters, prompting a reevaluation of not just Whedon’s work, but the narrative he sold about himself. 

In July 2020, actor Ray Fisher accused Whedon of being “gross, abusive, unprofessional, and completely unacceptable” on the Justice League set when Whedon took over for Zach Synder as director to finish the project. Charisma Carpenter then described her own experiences with Whedon in a long post to Twitter, hashtagged #IStandWithRayFisher.

On Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, Carpenter played Cordelia, a popular character who morphed from snob to hero—one of those strong female characters that made Whedon’s feminist reputation—before being unceremoniously written off the show in a plot that saw her thrust into a coma after getting pregnant with a demon. For years, fans have suspected that her disappearance was related to her real-life pregnancy. In her statement, Carpenter appeared to confirm the rumors. “Joss Whedon abused his power on numerous occasions while working on the sets of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ and ‘Angel,’” she wrote, describing Fisher’s firing as the last straw that inspired her to go public.

Buffy was a landmark of late 1990s popular culture, beloved by many a burgeoning feminist, grad student, gender studies professor, and television critic for the heroine at the heart of the show, the beautiful blonde girl who balanced monster-killing with high school homework alongside ancillary characters like the shy, geeky Willow. Buffy was very nearly one of a kind, an icon of her era who spawned a generation of leather-pants-wearing urban fantasy badasses and women action heroes.

Buffy was so beloved, in fact, that she earned Whedon a similarly privileged place in fans’ hearts and a broader reputation as a man who championed empowered women characters. In the desert of late ’90s and early 2000s popular culture, Whedon was heralded as that rarest of birds—the feminist Hollywood man. For many, he was an example of what more equitable storytelling might look like, a model for how to create compelling women protagonists who were also very, very fun to watch. But Carpenter’s accusations appear to have finally imploded that particular bit of branding, revealing a different reality behind the scenes and prompting a reevaluation of the entire arc of Whedon’s career: who he was and what he was selling all along.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer premiered March 1997, midseason, on The WB, a two-year-old network targeting teens with shows like 7th Heaven. Its beginnings were not necessarily auspicious; it was a reboot of a not-particularly-blockbuster 1992 movie written by third-generation screenwriter Joss Whedon. (His grandfather wrote for The Donna Reed Show; his father wrote for Golden Girls.) The show followed the trials of a stereotypical teenage California girl who moved to a new town and a new school after her parents’ divorce—only, in a deliberate inversion of horror tropes, the entire town sat on top of the entrance to Hell and hence was overrun with demons. Buffy was a slayer, a young woman with the power and immense responsibility to fight them. After the movie turned out very differently than Whedon had originally envisioned, the show was a chance for a do-over, more of a Valley girl comedy than serious horror.

It was layered, it was campy, it was ironic and self-aware. It looked like it belonged on the WB rather than one of the bigger broadcast networks, unlike the slickly produced prestige TV that would follow a few years later. Buffy didn’t fixate on the gory glory of killing vampires—really, the monsters were metaphors for the entire experience of adolescence, in all its complicated misery. Almost immediately, a broad cross-section of viewers responded enthusiastically. Critics loved it, and it would be hugely influential on Whedon’s colleagues in television; many argue that it broke ground in terms of what you could do with a television show in terms of serialized storytelling, setting the stage for the modern TV era. Academics took it up, with the show attracting a tremendous amount of attention and discussion.

In 2002, the New York Times covered the first academic conference dedicated to the show. The organizer called Buffy “a tremendously rich text,” hence the flood of papers with titles like “Pain as Bright as Steel: The Monomyth and Light in ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer,’” which only gathered speed as the years passed. And while it was never the highest-rated show on television, it attracted an ardent core of fans.

But what stood out the most was the show’s protagonist: a young woman who stereotypically would have been a monster movie victim, with the script flipped: instead of screaming and swooning, she staked the vampires. This was deliberate, the core conceit of the concept, as Whedon said in many, many interviews. The helpless horror movie girl killed in the dark alley instead walks out victorious. He told Time in 1997 that the concept was born from the thought, “I would love to see a movie in which a blond wanders into a dark alley, takes care of herself and deploys her powers.” In Whedon’s framing, it was particularly important that it was a woman who walked out of that alley. He told another publication in 2002 that “the very first mission statement of the show” was “the joy of female power: having it, using it, sharing it.”

In 2021, when seemingly every new streaming property with a woman as its central character makes some half-baked claim to feminism, it’s easy to forget just how much Buffy stood out among its against its contemporaries. Action movies—with exceptions like Alien’s Ripley and Terminator 2's Sarah Conner—were ruled by hulking tough guys with macho swagger. When women appeared on screen opposite vampires, their primary job was to expose long, lovely, vulnerable necks. Stories and characters that bucked these larger currents inspired intense devotion, from Angela Chase of My So-Called Life to Dana Scully of The X-Files.

The broader landscape, too, was dismal. It was the conflicted era of girl power, a concept that sprang up in the wake of the successes of the second-wave feminist movement and the backlash that followed. Young women were constantly exposed to you-can-do-it messaging that juxtaposed uneasily with the reality of the world around them. This was the era of shitty, sexist jokes about every woman who came into Bill Clinton’s orbit and the leering response to the arrival of Britney Spears; Rush Limbaugh was a fairly mainstream figure.

At one point, Buffy competed against Ally McBeal, a show that dedicated an entire episode to a dancing computer-generated baby following around its lawyer main character, her biological clock made zanily literal. Consider this line from a New York Times review of the Buffy’s 1997 premiere: “Given to hot pants and boots that should guarantee the close attention of Humbert Humberts all over America, Buffy is just your average teen-ager, poutily obsessed with clothes and boys.”

Against that background, Buffy was a landmark. Besides the simple fact of its woman protagonist, there were unique plots, like the coming-out story for her friend Willow. An ambivalent 1999 piece in Bitch magazine, even as it explored the show’s tank-top heavy marketing, ultimately concluded, “In the end, it’s precisely this contextual conflict that sets Buffy apart from the rest and makes her an appealing icon. Frustrating as her contradictions may be, annoying as her babe quotient may be, Buffy still offers up a prime-time heroine like no other.”

A 2016 Atlantic piece, adapted from a book excerpt, makes the case that Buffy is perhaps best understood as an icon of third-wave feminism: “In its examination of individual and collective empowerment, its ambiguous politics of racial representation and its willing embrace of contradiction, Buffy is a quintessentially third-wave cultural production.” The show was vested with all the era’s longing for something better than what was available, something different, a champion for a conflicted “post-feminist” era—even if she was an imperfect or somewhat incongruous vessel. It wasn’t just Sunnydale that needed a chosen Slayer, it was an entire generation of women. That fact became intricately intertwined with Whedon himself.

Seemingly every interview involved a discussion of his fondness for stories about strong women. “I’ve always found strong women interesting, because they are not overly represented in the cinema,” he told New York for a 1997 piece that notes he studied both film and “gender and feminist issues” at Wesleyan; “I seem to be the guy for strong action women,’’ he told the New York Times in 1997 with an aw-shucks sort of shrug. ‘’A lot of writers are just terrible when it comes to writing female characters. They forget that they are people.’’ He often cited the influence of his strong, “hardcore feminist” mother, and even suggested that his protagonists served feminist ends in and of themselves: “If I can make teenage boys comfortable with a girl who takes charge of a situation without their knowing that’s what’s happening, it’s better than sitting down and selling them on feminism,” he told Time in 1997.

When he was honored by the organization Equality Now in 2006 for his “outstanding contribution to equality in film and television,” Whedon made his speech an extended riff on the fact that people just kept asking him about it, concluding with the ultimate answer: “Because you’re still asking me that question.” He presented strong women as a simple no-brainer, and he was seemingly always happy to say so, at a time when the entertainment business still seemed ruled by unapologetic misogynists. The internet of the mid-2010s only intensified Whedon’s anointment as a prototypical Hollywood ally, with reporters asking him things like how men could best support the feminist movement. 

Whedon’s response: “A guy who goes around saying ‘I’m a feminist’ usually has an agenda that is not feminist. A guy who behaves like one, who actually becomes involved in the movement, generally speaking, you can trust that. And it doesn’t just apply to the action that is activist. It applies to the way they treat the women they work with and they live with and they see on the street.” This remark takes on a great deal of irony in light of Carpenter’s statement.

In recent years, Whedon’s reputation as an ally began to wane. Partly, it was because of the work itself, which revealed more and more cracks as Buffy receded in the rearview mirror. Maybe it all started to sour with Dollhouse, a TV show that imagined Eliza Dushku as a young woman rented out to the rich and powerful, her mind wiped after every assignment, a concept that sat poorly with fans. (Though Whedon, while he was publicly unhappy with how the show had turned out after much push-and-pull with the corporate bosses at Fox, still argued the conceit was “the most pure feminist and empowering statement I’d ever made—somebody building themselves from nothing,” in a 2012 interview with Wired.)

After years of loud disappointment with the TV bosses at Fox on Firefly and Dollhouse, Whedon moved into big-budget Hollywood blockbusters. He helped birth the Marvel-dominated era of movies with his work as director of The Avengers. But his second Avengers movie, Age of Ultron, was heavily criticized for a moment in which Black Widow laid out her personal reproductive history for the Hulk, suggesting her sterilization somehow made her a “monster.” In June 2017, his un-filmed script for a Wonder Woman adaptation leaked, to widespread mockery. The script’s introduction of Diana was almost leering: “To say she is beautiful is almost to miss the point. She is elemental, as natural and wild as the luminous flora surrounding. Her dark hair waterfalls to her shoulders in soft arcs and curls. Her body is curvaceous, but taut as a drawn bow.”

But Whedon’s real fall from grace began in 2017, right before MeToo spurred a cultural reckoning. His ex-wife, Kai Cole, published a piece in The Wrap accusing him of cheating off and on throughout their relationship and calling him a hypocrite:

“Despite understanding, on some level, that what he was doing was wrong, he never conceded the hypocrisy of being out in the world preaching feminist ideals, while at the same time, taking away my right to make choices for my life and my body based on the truth. He deceived me for 15 years, so he could have everything he wanted. I believed, everyone believed, that he was one of the good guys, committed to fighting for women’s rights, committed to our marriage, and to the women he worked with. But I now see how he used his relationship with me as a shield, both during and after our marriage, so no one would question his relationships with other women or scrutinize his writing as anything other than feminist.”

But his reputation was just too strong; the accusation that he didn’t practice what he preached didn’t quite stick. A spokesperson for Whedon told the Wrap: “While this account includes inaccuracies and misrepresentations which can be harmful to their family, Joss is not commenting, out of concern for his children and out of respect for his ex-wife. Many minimized the essay on the basis that adultery doesn’t necessarily make you a bad feminist or erase a legacy. Whedon similarly seemed to shrug off Ray Fisher’s accusations of creating a toxic workplace; instead, Warner Media fired Fisher.

But Carpenter’s statement—which struck right at the heart of his Buffy-based legacy for progressivism—may finally change things. Even at the time, the plotline in which Charisma Carpenter was written off Angel—carrying a demon child that turned her into “Evil Cordelia,” ending the season in a coma, and quite simply never reappearing—was unpopular. Asked about what had happened in a 2009 panel at DragonCon, she said that “my relationship with Joss became strained,” continuing: “We all go through our stuff in general [behind the scenes], and I was going through my stuff, and then I became pregnant. And I guess in his mind, he had a different way of seeing the season go… in the fourth season.”

“I think Joss was, honestly, mad. I think he was mad at me and I say that in a loving way, which is—it’s a very complicated dynamic working for somebody for so many years, and expectations, and also being on a show for eight years, you gotta live your life. And sometimes living your life gets in the way of maybe the creator’s vision for the future. And that becomes conflict, and that was my experience.”

