#i mean is there another reason to watch it

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: noncon, gangbang, pillory, elf-reader, orc assailants, war between orcs and elves, racism between orcs and elves, captive reader, poor confinement conditions, starvation, piss drinking, cumflation, mindbreak, Stockholm syndrome

♡ FEM reader

The orc camp smells of blood and sweat and other obscenities you and your snooty elven nose fear naming. 

They’ve stripped you and your fellow troops of all weaponry and armor—ugly bastards even took your boots! Leaving you in only silken undergarments, standing barefoot in the cold, wet mud. 

It’s to make it harder to run away if you were to escape, you suspect. You can’t decide if it’s a clever tactic or simply a cruel one. Either way, it’s the least of your worries... You haven't been fed or given water since yesterday when you were all captured—paired with having been made to march for half the day barefoot, all tied up by your wrists, one behind the other, toed along like animals with mean tugs that had more than one of you falling face first in the mud—who knows how many of you will be able to continue walking when they decide it’s time to start moving again—much less run away if and when the opportunity presents itself—leaving you hopeless if someone doesn’t do something soon.

And it turns out that someone is you.

“Hey!” you yell. Bruised hands gripping the splintered wooden bars of your crudely built prison, glaring at the two brutes standing watch.

They acknowledge your shout, but neither of them gives any reason for you to believe they understood you were talking to them. Looking at you, then at each other.

“Yes, you two, guards!” you make clear.

They continue to look at you, yet don’t make a move.

You sigh exasperatingly—yet with how tired you are, it’s more a full-chested groan unbecoming of a fine elven knight, but under the circumstances, you couldn’t much care. 

“I know ungodly monstrosities such as yourselves don’t require much to sustain your foul existence, but elves need food—at the very least water!” 

A fellow elf grabs your shoulder gently, saying something under his breath, perhaps in an effort to make you quiet, but you nudge it off and continue your rant in spite of it. 

“If you plan to keep us alive—as I would think, given your decision to cage us—I would advise you to meet us with the bare necessities!”

Both guards look away toward another orc—one sitting on a thick log at the mouth of one of the nicer, warmer-looking tents they’d pitched—perhaps the biggest one—sharpening his blade with a rock.

He doesn’t look up from his handiwork but speaks, “The elf is hungry?”

You scowl at the question. “Yes, you oaf—the elf is, in fact, hungry.”

He lifts his blade and looks it over—one side, then the other—before sinking it deep down into the mud. Tossing the rock away, he stands and whistles sharply, prompting the two guards to wander off as if to get something. Meanwhile, what seems to be the commander starts walking towards the prison.

Regret starts to fester as he approaches, and you’re reminded once again why the inferior race best you in battle time and time again despite your obvious intellectual difference. Three cabbage heads taller than you, his weight must be about four or five, maybe even six, times yours—built like a grizzly bear—plus his armor, which easily adds another.

He unlocks the prison, and you step back on instinct.

“Come. You will be fed,” he says, opening the gate wide.

You look behind you—all the other elves have scurried back into the far end of the cage, leaving you alone in your endeavor, which only feels foolish now that you’re sure he’s going to use those blood-dirty hands of his to squish your head clean off your shoulders as soon as you step out.

Even still, maybe by the adrenaline of imminent death or the lightheadedness of starvation, you dare ask, though a little cautiously now, “What’s on the menu?”

The orc snorts—perhaps at your pickiness—finding your resolve to uphold your standards funny, given you weren't in much of a situation to make demands. You could scoff, too—of course, you can't expect an orc to understand anything about standards.

He smirks, answering, “Something to keep warm."

Or perhaps he was laughing for an entirely different matter...

The guards return carrying something. You spot them behind him, trudging loudly in the slop before halting—mounting something close to the firepit.

By the time you understand what it is, it’s already too