In her statement on Twitter, Carpenter alleged that after Whedon was informed of her pregnancy, he called her into a closed-door meeting and “asked me if I was ‘going to keep it,’ and manipulatively weaponized my womanhood and faith against me.” She added that “he proceeded to attack my character, mock my religious beliefs, accuse me of sabotaging the show, and then unceremoniously fired me following the season once I gave birth.” Carpenter said that he called her fat while she was four months pregnant and scheduled her to work at 1 a.m. while six months pregnant after her doctor had recommended shortening her hours, a move she describes as retaliatory. What Carpenter describes, in other words, is an absolutely textbook case of pregnancy discrimination in the workplace, the type of bullshit the feminist movement exists to fight—at the hands of the man who was for years lauded as a Hollywood feminist for his work on Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel.

Many of Carpenter’s colleagues from Buffy and Angel spoke out in support, including Buffy herself, Sarah Michelle Gellar. “While I am proud to have my name associated with Buffy Summers, I don’t want to be forever associated with the name Joss Whedon,” she said in a statement. Just shy of a decade after that 2013 speech, many of the cast members on the show that put him on that stage are cutting ties.

Whedon garnered a reputation as pop culture’s ultimate feminist man because Buffy did stand out so much, an oasis in a wasteland. But in 2021, the idea of a lone man being responsible for creating women’s stories—one who told the New York Times, “I seem to be the guy for strong action women”—seems like a relic. It’s depressing to consider how many years Hollywood’s first instinct for “strong action women” wasn’t a woman, and to think about what other people could have done with those resources. When Wonder Woman finally reached the screen, to great acclaim, it was with a woman as director.

Besides, Whedon didn’t make Buffy all by himself—many, many women contributed, from the actresses to the writers to the stunt workers, and his reputation grew so large it eclipsed their part in the show’s creation. Even as he preached feminism, Whedon benefitted from one of the oldest, most sexist stereotypes: the man who’s a benevolent, creative genius. And Buffy, too, overshadowed all the other contributors who redefined who could be a hero on television and in speculative fiction, from individual actors like Gillian Anderson to the determined, creative women who wrote science fiction and fantasy over the last several decades to—perhaps most of all—the fans who craved different, better stories. Buffy helped change what you could put on TV, but it didn’t create the desire to see a character like her. It was that desire, as much as Whedon himself, that gave Buffy the Vampire Slayer her power.

[cornacopicimagines]

after hours│t.h

pairing: professor!tom holland x reader 

words: 6.9k (hehe nice)

warnings: swearing, PURE FILTH, sir kink, rough sex, masturbation (male & female), exhibition kink if you squint, spanking & sort of public sex.

summary:  It's wrong, y/n tells herself. She can't help it though. She can't help fantasising about him. At the other end of the class, Tom tells himself to stop staring at her. It's creepy, he thinks. Neither one knows of the mutual pining that is until tension bubbles over. 

a/n: I’m back bitches! I'm still a fucking sinner and this is such a cliche, I'm so so sorry

masterlist

━━★✼☆｡

y/n sat at the desk. Her eyes never left Mr. Holland. Her attention never left the way the veins in his arms bulged when he picked up the massive textbook, never left his perfectly gelled hair and how it sat atop his head like it was crafted to from the day he was born. Perhaps I should start typing the notes that were on the board, she scowled to herself.

She feels dirty, almost ashamed of her crush on him. She hates herself for falling into a stupid cliché that had been so easy to avoid all these tireless years. y/n doesn't know why she has gone back to a love-sick teenage girl fantasising about a boy who she'll never even get to touch. A boy that so out of her league, he wouldn't even had the faintest idea that she exists. That doesn't stop them though. y/n still finger fucks herself to an orgasm that no boy has been able to give her in her 24 years of life, all the while wishing it was his cock instead of her fingers. If Mr. Holland knew what she did to herself under the influence of him and his stupidly handsome face, he would be disgusted. This she knows for a fact.

This isn't what she thought she would be doing, in all honesty. She is a semester away from graduating and she never wanted to be stuck in a perpetual state of wanting someone so unattainable it's not uneasy, it's borderline unethical. She truly believed she would have ancient married professor that sound like their legs deep in their coffin. Instead she got a literal Greek God as her Psych professor.

She knows that she's not the only one of course. y/n has met 10 other girls in her class that probably write god awful poetry about Mr. Holland's liquid bronze eyes. She can't blame them, if she could write shitty poetry about him, she 100% would. y/n not angry either, she knows out of the 120 students (110 of whom are girls), are probably all in the same predicament. She sometimes gets dirty looks from them when Mr. Holland address her by her first name.

Perhaps that's something she should consider; he calls her y/n not Miss y/l/n or just simply Miss. It's different, it's endearing and when he has a raspy voice, it's so fucking hot.

"y/n," a voice called out, she shook herself out of her haze, "are you still with us?" Mr. Holland was no standing over her. His cologne surrounding her, intoxicating her. y/n gulped softly before turning her eyes to his.

"Yes, sorry sir," y/n replied quickly, trying her hardest not to stumble over her own words or even let the blush run to her cheeks.

Mr. Holland smiled warmly, "that's good, I need at least one of you listening," the class erupting in laughter, "I would prefer it to be one of the brightest." That though got them quiet. y/n sunk into her chair in embarrassment. The blush she had been fighting rose to the surface, making her even more adamant not to look up at him but alas she couldn't.

In that small fleeting moment, she caught something in his eyes. She couldn't define exactly what it was. Whatever it truly was, y/n knew teachers should not be looking at their students in such a way. It made her even more lightheaded with admiration.

The lesson continued on as normal for another hour. Mr. Holland described the outline for the next assignment, it seemed short and sweet. Write a 2-thousand-word essay on the effects of unintentional recreational drugs during early childhood. y/n had to laugh at the way Mr. Holland phrased it. It was as if he had never touch pot in his entire life, to be fair, y/n wouldn't be too surprised if he didn't. Most of the girls in his class groaned at the mere mention of actual work and not an hour and a half session of pure toe-curling orgasm material. Now that she thinks about it, that would be a wonderful way to spend her Wednesday mornings and Thursday afternoons.

Of course, y/n was in another word during the last minutes of the lesson. Unable to focus on anything other than the hint of a tattoo peeking through the underlining of his shirt. She was working so hard to distinguish what it was that she had completely missed the end of the lesson and the dozens of people walking out.

"y/n, what exactly are you doing?" Mr. Holland's voice asked above her. y/n almost jumped in her seat, but she stayed completely still. "This is the second time today, should I be worried?"

This though made her jump out of her seat. "No of course not sir!" She defended as she rushed to place her things away. "I was just off in wonderland today."

"Are you sure there is nothing distracting you?" He asked.

Yes.

"No," she replied hurriedly.

"You know you can tell me if something is," he reassured her.

Yes, of course. Let me just tell you about how you are distracting me by always wearing the hottest casual suits every lesson and giving me the wonderful fantasy of tearing it off you.

"I know that, it's just been my busy schedule," y/n lied through her teeth. She's a broke college student with hardly any friends or real other assignments. "I am just working really hard, you know?"

Yeah, working really hard to imagine you pounding me into next week!

With that last thought, y/n knew she needed to leave before she exploded with embarrassment and arousal right there in front of him.

"I just wanted to let you know that you are totally allowed to change the topic of the assignment if you feel like there is something that strikes a chord with you," Mr. Holland smiled brightly.

Fuck! Did he have to look so gorgeous even when he's trying to be dorky and supportive.

Mr. Holland noticed the shocked look upon y/n's face and immediately retracted his statement, "I promise I won't fail you, if that's what your thinking." He explained. "I really enjoy your work, you're a gifted woman with a real talent and I don't want to see it go to waste with my shitty assignment."

y/n turned her attitude around. He was stumbling over his words. It was kind of cute and endearing, like everything he does. She smiled warmly at his compliment.

"Sir," she spoke softly. It came out a lot mouseyer and somehow sexual than she would have liked but she refused to back out of her statement. "I can't wait."

She didn't say another word but simply slung her back over her shoulder and made her way out of the class. Tom followed her figure in complete and utter shock. He praised whatever god watched over him for the small mercy that was having y/n's back turned to him to witness his immediate blush cover his entire freckled face.

Tom never let his eyes leave her. He just watched her waltz right out of his classroom, he bit his lip at the sight of her perfectly cupped ass in her jeans. Through-out the entire lesson, all he could think about is how her tits would bounce as his dick thrusted up into her little cunt. Just the thought made his cock spring to life.

He stared up at the clock. He had to be in another lecture in 10 minutes, he had to teach another round of student without her pretty face in it in 10 bloody minutes. Sadly, it wasn't enough time to imagine cumming over her said face. He fidgeted until his painful erection was safely hidden.

God, you are such a fucking creep, Holland. He thought to himself.

━━★✼☆｡

y/n really didn't want to be doing this.

She really didn't want to have to walk to the library in a mini skirt she had when she went through her cringy hoe phase and a low-cut tank top she only really wore to bed at 8 at night. Luckily before she left, her roommate gave her a full can of pepper spray and a pocketknife. A handle tool for when you looked like a prostitute.

She had no choice. It was laundry night and she had to get her assignment out of the way, or she would never finish it in time. She wanted to kick herself for letting laundry night fall on the only night the library stayed open until midnight. It was a perk for sure but not when you had nothing to wear but pink neon rags.

y/n pushed open the library door and relieved herself of the anxiety of being abducted by the greeting of Harry. He looked familiar but she couldn't pinpoint where she had seen his face before.

"What cha doing here?" he shouted. Quite contradictory for a librarian. y/n grinned when she saw his dorky face at the counter. That is until he caught wind of her outfit, or lack thereof. "Got a late shift at the strip-club after this?" Her face fell.

"I hate you," she played along, her arms slumping on the cold desk. y/n looked around the library. It was basically empty, with the exception of the middle-aged teacher grading a stack full of papers. Poor bastard, y/n thought. "Got one for me?"

"You're going to get me fired if I do this again," Harry huffed, he banged his head against the keyboard in frustration.

"This is the last time," y/n explained, "I pinkie promise." She lifted her hand over the counter and waved her pinkie finger in Harry's face. He stared up her than move his eyeline to her finger now just touching the tip of his nose. He groaned loudly as he took her finger in his.

"There is a ton of empty booths, choose one and don't make a sound," Harry told her angrily, y/n simply clapped her hands in celebration and skipped off. She chooses the booth in range of Harry, in hopes that maybe he will distracted her and she won't have to do her work because she's too busy goofing off.

y/n dropped her stuff in a huff. Her back slumped into the curve of the chair and the desk covered her body happily. She placed her earphones in and played her favourite study music. She was in absolute heaven.

The assignment was kicking her ass, but she was determined to do it. Mr. Holland seemed genuinely excited for what she would write about if she did decide to change the topic. Now though she's regretting not letting Mr. Holland's hopes down.

She could find hardly anything online and even if she did it was by some random SJW on Tumblr. That's what lead her here tonight. In hopes that maybe some privileged white asshole with a degree would have some sources sighted to help her. Unfortunately, she was having trouble with that too.

It was now 11:30pm. She had been at this god forsaken table for two and a half hours now in an endless pursuit of bullshit. y/n had half a mind to give up and just suck his dick for the grade like other girls would in this situation. y/n had to remind herself though, she is a gifted woman with a real talent that should not be wasted on something shitty to please the masses. Did she just quote Mr. Holland?

She caught eyes with Harry in her block, who had two pencils stuck up his nose in an attempt to cheer her up. It did for the most part. y/n wanted to play along but it had seemed someone else had walked through the door at that very moment and Harry threw the pencils out. Harry's face lit up with red upon the arrival of this mystery person. y/n was interested in who this mystery person was. That is until she saw his face.

Mr. Holland walked up to the library desk in a fit of laughter. His hands smacking the counter and his face contorted in a wide smile. y/n instantly ducked under the table. She could faintly hear their conversation. It just sounded like muffled words until her name popped up.

Jesus Christ. Not now. Not tonight. Why of all night to run into his must it have to be tonight. Maybe I should make a run for it now, bust out of the wind-

"I know you're under there y/n," Mr. Holland's voice sung above her. It was too late now. Any escape plan that her mind frantically tried to rationalise was long gone by this point. Slowly, y/n retreated from her hiding spot to face him. He had his normal outfit of a tight t-shirt paired with a decorative tie and slightly lose pants. This time though he had a long burgundy coat draped over his shoulders. He looked like a painting. y/n smiled sheepishly.

"Hi," she said simply. Regaining her seat from before and fully appearing in front of him. "I had no idea you would be here this late," she tried with conversation.

"Harry's my brother, I have to drive him home before leaving myself and he just wanted to work the late shift tonight," Tom laughed to himself and he turned around and waved at Harry. His brother waved back guiltily. "You know, I could say this same to you," he smirked at her.

"I am working on your assignment, sir," y/n responded quietly. Tom's eyes lit up at that and he rushed to snatch the papers off her desk and into his hands. Much to the disapproval of y/n.

"Oh good, you've decided to change it," Tom sounded almost relieved as if he trusted her judgement more than his own. Worse of it all, he decided to sit down next to her. Even taking off his coat, making his biceps bulge through his shirt. His eyes flicked through what she currently has. His eyebrows raised in shock, "I have to say, I was not expected you to decide to do something about the female orgasm and its effect on the psyche," his voice was an octave deeper than usual. y/n could feel her arousal building.

y/n couldn't decide if he was just being friendly or if he was trying to send a deeper message. Either way, she decided to take action. "Well, with the number of women being unsatisfied I thought it was an appropriate topic," she snatched the papers out of his hands, "but you wouldn't know anything about women being unsatisfied would you sir?"

Tom sat there in astonishment. His cock stiffened against the restraints of his jeans, he has only been in her vicinity for 5 minutes and already she has him hard as a rock. It was times like these that he wished he could just leave all his determination to fuck her over this very desk at the door. Regrettably, he couldn't.

"Well, that just ruins the surprise," y/n sighed delicately. Her fingers flicking through the pages of her useless book. "Either way, the resources are complete shit," this time her sadness was real, and Tom snapped out of his lust-ridden haze.

"Did you really expect a man to know mostly everything of something that is so cardinally female?" Tom smirked as he closed the book on her and pointed to the photo of a wrinkled old man. He was the author of a stupid book and to be fair, he looked like he would write this type of book as well.

"Damn, I knew I was doing something wrong," y/n hissed. She had been spending her entire night trying to piece together information from a man who can only give her half the story.

"The book on the top shelf is one on the chemical effects of orgasming in females by a female," Tom leaned in and whispered in her ear. His hot breath wafted of her skin; it was enough to send goose bumps over her entire body. y/n turned her head to face him, their lips inches away from each other. If they didn't have Harry watching them like a hawk, they probably would be out of breath from lip-locking. Instead, y/n nodded and got up out of her seat, making sure to give him a stunning view of her tits through her tank top. He wanted to audibly gasp but kept in inside. It didn't help with his situation downstairs any more than the last few minutes have.

Slowly, she walked over to the bookcase. Her eyes scanning the endless rows and she made sure Tom had enough time to enjoy the deep red thong underneath her skirt. Finally, her fingers coiled around the book and brought it down to her. Tom couldn't believe his own eyes. He was so under her spell. The way her top hugged her curved and let his eyes completely drink in her breasts. How her skirt was pulled up to her waist, allowing the flushed skin of her ass to be visible to him. He wonders how a woman like her even exists and yet she takes a seat next to him, absolutely unaware of his throbbing manhood. Begging to be touched by her, to be taken by her, by anything to do with her.

"Thank you, sir," she almost purrs to him, Tom's struggling to keep it together. He afraid the next thing to slip out of her flawless mouth, he'll cum straight into his pants when he would rather cum into her.

"Anytime," he responds just a dark before getting up. Hiding his clearly hard cock behind his briefcase. "I'll see you in class?" He already knows the answer, but he just wants the last bit of assurance from her.

"Of course," she smiled warmly. With that Tom basically books it, he's frantically making sure he's well-hidden as he quickly bends over the counter.

"I'll come back to pick you up in 30, I forgot some paper work back in my office," it's so fast, Harry almost doesn't have time to translate it before Tom's out the door and rushing down the hall.

At one point, he basically running to get to his office. Feet tapping against the concrete as he continues to see nothing but flashing images of y/n. It blurs his vision and he's so desperate. He considers using a spare supply closet but know he will only get complete privacy in his own office.

He finally gets there, after what seems like an eternity of running. He checks the hallways before entering. He drops all of his things at the foot of the door. He even has the decency to hang his coat upon the rack. Tom slowly walks over to his chair. It's a rough leather material and usually he would refuse to do what he's about to do in here, it will be stained with the memory but at this point. He got no fucks left to give.

He crashes down. His back hitting the material he hates so much. He doesn't think he's got time, but he still does it slowly. His belt drops next to his and he undoes the zip slowly and the cold air hits his dick. He hisses at the feeling but proceeds anyways. Tom pulls the rest of his jeans and boxers down his legs and kicks them across the room. His hand takes his dick, slowly rubbing the head. Imaging y/n's fingers dancing over it, spreading the precum over. He uses his palm to envision her own stroking up and down in an even motion. He can't help but moan. He can't help but softly call out her name.

He so entranced that he doesn't recognize the following light footsteps approaching. He's so into her non-existent touch that he doesn't hear the door peacefully squeak open. He's so in love with the feeling he doesn't feel y/n walk around the room to get on her knees in front of him.

She's in glory of his movements. Watching him stroke his much bigger cock than her masturbation version has her in a hurry to get her own panties off her body and across the floor. She's sure she's dripping onto the wood below but she does have single care in the world. Tom has his head thrown back in ecstasy as his hand starts to speed up, that's when y/n decides to go for the kill. She licks a long strip up his shaft. Her hands stabilizing him by placing them atop his bare thighs.

Tom almost jumps out of his chair. He had no idea she caught him in the middle of something so vile and wrong. Better yet, she had caught him with the tip of his dick around her perfectly glossed lips. He doesn't get to say another word before y/n's hands begin massaging the bottom of his manhood. It's slow to begin with, it's almost if she's easing him into it. Her cheeks hollow out to allow his length into her warm mouth. It's incredible. Tom can't help but buck his hips up into her throat causing her to gag slightly. It's a sound he wants more of.

His hands ball her hair into his fist. With the faster her movements become, the harder he fucks into her mouth. They sync up almost instantly. One of y/n's hands leave his cock to fuck herself. Tom's mesmerised by the way her fingers act as a replacement for his dick. He's certain he's not going to last much longer.

"I should be d-doing that," he whispers through grunts. y/n lifts her head to smile at him, still letting her free hand jerk and pull bringing him closer the edge.

"I know," she responds, just as quiet. Her mouth reconnects but Tom quickly snaps his hips up into her. Her muffled moaning vibrated against his cock as he fucks her mouth. It's the hottest thing he's ever done. He tugs and pulls at her hair, y/n's edging him on. She's exquisite, it's like she's mastered this and has allowed him to chance to feel how fucking beautiful her little mouth can be.

Like it's effortless, he comes. Without any warning, he is shooting hot stream of cum into her mouth, filling it up. Tom swears he's seeing stars but can't bring him to call out her name but instead bites down on his hand so hard he's afraid he's drawn blood.

y/n releases him from her mouth and is from an actual porn Tom spent his teenage years watching, his cum leaks from her lips and falls down on the curves of her tits. It's a sight he was to remember forever. He wants to grab his phone and click so he will get to look at her covered in his cum for the rest of his life but alas, he's still regaining his bearings.

"Tastes better than I would have expected," y/n giggles as she brings the liquid back up to her lips and swallows. There is no way this woman gets better; he thinks to himself.

"Sweetheart-," he begins but she beats him to it, her gets back on her feet and plants a sweet kiss upon his lips. He can taste himself on her lips, it's addictive.

"I wanted this," it's almost as if she read his mind. He doesn't respond but he simply looks at her, his hand coming up to twirl a strand of hair that has fallen in front of her face.

y/n pulls away from him, walking over the pile of discarded clothes and bend to pick up her soaked underwear. She gives Tom a look, he's so close he can smell her juices from his seat. Her pussy look like a paradise waiting to be exploded by him, but he keeps his hands to himself. y/n paced herself over to the coat hanger, her folded panties in hand. She places them in the left pocket with a devilish smile upon her face. Tom had now place their rest of his clothes back on and had joined her.

"I'll get them back next lesson," y/n grins. Tom nods quickly, their feet fumbling under her back hits his office door. She's trapped in between him, he smells of pure sex but she's committed to her idea. He bends down to capture her lips in his with a forceful kiss. It's hungry and needy. She wants it so badly to give but she pulls away. "My roommate is waiting for me outside."

"We'll finish this," Tom whispers as he opens the door for her. It sends shivers down y/n's spine. It's not a promise, it's an order.

She grabs the rest of her things and heads off. Almost in a sick turn of events, Tom watches her bare ass strut away from him. Just like the last lesson, except this time all he can do is imagine him face fucking her. It's a beautiful sight.

━━★✼☆｡

The three days leading up to class where probably the slowest 72 hours both of them had ever experienced. A constant detail of pleasure from the night before. So when the fated day arrived, both parties didn't know what to do. Tom debated just staying home, though he couldn't deny he so desperately want just another taste. He thought, if he didn't show up, all his guilty conscience of a student giving him the best head he's ever had in his life would simply disappear and he would go back to being a normal teacher. y/n, too, thought of skipping this class for a completely different reason. Perhaps she had got a surge of confidence after hearing her professor call out her name while he touched himself or it could just be the pure scandalous nature of it all. Either way, she wanted to stay cooped up with a blanket while she watched him unravelled. No matter the psyche from the both of them, they went.

y/n stood outside the classroom for a good 20 minutes, unsure of what she should do. Should she go in now and fuck him in the small window or wait and play with his emotions? She hadn't realised how fast the time had went until she saw other student's start entering. It was now or never and unfortunately it was going to be now.

The room was smaller than y/n remember when she stepped in. It seemed more wide the last time she came in here. Of course, the last time she came in her, she hadn't sucked Mr. Holland's cock.

Her eyes landed on him in a matter of seconds. His back was turned to her as he wrote on the massive blackboard in front of him. y/n could see his muscles flex as he tried to reach for the duster above the board. She bit her lip as she thought of her nails digging into his back as he fucked her. It was a fantasy she had to push to the side.

Tom could practically smell her once she walked in. It was her normal perfume that had been intensified 10 fold. He refuses to turn around, afraid that if he did all his good heart nature would go out the window. Tom could hear the faint clinking of the heels of her shoes walk up the stairs. He so desperately wanted them to come right back down.

"Okay, as you know, you're assignment is due in 2 weeks and this is going to be the only time I will answer your questions," Tom's voice boomed. He hadn't got a lot of sleep since that night and he didn't particularly want to do this but he considered himself a kind professor, so he had too.

He turned around and saw the entire class' hands go straight up in the air. Including y/n, though hers was a little lower. Her eyebrow raised and a small smirk painted on her lips. There was no way in hell he was answer whatever question came out of those pretty lips. She looked even more exquisite than when he last saw her. A tight t-shit that had a stained 50's logo on it and a pair of tight black jeans, he knew as soon as he spoke to her, he would loose all control on himself.

So he never did, constantly dodging her. Answering every single question, even if half of them were if he was married or worse if he was free Friday night. He will admit, seeing y/n get frustrated every time he passed her to talk to another young female student made him just that tad bit excited.

It was an hour and a half of pure tension. Sure, no one else in the class could feel it but they 100% could. She never felt more out of control and for some reason, she despised it. He kept ignoring her, kept refusing her, kept defying her. It was infuriating, that she wanted to take fate by the hair.

She waited, until every single soul had walked out of the door. She waited until the last gaggle of girls had finished their blabbering to Tom before she starting to strut down the stairs. Tom refused to meet her eyes even when he knew that's all she did. Glare at him as she stomped past him desk to the classroom door. He heard it lock.

"I wanted to ask you a question," she almost spat, "sir."

Tom straightened himself before swivelled around to meet her. She was so livid with him but he knew deep down that all she wanted from him was to have the white chalk from the board rubbed up her back from him pinning her down.

"Fire away," he responded exactly the same. She stared at him for a moment before strolling towards him. She made sure to swing her hips every other time. She noticed his eyes on her, finally she was getting somewhere.

y/n pressed her chest upon his heaving one. Her face lifting to meet his. They stayed like that for a good minute, just pondering. They listened to each other's heats thumping against their rib cages. They both desperately needed this.

Never taking her eyes off him, y/n snaked her hand around the side of pocket of her coat, smiling once she found what she left. Her soaked red thong, it was a sight for sore eyes.

"I wanted to ask if I was every going to get payback?" she giggled softly. Tom knew she was playing a game but he had no idea which one it was.

"I don't think I understand," he stammered, she strutted away from him until she met the edge of his stainless desk. Her fingers gliding over the wood ever so slightly. She turned her head to look at him. She had a rawness in her eyes; lustful, a sinner's stare. It would be a look Tom was never forget for the rest of his life.

y/n suddenly jumped on the desk. Her ass moving the papers to the side as she slowly started to unbutton her tight jeans. "I think you do," it was almost a hiss but he only heard the desperation in her voice. "I want you to make me feel all the things you did that night."

Tom almost fainted just with that until she dropped her jeans the floor. She had come to class without any underwear on and her wetness was dripping onto the desk. Tom was sure was in heaven but he didn't want to believe it.

He got on his knees. His hands palming at her soft thighs. Tom didn't need another incentive, he didn't need another spur-on. Tom licked a single strip up her folds, y/n bit a moan back. It was like tasting ambrosia or doing cocaine for the first time. He needed more, so he went back in again, this time it was rougher. His fingers gripping at her ass, pulling her closer to his mouth as he devoured as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. Her hands tangle themselves in his floppy curls, she tugs harshly on his scalp as he adds a finger into her warm entrance.

Tom's never felt like this before but he doesn't care. He's sure people can hear her soft but frantic moaning from outside, but he doesn't care. He'll never look at his desk the same way but like everything else, he doesn't fucking care. Tom curls his fingers in the perfect spot inside of her.

"Just like that," y/n calls out, her hair now sprawled out on the desk. "I'm going to cum sir."

Tom feels her walls contract around his fingers as he pulsing faster, her back arches and she trying so hard to force her cries back into her throat. It's a sight he wants to from above, it's a feeling he wants to feel inside of her. So, at the last minute, he retracts everything. His tongue leaves her throbbing clit and his finger, which are glistening with her slick, slid out of her.

y/n can't hold back to whine that leaves her left from the loss of his god-like tongue and fingers. "What the fuck Tom?!" she's angry with him, she wants to tell him off but before she can do it. One of his hands captures her wrist and slams them against the desk below her, pinning her to it. She whimpers at the sting of pain.

He's right above her but she can't see a single thing below her. "Look at me," he tells her sternly, she does what's she is told instantly. "You can't talk to me like that sweetness," y/n knows there is a venom behind his words even if she speaks in a melody. "I'm not your fucking boyfriend, you don't call me that."

Without any warning at all, he pounds right up into her. y/n almost spasms out of Tom's grip from the wave of pleasure. Tom doesn't move at all, he stays nuzzled inside her. It's agonising, almost painful for y/n. Having his perfect cock not jamming into her tight cunt. It's torture.

"You understand that?" he peppers kissed against the nape of her neck, she's about to cry out, she'll do anything. She nods her head frantically, hoping it's enough. It isn't. He keeps his hips locked tightly against hers. "Words, sweetness."

"Yes," she responds. She can feel him frown against her skin. He pulls right out of her and rams right back in, causing y/n to scream out in pleasure. "Y-yes sir," she corrects herself and with that, Tom starts a pace. It's slow and tantalising, he watches amazed at how her pretty folds swallow him up with every thrust. It's magnificent.

He wants to savour this moment forever. He wants to fuck her brains out for every waking moment of his existence.

"Sir, go harder," she moans below him. Her wrists bruised from his gripped, but the pain just only contributes in her overwhelming amount of pleasure. His thick cock is so much better than her fingers, no matter how many she adds.

Tom obliges and starts to really pound into her cunt. It's raw and ruthless, he's calling out her name now. "Fuck sweetness, you so bloody tight," he purrs, y/n can't respond through her chant of curses. "You're little cunt was made for me, it was made for me to stretch it out."

The dirty talk elevates her, y/n's not sure how much longer she'll last. His filling ever last inch of her. She can feel her tits bounce every time their skin collides. Her wrists are finally let free as he begins to clutch at her naked hips. It's an experience she's never felt. The sound of skin slapping and their combined gasping and cursing are the only thing she can perceive to hear. If there was a knock at the door, y/n knows she would have no idea about it.

Perhaps, it's the pure excitement and morality of this whole situation that makes them both feel like they're on cloud nine. Her arms snake around his waist, her hands move with every rough thrust into her. She's gripping onto his back through the material of his tight shirt. Her nails clasping on the contracting muscles. She would have left his back red and sore if he didn't have the damned t-shirt on to protect him.

"Fuck," she curses as he started to hit an area inside of her, she never knew existed. "Just like that sir, I am going to cum," she moans, her forehead against his. They lock eyes again, this time though there is no linger feeling of want or romance. It's just sex. Dirty, hot, intense fucking.

She's the first to come undone. The fire now transformed into a raging wildfire spreading across her entire abdomen. y/n throws her head back in ecstasy, her whole vision goes black and she has to bit down against her hand to stop and inevitable pornographic scream to jump out of her mouth. Her other hand clutches his neck, pulling him closer to her.

Tom follows shortly after, his thrusts become sloppy and erratic but never easing up. His cock twitches inside of her before he shots the hot white liquid all inside of her cunt. He pressed his lips against her as his attempt to stop his moan as well but he continues to call out her angelic name against her lips. Once, Tom pulls out of her, he watches in awe. The mixture leaks out of her hole and then pools on his desk. He's so in love with this woman it hurts.

"I have never cum that hard in my entire fucking life," she giggles, pulling her top down her flushed tits. As he too, starts to redress himself, he simply stares at her. Watches her retrieve her jeans from the floor and slip them up her bare ass. He spots her shove her panties back into his back pocket, not before she scribbles something down on a torn piece of paper.

"What are you doing?" he asked gently, wrapping his arms around her waist. She nuzzles her face in the crook of her.

"I'm giving you a reason to come make me dinner and then fuck me again," she explains, "I put my address in there, so hopefully you can't get lost."

"You sure about this," Tom asked hesitantly, y/n now swivelled around to face him. Her warm palm caressed his face.

"I wouldn't have just done that if I wasn't," she places a soft, tender kiss to his cheek. "Make it a Thursday though, my roommate will be out on those nights," she told him as he grabbed the last of her things and unlocked the door. Tom grins warmly as she makes herself presentable for the last time. "I would clean that up if I were you," y/n laughed, pointing at the obvious mess all over his desk before quickly exiting.

As she wobbled back to her dorm, she wondered what article of clothing she should leave out on their next escapade.

━━★✼☆｡

a/n: this is gonna flop, i just fuckin know it 🥴 anways i hope you enjoyed my fic that has ended my hiatus. see you (hopefully) soon 🥺

[killerandhealerqueen]

Another headcanon ask ;

What if Zhao moqing creates a misunderstanding between Jiang yuelou and Chen yuzhi? & Both men fight? + (Make up + hurt/comfort)

Headcanons for this one?? (Sorry if you have too many headcanon asks right at this moment.)

(AND I HATE ZHAO MOQING😤URGHH!)

Honestly, this ask came at a good time because I have a fic request that's literally this ask, so I'm going to use this ask as my outline for that fic (I hate this bitch too, girl, my god)

Zhao Moqing is a spoiled brat, okay? Her brother spoils her so much that basically anything she sees, she has to have. So when she sees Jiang Yuelou for the first time, she thinks to herself that she has to have him

Problem is (or what she sees as a problem), is that Jiang Yuelou doesn't want her. He wants nothing to do with her and that enrages her because how dare he blow her off and act like she's not the greatest gift to god's green earth? (news flash kid, you're not)

She notices that Jiang Yuelou spends a lot of time at this clinic, so she decides to see who has captured Jiang Yuelou's affection and she finds that it's a man?!

Now, Moqing's not blind, she can see the way the two men smile at each other, the way Jiang Yuelou looks at the young doctor like he hung the very moon and stars in the sky while the young doctor just smiles the fondest smile Moqing has ever seen in her god damn life and she burns with jealousy

She doesn't like the fact that Jiang Yuelou's attention isn't on her and is instead on this doctor so she decides to do whatever she can to get Jiang Yuelou to focus on her

First she sends gifts. And these gifts are nice gifts, they're expensive, they're foreign goods; the nicest soaps, ties, cuff links, pens, handkerchiefs...you name it, Moqing probably got it for Jiang Yuelou

However, anytime she goes to "visit" Jiang Yuelou to see if he's wearing or using the thing that she gifted him, she finds that he's not wearing or using it. Later she comes to find out that Jiang Yuelou kept giving her gifts away to that damn doctor whom she later learns is Dr. Chen Yuzhi

This infuriates her greatly so she decides to step it up a notch and basically appear anywhere that Jiang Yuelou is, even if that means intruding on him and Chen Yuzhi. This irritates Jiang Yuelou and he threatens to arrest her for stalking and Moqing is over the moon because she's always wanted to be manhandled by a strong man like Jiang Yuelou (ma'am, why would you say something like that)

Chen Yuzhi is embarrassed (same, bitch, same) and Jiang Yuelou can't believe that sentence just came out of Moqing's mouth so he just leaves because he's not subjecting Chen Yuzhi to any more of this nonsense and Moqing follows after him, throwing a victorious smirk over her shoulder at Chen Yuzhi, who just raises an eyebrow in confusion

However, Jiang Yuelou still won't give Chen Yuzhi up and Moqing is losing her patience so she decides to come to the police station when she knows Chen Yuzhi is there (because she's a fucking stalker) and walks into Jiang Yuelou's office, uninvited, and just strolls over to Jiang Yuelou's desk, leaning against it

"Chief Jiang"

Jiang Yuelou hums but doesn't look up from his paperwork as Chen Yuzhi is sitting on the couch, pouring himself a cup of coffee because you know, he's welcome here and Jiang Yuelou has told him on many occasions to help himself to whatever he wants

"Chief Jiang"

This time both Jiang Yuelou and Chen Yuzhi look up at Moqing's call, Jiang Yuelou glaring at Moqing

"What"

Moqing smirks and since she knows Chen Yuzhi is watching, she surges forward and kisses Jiang Yuelou. Jiang Yuelou freezes, just as a tea cups shatters, causing him to quickly pull away and look over to see Chen Yuzhi staring down at the tea cup he dropped in shock

"Chen Yuzhi--"

Chen Yuzhi then quickly stands, shaking his head

"I have to go"

He then leaves the police station and Jiang Yuelou quickly stands, rushing after him when Moqing grabs his arm

"Chief Jiang"

Jiang Yuelou quickly shoves her off of him, shoving her so hard that she falls to the floor with a crash and as she looks up at him, her eyes widen to see a gun being pointed at her

"If you ever step foot into this station again, I will arrest you for trespassing"

He then runs out of the station, everyone getting out of his way as he runs through the streets, hoping to catch up with Chen Yuzhi. When he gets to the clinic, the doors are locked so he bangs on the door, hoping that Chen Yuzhi is in

"Chen Yuzhi! Chen Yuzhi!"

When there's no answer, Jiang Yuelou quickly rushes to Chen Yuzhi's house and finds that while the gate is closed, it's not locked so he quickly bursts inside, eyes immediately zeroing in on Chen Yuzhi, who was sitting in an armchair, his knees pulled up to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible

"Chen Yuzhi"

Chen Yuzhi looks up and when he sees Jiang Yuelou standing there, he quickly stands to his feet and walks over to him, giving him a shove

"Get out"

"Chen Yuzhi"

"Get out! I don't want to see you, get out!"

Jiang Yuelou quickly grabs his wrists to stop him from shoving him again and looks him in the eyes

"Chen Yuzhi, let me explain!"

Chen Yuzhi shakes his head

"What is there to explain?! You didn't even try to stop her!"

Jiang Yuelou looks at Chen Yuzhi in shock as Chen Yuzhi lets out a sob

"You didn't even try to stop her.  You didn’t even stop her so you must like her, right?  And yet this whole time you claim you like me"

Jiang Yuelou wants to argue that he didn't know that Moqing was going to do that and that he doesn’t like Moqing the way he likes Chen Yuzhi but Chen Yuzhi's also right that he should have seen what she was going to do coming and if he didn’t stop her kiss then it means he must like a little

Since Chen Yuzhi is super upset (and he doesn't blame him) he decides to let go of his wrist and leave him alone, quietly shutting the gate behind him

After the whole mess that Moqing caused, Chen Yuzhi and Jiang Yuelou don't speak or see each other, which Moqing thinks is great because now she has Jiang Yuelou all to herself but jokes on her because all Jiang Yuelou can think about is Chen Yuzhi and vice versa

This angers Moqing so deeply that she decides that she's going to get Jiang Yuelou to hate Chen Yuzhi so she decides to plant opium on him by pretending to be a patient and when he's not looking, she'll plant it and then leave and then call the police

Chen Yuzhi is arrested but this doesn't stop Jiang Yuelou from wanting to be around the doctor, oh no, it only fires him up more to prove his innocence

Moqing screams in irritation and fury in the safety of her bedroom before she goes to the prison to speak with Chen Yuzhi

When she gets there, the first thing she does is slap him and then demand to know what he did to get Jiang Yuelou to just be absolutely devoted to him because she's tried everything to get Jiang Yuelou to like and notice her, from the gifts to the following him everywhere to fucking framing Chen Yuzhi for selling/distributing/having opium but nothing she does seems to work

Chen Yuzhi just looks at her before he smirks

"Did you hear that, Yuelou?"

"Indeed I did, Yuzhi"

Moqing is shocked as Jiang Yuelou and his subordinates swagger into the cell, Jiang Yuelou walking over and standing beside Chen Yuzhi

Moqing is so confused as to what's happening when Song Rong and Sun Yongren arrest her for purchasing opium and for framing Chen Yuzhi

Chen Yuzhi then explains how he knew what she was doing from the beginning (boy is smart or Jiang Yuelou wouldn't have taken an interest in him) so he let her frame him so that he and Jiang Yuelou could catch her in the act

Moqing is dragged screaming from the cell (to be placed in another cell) as Jiang Yuelou unties Chen Yuzhi and catches him before cradling his face in his hands, looking him in the eyes

"My brilliant doctor"

Chen Yuzhi blushes as Jiang Yuelou leans forward and presses a kiss to Chen Yuzhi's forehead as he whispers apologies for not stopping Moqing sooner

Chen Yuzhi just shakes his head and asks to go home, so both men walk out of the jail, arm in arm into the sunlight

These two do go home and have a talk, which is then followed by cuddles because good lord, they both need it after the headache Moqing caused

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts

Part 11:

“So, what, you’ve just known about your soulmate for over a week? And you didn’t tell me!” Your best friend huffs, slouching into the booth across from you. 

The café you had decided to meet Selene in seemed abnormally loud today, but even through the noise you could hear her frustration. And you understood it too- she’d been listening to you fantasize about your soulmate for years now, so much so that it must have gotten annoying. But she listened anyway, and apparently you repaid that favor by not even telling her when your tattoo appeared, nor when you actually met him. 

You couldn’t help it though. As much as you wanted to gush about it to everyone, another part of you wanted to keep it a secret. You didn’t wanna share Bakugou yet, as selfish and ridiculous as that sounded.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry; but honestly, it was just super surreal. Like I didn’t know how to talk about it.” You meet her eyes, grateful to see that even through her frustration, Selene still just looked happy for you. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Had to give you a little shit, but really I’m excited for you.” She takes a sip of her drink, leaning forward on your elbows. “Can I see the tattoo?”

You pale.

It really was an ugly tattoo. Messy and scribbly and poorly drawn, and odd even  as far as soulmate tattoos go. Every other person you’d known with a soulmate tattoo - which, granted, wasn’t many- had a name. Even your soulmate himself had your name! But you didn’t. You had his phone number, and no matter which way you thought about it, you couldn’t figure out why that was.

“Yeah, it’s uh, on my collarbone.” You unzipped your jacket, pulling it to the side to reveal the tattoo. 

“It’s- it’s, um, not what I expected.”

“That’s what I said. It showed up on my birthday,” You shrugged. “Wasn’t there the night before, but when I woke up it was just sitting there.”

“Why a phone number?” She questions, poking at the mark with a gentle finger. “And why does it look like-”

“Like that?” You chuckle, pushing her hands away and zipping your jacket up once more. “I have absolutely no idea. I’ve never seen anyone else with a phone number before; even Bakugou has my name.” 

“Um, who?” 

“His name’s Bakugou. My soulmate, I mean.”

“Wait- you talked to him? And you still didn’t tell me? You bitch!” Selene throws her head back, a laugh tumbling out of her lips. “I thought you’d just been hiding the tattoo, I didn’t know you were hiding him too!”

“Shut up- you’re being so loud!” 

“I can’t help it! This is just so exciting!”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Y/n,” You watched your friend straighten, a wicked smile crawling across her lips. “What’s that look about, huh, does somebody have a crush?”

You can feel you cheeks and ears flushing, but you don’t say anything. Selene just stares at you, wide manic grin across her face that just seems to make you blush even more. It’s a stalemate until she reaches across the table, poking at your red cheek. You break.

“God, fine, maybe- I don’t know, okay!” You huff, looking down to avoid her eyes. “We’ve talked like everyday since my tattoo came in, but I still feel like I don’t knowing anything about him!” 

“Huh-”

“He’s so, like, dodgy- about everything I ask him. It was like pulling teeth just to get his name! And it’s not even his full name! Just his last.” You pulled at your jacket, sinking into your seat. “Bakugou just like, avoids everything I ask him! I’ve told him about my quirk, and what I’m studying, but he won’t tell me anything! He just like gives me a two-word answer or calls me a name- which is fine, I actually find that part funny- but still. He gives me nothing. Absolutely fuck all nothing unless I literally beg for it!” 

“Woah, okay, breathe, Y/n. ” Selene holds a placating hand towards you. “Look, I’m sure he has his reasons. I mean, they’re probably shitty reasons since he’s like a 20 year old gu-”

“21.”

“Yeah, okay, since he’s 21, and definitely immature, but they’re still his reasons.”

“Who the fuck cares about reasons? I mean we’re literally soulmates. We’re gonna know everything about each other eventually, so I have no idea why he’s being so cagey! Actually, now that I think about it, it’s really kind of irritating!”

You gasp suddenly, not realizing how involved your rant had gotten. Apparently you were more upset than you realized, or at least significantly more annoyed.

You think back to how you felt yesterday- after you’d read Sunshine at the end of his text. You were light and airy and happy, but all of that seemed to have faded. God, what you wouldn’t give to feel like that now.

Selene waves a hand in front of your face, up and down in front of your eyes until you meet her gaze.

“I get that. I understand where that would come from, but all that really matters is whether or not you like talking to him- do you like talking to him?”

“Yes.” You say simply, surprised by how easy the conclusion was to come to. “I do.” 

“Then don’t stress, sweetie.” Selene pats your hand. “Tell me about the things you do like.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Your smile is small, timid, unsure, but you find the words come easy. “I like that he’s funny- and that he swears a lot. And that might be even more funny, because sometimes I’ll look at my texts and I swear it’s like there’s a 12 year old on the other end.” 

Selene just smiles, nodding to urge you on.

“I like that he gets super shy if I say anything nice to him- it’s like he freezes up and just swears everywhere and types in all caps.” You feel your cheeks heating up as you speak, but that doesn’t stop you. “I like that he’ll text me if I don’t text him- and that he responds fast when I do. And I like that he’s blunt- there’s less words for me to get anxious over that way.” 

“Alright. I’ve decided.” 

“Excuse me?”

“I like him for you.” She shrugs. “And I have good opinions so don’t argue.”

“But he still-”

“Yeah, I get it. But at the end of the day he’s still your soulmate, right?” She leans forward, tapping your forehead. “So stop overthinking it. You wouldn’t have that tattoo if he wasn’t supposed to be good for you.”

“Yeah.” You feel the sudden urge to hug her, overcome with yet another reason why you loved her so much. “I was being sort of ridiculous wasn’t I?”

“No, not ridiculous. It’s a valid complaint.”  

You nod.

“He does need to start telling you more, especially if you’re already telling him about you.” Selene brushes her hair back with an errant hand. “But I also think you tend to fixate on reasons to leave instead of looking for reasons to stay- and I’m not gonna let you do that this time.” 

You just look up at her, finding nothing but Selene’s gentle smile. 

It hits you then that she’s right. You did always search for the bad instead of making your own good. With relationships. With friendships. Even with school- but she was right. You couldn’t do that this time. It wouldn’t just affect you, it’d affect Bakugou too. 

“Hey, I love you, you know?” You suddenly tell her.

“I know. You’re my ride or die, bitch, of course you do.” She laughs. “Now c’mon, lets go actually order, and you can let me read through all those texts you were talking about.”  

“No!” 

She just laughs, grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the register.

--/--

Later that night you’re sitting with your phone in hand, nerves making a tangled mess of your insides.

You were stalling.

There was a part of you, a big part of you that just wanted to ask him. Ask him about his full name, and his quirk, and his job, or his school if that’s where he was- about his life, and just not take no for an answer. Wanted to needle and pry and be annoying until you had one fact about him to match every one you’d already given him about yourself.

But there was another part of you too. Another part that wanted to see him call you Sunshine and keep him happy instead of possibly irritating him. And that part was screaming just as loud.

You groaned, setting your phone down once again, and rolling onto your side. Your eyes caught on to the TV. You’d switched it on earlier, hoping the background noise of the local news could help settle your nerves, but it didn’t work. As of now though, you were quickly held captive by the footage you saw.

On screen was a recap of a battle that had occurred a few days ago- and it didn’t look good. The villian was terrifying; a black, oozing mass of tar that seemed to swallow people and objects whole. It was running a rampage through the city, it’s undeniable strength completely unchallenged by the police force- until suddenly? An explosion. Multiple explosions. Big, loud, noisy explosions and chaos and bright light until the villain was shot clean through with a grenade blast. The villain fell, engulfed by a cloud of smoke and debris.

You watched as the smoke cleared from the camera footage, only seeing the vaguest outline of a man before they were jetting offscreen by the force of their own explosions. 

“Burgeoning pro-hero Dynamite yet again saving the day, and then quickly leaving the scene.” The newscaster announced, voice drowning out the sound of the disaster footage. 

The scene switches as the fight recap footage ends. The usual roundtable of reporters is shown instead, and they quickly begin discussing the fight.

“It’s not altogether surprising,” A woman says. “In fact, it’s almost better if he leaves, don’t you think? I mean, surely no one’s forgotten what happened in Hosu right?”

Another reporter winces. “Yep, definitely not. Even a year out from the incident it’s still hard to see him in the same light as before.”

You shift on your bed, suddenly scared half to death by the loud sound of your phone hitting the floor. 

Fuck. 

Even after the quick break, you still couldn’t decide what to say to him. 

Luckily, he didn’t let you worry about that for much longer. 

[reaganann]

BarryXReader

smut warning/yelling/fighting

“Fuck” you yelled while walking down the stairs you saw your dad looking at you, he was pissed

“what the fuck did i do this time” you said too your dad

“don’t talk to me like that” he said looking at you while his fists are clinched.

“yeah yeah what ever” you said not even looking at him you just walked straight out of the house.

“get the fuck back here” your dad said chasing you out of the house.

“sorry no can do” you said while walking to you bike you  straddled your bike and put the kick stand up, taking you keys out of your pocket and turning it on.

“you better not going to see that low life drug dealer” he said

that made you look up at him with a clinched jaw if you were a cartoon character you would of had steaming coming out of your nose.

“what the fuck did you just call him” you said you were breathing heavily you got off your bike and walked over to your dad.

“i said what the fuck did you just call him” you said taking a few steps so now you are eye level with your dad.

“you heard me” he said

“all he his is just some low live dealer living in a tarsh trailer and you are living in a fucking mansion how could you have such low standards like come on you could of fucked rafe but no you had to go a fuck barry the fucking drug dealer” he said knowing that hit a nerve.

as soon as he was done you fool on punched him right in the jaw he tumbled backwards holding his jaw.

“you fucking bitch” he said he tried to grab you by the arm but he saw that nothing was there, he looked up and saw you on your bike with your middle finger up.

“fuck you dad” you said while driving off.

you were so fucking pissed that your own dad talked about that way you were driving off when you pulled into barry’s house.

you threw your bike down and walked up to the house once you got up to the pouch your herd music fuck he’s having a party but you didn’t care you Swang open his door letting it hit the wall bouncing off of it.

you walked into the house looking at all the people that were here you saw barry sitting in a chair in the back.

you walked out on to the back porch.

“ahh look who it is” he said giving you a toothy smile he got and walked over to you.

“what you doing here prin-“ he was cut off by me grabbing his shirt and smacking are lips to gather he was shocked at first but relaxed kissing back with just as much force you had.

he pulled away breathing hard “god woman worn a man before doing that” he said he walked over to the chair that he was sitting in and sat down on it.

“the fuck got you worked up” he said opening a beer and chugging it down you just watch as his throat bobbed the up-and-down while swallowing the beer.

“my dad” you said finally stop looking at him and walked to him and sat down next to him putting your hand out so he can pass you a beer.

“what did daddy do this time”he said passing you a beer you took it out of his hand and opend it.

he watch as you opened the beer but then he saw that your knuckles were bruised.

“he just pissed me off also called you a low life” you said taking a swig of the beer.

“the fuck happed to your hand” his said starting to get mad he snatched your hand off your beer and held it to his face looking at it.

“nothing don’t worry about it “ you said jerking your hand away form him.

“something must of happened” he said

then all of a sudden he here some girl wine

“god this is making me want to threw up why the fuck is some lame ass kook doing here” he looked over to his woman and saw that her jaw was clinched so was her fists.

“what the fuck did you just say” you said looking up at some girl.

“i don’t get it some rich ass kook fucking and low life that sells drugs just to get money you know what his probably useing you for your money” shes said

you got up and walked over to her she saw you and stepped back her back hitting the wall.

“at least i’m fucking one person instead of multiple people you probably got some disease down there” you said she looked up at your and raised her fist punching you in the mouth.

you taste the Metally taste of blood you just smiled at her with your bloody mouth you licked you teeth spitting out and mouth fully of blood.

“is that all you got” you said she flip you over so now you were against the wall she went for you throat but as she got there you head butted her in the nose

she flew backwards falling to the ground you got on top of her punching her repeatedly in the face. she reached up and scratched your eye you felt the warm liquid falling down your face.

you were about to go in for another hit but you felt arms warp around your waist pulling you off of the girl your felt you back hit the wall hard you looked up and saw barry looking at you.

“fuck woman” he said looking down at you he saw that your eyebrow was cut and your lip.

“everyone one out” he said not looking at anyone but you.

you herd foot steps leaving the house it was silent in the house meaning that every one was gone.

his hands moved form your waist to the back of your thighs he tapped the back of them signaling to jump.

you jump and wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

he walked you into the house and walked to the kitchen sitting you down on the counter.

“that bitch sucker punched” he ground he didn’t like seeing his woman getting hurt but all he could think about is how hot she looking with her lip all busted.

“yeah but i got her good tho” you said

“damn straight” he said letting out a low laugh

your hand moved down his torso to his belt hooking your fingers into the belt tagging it so now he is closer to you,

he let out a grown when his crotch came in contact with your front.

“couldn’t stop think about how hot you looked punching that whore in the face” he said looking up at your seeing that your eyes were dilated with lust.

“i want to fuc-“ he ground out but he couldn’t finish because you grabbed his jaw tightly while smaking your lips on to his.

you let go of his jaw moving your hands under his shirt felling his abs titan when you run your finger along his stomach outlining his abs.

he stop kissing your lips moving down to your neck placing light kisses on your neck trying to find your sweet spot.

you moaned felling his teeth sink into your skin sucking on it, when his was down his licked it and stepped back to look at you.

your hair was a mess your eyes were darker everything about you makes him want to fuck you right on his kitchen counter.

“mmm- so hot” his said

you putt your hands on his butt pushing him and garbing of his neck smacking your lips together agin this time your licked at the bottom of his lip asking for entry but he denied it your felt him smirk against your lips.

you bit his lip hard making him moan letting you slip you tongue into his mouth but as soon as you did this he pulled away.

“the fuck you think your doing woman” he says

“you think you can be in charge guess aging Princess” he said

he was going to kiss you agin when all of a sudden there was a knock at the door.

“fuck” he said moving off of you began to walk to the door but you stopped him.

“i’ll answer the door” you said

“no i got it” he said

“i don’t think so because form what i see is a big bulge in your pants right now” you said looking at the bulge in barry’s pants

“whos fault is that” he said

“whatever” you said walking over to the door you opened it and saw rafe standing there looking at you

“your not barry” he said

“this better be important country club cause you just interrupted me and my woman” you hear barry say in the background.

you let him in you saw him hold a backpack he walked towards the living room and sat down on the chair.

you walked over and saw barry laying on the couch and you walked over to him and layed down on top of him laying your head into the crook of his neck giving it a kiss.

he warped his arms around your back squeezing you tightly you let out a giggle when you felt his hands lift up your shirt and running his hands down your back.

“i need a place to stay” rafe said barry stopes scratching your back and turns his head to look at rafe.

“did daddy finally kick you out” he said laughing you felt his laugh vibrate against his chest.

you zoned out there talking your decided to play with barry. you moved your hand down his chest moving it so now it at his belt.

you slowly unloose his belt so that you could put your hand down his pants. sense he was already hard it would be easier for you.

Barry’s pov

i was taking to rafe about Lord knows what when i felt a hand go down my chest unbuckling my belt i let out a small groun.

“you ok man” rafe said i let out a sigh of relief thanking he couldn’t see what y/n was doing.

“mm- fine” i said while bitting my lip rafe gose back to talking y/n gose into my pants and she started palming me threw my boxers

“rafe you look tired why don’t you go lay down in the bedroom” y/n said

“ok” he said he got up and left.

y/n took her hand out of my pants and sat up i watched as she took of her shirt and throwing it across the room.

“let me ride you” she said looking at me

fuck she is so hot i could cum in my pants just form hearing her say that.

i sat up and took off my shirt, i got up and took of my pants y/n did the same.

i was just in my boxers and y/n was just in her braw and panties i sat back down on the couch she straddled my lap and sat down my hands were on her hips.

i smacked my lips against hers running my tongue against her bottom lip trying to ask for entry but she denied i moved one of my hands to her boob and gave it a squeeze she gasped allowing me to shove my tongue in her mouth

are tongues fought for dormancy i obviously one i felt her hips moving against my dick i let out a groun against her lips.

i moved my hand down to my dick i took it out and moved her Panties aside pushing myself in.

we both let out a moan i threw my head back. she started to move her hips back and forth. i put my hands on her ass helping her in her movements.

“we have to be quiet rafe is in the next room over” she said

i let out a laugh “its you that has to be quiet woman” i say.

i kept laughing but i stop when all of a sudden she got off of me and slammed herself back on to me i let out a loud groun she smacked her lips against mine so she couldn’t let out a moan.

i began to move my hips against her going slow at first but then going fast.

third person view

barry flipped over y/n so now she is under him and he’s on top

you looked up and saw barry looking at you his hand moved to you throat giving it a squeeze he kept his hand there while thrusting into.

“fuck barry” you moaned throwing your hand back closing you eyes.

he started to thrusts faster and faster all you can here is skin slapping against each other and heavy breathing.

“fuck”he said dropping down so he can kiss your neck your hands came to his ass hold him while he thrust into you.

you felt the knot in your stomach form.

“barry i’m gunna cum” you said

“cum for me Princess” he said

you felt your knot unravel you clinched around him he let out a loud grown feeling you clinch around him he looked down at you in aww

he let out a lound groun feeling his orgasm approach him he thrusters faster into you he began to shake then his orgasm came.

he came inside you flawing on top of you. he put his now soft dick into his boxer and moved your panties his picked up his shirt and put in on you and got a blanket and thrown over yall.

he let his hair down putting his head on your chest felling your hands run threw his hair.

“i like it when your hair is down” you said while scratching his head

“mm” he mumbled a thanks

“barry” you siad

“mm” he said

“ i love you” you say

“i love you too” he said closing his eyes so he could fall asleep in the arms of his woman he loves.

but little did the sleeping couple on the couch know that in the next room was a hard rafe he listened to all of barry’s moans and grouns and your too.

[tossawary]

omg the concept of (canon-esque? i.e. in a complete depressive state) sqh agreeing to come out of hiding to attend sqq/lbh's wedding, knowing 1000% that mbj WILL be there and WILL immediately discover sqh faked his own death, just because sqq asked him to? oof. but for a man so dedicated to avoiding his own untimely demise... how does he play it? does he pretend he has amnesia? does he go in disguise?

Okay, so the setup I was picturing for this (the Real Angsty Version) is that SQH finds out that SQQ is another transmigrator just before he fakes his death. SQQ also finds out that SQH is a transmigrator, but then SQH dies! What the hell! Leaving Shen Qingqiu to be like, “I have NO idea who that other transmigrator was or what they might have changed. Also, I’m not coping well with coming face to face with my fate: getting killed off horribly in service to the plot!” 

Only, SQH secretly gets in contact with SQQ and arranges a secret meeting, in which they discover each other’s past identities (or past usernames, at least). Shen Qingqiu is pissed off that Shang Qinghua is the author of this shitty story and confronts SQH as though this mess is his responsibility to fix. 

But Shang Qinghua laughs in Shen Qingqiu’s face (in the fashion of the asshole we know SQH can be). Like, firstly, if Shen Qingqiu claims that Shang Qinghua is alive and was in service to demons, he’s probably going to look like he’s having the next step in his ongoing breakdown. There’s no proof! Good luck convincing all those overly concerned Peak Lords of your sanity, bro! 

Secondly, Shang Qinghua already wasted his last life on this stupid fucking story he never wanted to write, so he’s not wasting his new one on this stupid fucking story either. Fuck the story! Fuck the original outline too! He’s been held hostage by the System for decades and now that he’s fulfilled his only major plot requirement, he’s done with this shit! Done with Proud Immortal Demon Way! He wants to LIVE. And he wants to live for himself for once in his fucking life! 

So, like, there’s serious conflict between SQH and SQQ. Years of living false lives boil to the surface. But, when it comes down to it, neither of them have anyone else who understands what it’s like. They’re not friends, but SQH feels bad for SQQ, especially after SQQ finally has a real breakdown over feeling like an immature young adult pretending to be someone he’s not, forced to hurt an innocent person he’s genuinely come to care about. SQH is much older than SQQ and he’s like, “Ahhh, fine, I kind of had some plan for my retirement, but I guess I can be this guy’s transmigration mentor for a bit.” 

So they do the whole Sun and Moon Dew Flower Seed thing again, only it works out better because a retired SQH doesn’t have anything better to do than garden all day. They bitch and vent at each other over random bullshit. And eventually SQH gets sick of SQQ worrying over Luo Binghe’s return. 

SQH is like, “Bro, sure, you’re probably going to die. But you have a backup body and a new life waiting for you. Your role is the story is going to end soon. You’ve already changed shit. Say whatever the fuck you want to say to him and then peace out of the plot without a heart weighed down by guilt. Unlike the shit I wrote, you don’t have to draw this mess out into as many extra chapters as possible, so just cut through the bullshit and tell him you fucked up. Mentor characters always die just before or just after big reveals anyway.” 

(Since the SVSSS System is apparently there to make something close to Airplane’s original outline happen, you could go a non-canonical direction and have it remove all secrecy restrictions once Shang Qinghua says he no longer gives a shit about the story or the plot, if you wanted to do a full Identity Reveal. Then SQH and SQQ could have a very funny moment in which they realize SQH had greater control over the System than he realized.) 

So, yeah, Luo Binghe returns, Shen Qingqiu says everything he feels he needs to say right away, and things hit a fix-it AU path from there. If Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-Lang are up to their usual mischief, then Shang Qinghua probably comes back to help deal with that. Everything is resolved! 

And then Moshang angst! SOOOOO much Moshang angst! 

In the Romcom Wedding from Hell Crack AU version of this fic, I was kind of picturing that Shang Qinghua never reveals himself to be alive during the conflict, but Shen Qingqiu really wants him at his scary demon wedding for support! So Shen Qingqiu is trying to persuade SQH to come out of hiding and be his best man, when Mobei-Jun somehow stumbles onto the conversation, probably in the company of Luo Binghe. 

And Shen Qingqiu is immediately like, “Mobei-Jun, you will not murder my friend.” And Luo Binghe is like, “What Shizun says goes.” 

And so I was picturing, in this Romcom-esque Crack AU version of this fic, Shang Qinghua trying (and failing) to politely explain to an incensed Mobei-Jun that he faked his death because he was afraid of being killed for no reason someday. Which turns into Mobei-Jun being shocked and confused and angry, because that is not what was happening! Which turns into Shang Qinghua just outright yelling at him that it WAS what was happening and berating him for all his carelessly cruelty over the years. Big blow-out fight. 

While Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe stand in the corner as chaperones (to prevent any murder from taking place), shamelessly watching this utter disaster unfold with incredulous fascination. Like, “Wow! That could have been us! We’re so glad that we managed to communicate with each other like adults and avoid this kind of pointless bullshit that could have been resolved at any time with one direct conversation. Good thing we’re better than that.” 

SQH then gets involved in the wedding because the cat’s out of the bag anyway, now that MBJ knows. It’s a very big wedding with lots of organization to be done (Luo Binghe is a total Groomzilla and Shen Qingqiu gets Extremely Stressed about everything being perfect because LBH deserves it and also he will not humiliate himself in front of all the VIPs of the Demon Realm), so Moshang keep running into each other and eventually manage to work it out. 

[zodiyack]

Opposites Attract; Act V

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Female!Pierce/Petrova!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst/violence

Words: 1,098

(Series) Summary: The younger sister of Katherine was the true owner of Damon’s heart, Katherine only being his worry in 1864 due to the sister’s bond, the bond that fueled Katherine to force Y/n to join her when she escaped Mystic Falls and left Damon to think they were both in the tomb.

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @simonsbluee, @darling-i-read-it, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @dpaccione, @sana-li, @local-depresso-gay-idiot, @jenepleurepasbaby, @lady-salvatore, @yolobloggers, @thecraziestcrayon, @tranqs-main-mami, @lawlerek​, @agustdpeach​, @jenjie​, @iclosetgeek​, @avengersgirllorianna​, @rosiesimone819​, @caseysalvatore, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything​

Masterlist | The Vampire Diaries Masterlist

Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V. Part VI.

“C’mon, you don’t want to do this, Damon.” Stefan tried to explain. If anything, his frantic attitude should’ve outlined the point he’d been trying to make in a bold yellow like the highlight pen he used for school.

But perhaps that highlighter was out of ink. “Trust me, brother, I do.”

Damon was stubborn, anyone who knew the vampire knew of that fact, but Stefan was stubborn when it came to his “hero-hair” duties. The brothers were more similar than either of them thought, so getting one to back off the other was a battle that lasted for what felt like centuries. Stefan wouldn’t give up until Damon agreed to leave Katherine alone.

“Damon, I don’t want to lock you down there to desiccate again, but if I have to, I will.” He honestly would if it came to that. Stefan wanted Damon to just stay out of trouble and if the opportunity presented itself, he’d take it with only the smallest bit of hesitation.

“Why do you want me to back off of Katherine so badly, Stefan?” Damon narrowed his eyes. “The bitch tricked you into dying for her, literally! So why on earth would you be...” His sentence faded away. And then suddenly- as if a lightbulb had clicked over his head, his gaze snapped back up to Stefan’s, “Tell me you haven’t.”

“Haven’t what?”

“Fallen head over heels for narcissistic vamp bitch!” The raven haired brother pointed an accusing finger at him, “I swear to god, Stefan, tell me you didn’t!”

“What?!” Pure disgust was evident on his features, “No! God no! I just...it’s best for you, if you really want Y/n back.”

“Not fighting Katherine?”

“Yeah.”

“How would that do anything for me in my relationship? What’s so bad about killing Katherine? I’d be a hero!”

“Well...to us, maybe, but your little ‘crush’, not so much. Because killing Katherine, Y/n’s sister, would make your ‘mission’ fail instantly.”

“Oh...” Damon finally came to his senses, Stefan’s point clicking and wiping away the tenseness in his body. “Yeah, that uh...that makes sense.”

Stefan “Aaaand I figured you’d like that more than option b.”

His brows furrowed and eyes squinted for the second time, however, his confusion was genuinely just puzzled rather than blaming. “What’s option b?”

“Making amends with Katherine. Getting all brother and sisterly with her. You know, in law bonding?” His teasing smirk poked fun at Damon and grew wider as his face shriveled with discomfort and repugnance. “Thought so.”

“Still can’t get enough of me?” Katherine sneered.

“You wish. I’m here for your sister.”

Katherine’s entire form suddenly grew tense. Her once relaxed stance became protective and guarding. “I told you last time, you can’t have her. She doesn’t need you, and you don’t deserve her.”

“Funny, I thought I said the same thing about you.” Her jaw clenched as Damon’s smirk crawled higher towards his eyes.

“I’d back off if I were you.”

“Again, same thing to you.”

The childish attitude was a constant with Damon, making it nearly impossible to tell whether he was deviating against the plan Stefan and the others helped him out with, or just doing it to spite Katherine. Bonnie had preformed a locater spell on the vampire, bringing them to their current location, and Stefan got their new companion, Alaric, to help him in making sure Damon didn’t fuck everything up. He knew his older brother, been the target of his temper, so he knew things could go south in record speed.

“C’mon Damon, don’t do it,” he muttered to himself repeatedly. They were lucky enough to find a spot where he could hear what was going on, not that he needed his vamp hearing to be able to catch the excessively loud voices, and see the showdown with close-to-front row seats.

Alaric gave him a look every now and then, telling him silently that he was ready whenever Stefan was. It started to get heated, Katherine inching towards Damon, the fury in her eyes growing more intense with each quip that slipped from his mouth, Damon cockier by the second. It was only a matter of time before they needed to step in. It was only a matter of time before Damon fucked up.

“You know, I only ever meant to save Stefan, right? Had I known Y/n gave you her blood, I would’ve ripped your heart from your chest before you had the chance to turn.”

“And had I known you were going to leave the church, where I thought the love of my life was for the past century, to burn while you were really taking her away from me, I would’ve shoved you inside that damn church and left you to rot in hell, where you belong, while Y/n and I rode of into the sunset and lived happily ever after.” His smile was still too playful to be read. The glow in his eyes and tightness of his lips accentuated the darkness behind his “had I” story.

Katherine’s eyes pierced pun intended into Damon’s. The veins below her brown orbs darkened, fangs protruded from her gums. In the blink of an eye, she lunged at Damon, but then, she was on the ground, a vervain tranquillizer sticking from her body.

“Damn,” she struggled to form the final words, drowsiness already creeping over her, “you,” a glare met Damon’s mocking expression, “Salvatore.”

Damon clapped, victory dance ready to be initiated. “Nice shot, Ric! Great timing too!”

He waited for a response from their, human, vampire hunter friend, but Alaric’s tone wasn’t victorious like Damon’s, nor was his response quickly given. “That wasn’t me...”

The weapons he’d brought along were wooden bullets, his shot good enough to avoid hearts on purpose and keep the vampires alive if need be. Last he checked, the only vervain equipped item he currently had on his person was a vervain bomb, which he promised not to set off.

Damon whipped around, meeting his brother and Alaric, whom had raced over the second Katherine went down, and their concerned expressions. Stefan realized something was off at the same time as Alaric; he hadn’t fired any weapons and Stefan made sure to know what objects that could kill him were in his presence at all times.

“If it wasn’t you two... then who- What fortunate bastard do I have to spare tonight?”

“Me. Although, correct me if I’m wrong,” the three turned towards the voice, Damon’s eyes widening as Y/n entered his view, nearing closer and closer with each step she took, “I believe you’d spare me either way.”

[korissideblog]

soooo alot of people really liked my Takao Talking ideas, so i decided to make a fake little fan transcript <3

this is really really short, but it's my first time really going into philosophy without a prompt, so maybe I'll get better as time goes on <3

{hiya!!! I’m @spaceACE✩! (=^-ω-^=)~ }

{I luv luv luv Takao Talking!!! And while Taka has CCs on his videos, I just thought it would be fun to do a transcript for some of my fav videos!!! (=´∇｀=)~ }

{soooo here it is!!! ฅ/ᐠ ‧̫‧ ᐟ\ฅ please like, comment, and enjoy!!!!

(๑✪ᆺ✪๑)~ }

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

aki put my camera up really high and now i have to turn it on and off with a broom handle. let’s talk about optimism in the bad times.

[Takao looks directly up at the camera, the camera being at a very very high angle. Takao is a fit, tallish person with lightly tanned skin, curly brown hair, and shiny yellow eyes. He has two sets of horns, one set that holds closely to his skull and goes up at the very end, and another set that does straight out, again going up at the very end. She is wearing a simple black choker, an oversized white t-shirt that says “Of Course I Cum Fast; I Have Fish To Catch!” With an outline of a bass jumping out of a body of water on it, and black biker shorts, as well as black slides. He is holding a broom in his right hand.]

Takao: Ah, alright. I think it’s on now.

Takao: so! I was supposed to be posting a video that had my buddy Aki in it, but apparently someone was “being a nuisance” and someone else would “rather look at me than a camera lens” or whatever.

Takao: he was just being pissy and he put my camera up really high. And hey, that was cool when we were hanging out, sure. We made lunch together and ate it. It was a fun time all around. Problems arise when he leaves my place, and “forgets” to give me my camera back. I have to turn it on and off with this. [Takao swings the broom around a bit]

Takao: So if this video goes out, it means I’ve either grown a few inches, or I’ve invested in a step ladder. Both of these events are equally possible.

Takao: And if this video doesn’t go out, then you know what happened. Except that you don’t know, because this video obviously won’t be out. You guys are smart. Out of all my friends, I’m sure you could guess which one would fuck up my recordings.

Takao: anywho! Since I'm here, forced to keep my chin up, let’s talk about optimism in the bad times.

[Takao drags a settee into frame with a great amount of struggle. Cut to him carrying a small end table over and putting it next to the settee. Cut to him placing a plate of sliced apples on the table, as well as a glass of (sparkling?) water]

Takao: [lounging across the settee] it was Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz who believed that we live in the best of all possible worlds. He based most of his ideas off of the assumed existence of capital ‘g’ God, so that isn’t exactly the most popular idea about optimism that’s currently going around, but it’s what I'm gonna use for today’s video.

Takao: If we live in the best of all possible worlds, how can one explain the mass suffering that we face? One could possibly say that without knowing suffering we wouldn’t know joy, I personally agree with that, but one could also say that suffering is a consequence of the joy that we have. If there is no joy without suffering, then there is no suffering without joy.

Takao: I’ve personally gone through suffering, in many parts of my life, but I’ve also experienced joy. And given the ability to start it all over again, i think i would still suffer unnecessarily in order to be joyful unnecessarily.

Takao: But optimism in the bad times is different. It’s going through suffering and somehow finding something to appreciate, it’s, cutting your finger with a knife, but being alright with it because you can wear your buddy’s merch now. [Takao holds up his hand, and on it is a bandage. It’s a bit blurry, but it looks similar to merchandise that is currently out for pro hero Smokestack]

Takao: it’s not finding joy in suffering, that’s masochism, it’s joy in spite of suffering.

Takao: But I'm sure all of us know how hard it can be to find joy while suffering, so we kinda can skip over that part sometimes. I didn’t find joy in the fact that I could see my reflection in the knife that cut me, but I did find joy in the healing aspect. My suffering was mostly over by the time I got the bandage, but I still put it on because I needed something good to come out of the experience. I was working on healing myself, and that’s where I found joy. [Takao takes one of the apple slices and eats it. She lifts the glass of water, but pauses before he drinks it]

Takao: and hey, I wouldn’t have had the same joy if this bandage wasn’t my buddy’s merch. Maybe I wouldn’t have even put it on! Maybe there’s a timeline where I never met Jetsam, but I still got the same cut, and it got infected and I lost my finger. [Takao takes a sip of the water, and puts it back down] Obviously this is an exaggerated example, but you get my point. There’s a timeline where I didn’t make the friends I have today, and I suffered more because of it.

Takao: It’s hard being your own therapist. [Jiji, an old black cat, walks into frame] That’s why your therapist exists. Humans are social creatures, and will always suffer from loneliness. [Jiji paces in front of the settee till Takao picks him up and puts him on her lap] no matter how uncomfortable it can make us, we need other people. Other people may not be able to stop our suffering, but they can help us get through it, and help us heal afterwards.

Takao: [looking into the lens of the camera] I originally made this channel when I was… you know I was kinda messed up

Takao: Real sick in the head.

Takao: But you know what?

Takao: Van Gogh painted the Starry Night while in drug rehab

Takao: So maybe I’m onto something here

Takao: Maybe good things don’t come from bad things,

Takao: …

Takao; Maybe good things come from healing after bad things.

[The frame fades to black]

[A quick cut back to Takao as he holds the broom, trying and failing to reach the camera without standing up from his settee]

[A quick and startling cut to Takao’s feet as she quickly walks to another room]

[Takao is now wearing different shoes, black boots, and is closing her front door. The dull click of her boots is heard softly]

[Cut to more walking, this time down a sidewalk. The click of his boots more pronounced now]

[Takao’s feet sway side to side as he sits on a subway]

[Takao records a woman in a tight pink dress. The woman is attractive, tall and blonde, but the camera is focused on her bag, large and a matching shade of pink. Out of the bag pops out a tan chihuahua with a pink spiked collar. The subway speaker talks indistinctly]

[More walking down a sidewalk, but at a quickened pace]

[Takao points the camera at a mirror in an elevator, his head is not shown, posing cutely with her leg up and a peace sign]

[More walking down a hallway as Takao finds a door]

[Takao flips through a strangely large ring of keys. Once he finds one with ‘BC’ crudely carved into it, she sticks it into the lock and turns it]

[He opens the door and walks into a living room. A man sitting on a couch looks up. This man is Aki Hiroharu. Hiroharu seems to be watching the news while eating something out of a bowl. Hiroharu looks shocked to see Takao, and may be about to speak, but immediately stops as he goes to cover his face with his arm]

[The camera shakes as Takao throws a step ladder at Hiroharu]

Takao: BITCH ASS-

[There’s a short few shots of the two fighting, clearly playfully, but neither seem willing to lose]

[Someone puts the camera down gently, walking back to the couch and resting their legs onto the open stepladder. The person is a fusion of Haruhiro and Takao, commonly known as Akito by fans. Akito continues to eat as they watch the news.]

[End]

[restwellsoon]

This is me totally being a sap, but today is the one year anniversary of my dude proposing to me.

I just worked my 3 in a row, absolutely pissed that one year into the pandemic and the hospital still hadn’t gotten their shit together. We were still coding people left and right and hoping that whoever the fuck was out there listening would make those 12 hours go by as quickly as possible. At the very least, family members could agree to pull life support so we wouldn’t have to make these people suffer any more than they already were.

There were nights when we ran out of equipment for the patients and we just... had to make due with what we had. We had to call doctors and ask if it was okay to keep the patients satting in the 80s maxed out and proned because there was nothing else that we could do. The floor was already exceeding their daily limits for medical oxygen consumption because of all the vents, Bi-Paps and High-Flows. If we didn’t lower them to the lowest tolerable setting, we’d run out of oxygen and then everyone would die. It wasn’t a surprise that consistent hypoxia left them with brain damage or when they finally recovered, they weren’t the same. We knew that.

It was month three of staffing ratios being taken away from the nurses -HIGH ALERT PANDEMIC SURGE NOTIFICATION would flash on the computer every time I’d sign in-, and I hadn’t had a lunch break since November 2020. I remember being able to trace the outline of my N95 -which we still had to fucking reuse and put in the paper bags every shift, then throw them in a dumpster to be “sanitized” for later use- with my nails at the end of work. It’d burn when it fell into place again 12 hours later. When I took off my scrub cap, my hair fell out in chunks.

The tops of my hands had been chemically burned from the sanitizers for about two months. They’d still hurt as I’d slather on cream and put a Tegaderm on. They only healed when I was off of work, going from that angry purple-red to a bright pink. “Freddy Krueger hands,” I’d tell anyone at work who asked, “because we’re living in a fucking nightmare.”

Two months before I swore I’d never love another patient again after losing someone who honestly believed I was their angel. I lied and kept watching person after person die every shift, bagging their bodies and stuffing them into the freezer that was only meant for six. I’m not attached, I’m not attached, I’m not attached. But I still remember most of their names. I’m still scared to forget them. At least I stopped making promises I couldn’t keep to them. Saying sorry stopped feeling good enough. Now I had nothing to say and only anger to feel. I didn’t know what to do with my rage so I lashed out when everything was too much.

You and I had been fighting for months because of Covid. “Babe, we’re both heroes now,” you’d joke.

Right. Because even before the pandemic, you were always the hero. The one who was running into the fire when everyone was rushing out. The pandemic never changed that. And a part of me was incredibly bitter about how the public saw you.

Because what was I before the pandemic? Just some fucking nurse? The doctor’s bitch? I was still getting pissed on, spit on and coughed on by the very people who were calling me a “healthcare hero.”

I didn’t want to be a hero. I don’t think any of us did. I just wanted to go back to before the pandemic where I could help people and be the person that they needed me to be- their hero was never a part of that. I didn’t want to hold their hands when they died either -more angel than hero, some would say-, but I did because I knew what it was like to be alone and I didn’t want them to feel as alone as I did then.

And I felt alone. Especially in my apartment. There were times when you wouldn’t be home for five days to a week at a time. I was alone with my thoughts and I spent my free time staring at blank walls or filling up Google Docs with stupid words.

It was a fight whenever you came back.

You don’t understand what I’m going through. Why the fuck would I want to have sex with you right now? I spent my Christmas coding someone and all I can think about is their cold, clammy skin when we touch, babe. You know what CPR’s like. I feel their ribs crack underneath my palms even though it’s been weeks. I cry every time I look at braided hair and the sight of chocolate pudding makes me sick. I haven’t slept in over 32 hours because I’m so nervous. I know, it happens every couple of weeks. I don’t know what to do. Yeah, I’ve been taking about 50 of Benadryl every day along with 10 of melatonin, the CBD too. It’s not working anymore. I know I could get a ‘script for something stronger, but... I’m just so tired. All I want to do is sleep. I just want to shut my mind off for a few fucking hours. Please. Some days I just want to shove my head in a blender.

I know I need help. I know, I know.

But you shouldn’t have left me all alone. Don’t you know what I’m going through? I thought you’d understand! Don’t you know I get worried sick when you say another one of the guys got Covid? Is this pandemic a fucking joke to you? They’re dead, babe. They’re family is fucking dead -three fucking generations! I heard a couple say their last goodbyes from across the hall. They knew that this would be the last time they talked, and even then, they could hardly get the words out. How am I supposed to be okay with that? Why are you okay with that? I knew it. You never fucking cared, right? You’re just looking for an excuse to leave. You know what? I’m over it. I’m fucking over it! I thought we could have just one nice fucking night.

I don’t know if I love you is enough anymore.

“So?” My friend asked coyly as we stood in the middle of the nursing station. We all spent Valentines Day weekend together in that shithole that I spent 36 hours of my life at a week. “Does he have anything romantic planned for Valentines Day?”

I set my pen down to laugh, glancing at the clock and then the board. I could work on the assignment in a minute. “Probably not,” I shrugged. It never bothered me that he wasn’t the romantic type. “He’s more of the practical type.”

You’re into fixing things and finding solutions. I kept saying that I didn’t have a problem.

I didn’t know that you had been planning the proposal since November 2020. I didn’t want marriage for anything other than financial security, and even then, I already decided that I’d spend the rest of my days with you for as long as you’d have me, married or not.

When I got home that Monday after my third shift in a row, I was already tucked into bed, counting down how many hours of sleep I can get from 9 in the morning until maybe 2 in the afternoon. We got in a fight before I fell asleep because why the fuck would you show me a video of a stripper getting murdered on CCTV, you fucking asshole? Do you know how many people died this weekend?

“I’m sorry, babe! I didn’t know. One of the boys just sent me that!”

What the fuck is wrong with them? I didn’t suspect a thing and tried to get as much sleep as I could.

I still didn’t suspect a thing when you told me how excited you were to see your friends. I felt bad because I begged you to stay at home every time you weren’t at work. I didn’t realize how this was affecting someone as social as you. You used to say that you felt trapped, and I always said that you could leave. A part of me was always worried that you would.

When you asked me what you should wear to dinner, you pulled out a new shirt and asked if I thought you looked cute. I laughed and said that I have the same shirt and maybe we should go to dinner wearing matching outfits. You wore suede oatmeal Nikes to match, and even when we went on a scenic hike to see the ocean, I didn’t suspect a thing. I thought we were killing time. I only nagged that you better not drag your feet because I won’t stand for you crying about how they got dirty. You had to take a hoodie too, in case it was cold.

And when you got down on one knee, I couldn’t believe what was happening and I remember how you nervously forgot to ask that important question. It didn’t matter. All of our fights about how I love you wasn’t enough to change things didn’t matter anymore.

I don’t need expensive things or pretty words. All I wanted was for someone to take care of me the same way I’ve been taking care of everyone else my entire life and that was what you offered. That’s what you had been doing this entire time, and what I had always refused. It was that ear to listen, that shoulder to cry on, those arms to hold, those lips to kiss. It was pulling the blanket over my shoulders and making sure the bills were paid.

I’ll always be bitter about everything that the pandemic took from me -my sanity, my bedside career, and a lot of other things that are too dark to mention. I was broken. I still sort of am. The human spirit can only withstand seeing so much suffering before getting crushed. Instead of throwing me away, you picked up the pieces.

At first I thought that was what I wanted, to be put back to how I was before all of this. But that’s not what it means to take care of someone or to love them. You take them as they are and push them back towards the light, as slowly as that may be. Isn’t that the only way that hope can thrive? Through persistent encouragement?

Sometimes it’s nothing more than the dim glow of your cell phone, scrolling through memes. Sometimes the light is so brilliant that it’s blinding. The sun still feels warm on my skin, and I forgot how much I missed it. I’m starting to remember how bright and vivid the world is, how beautiful it can be.

And it’s all because of you.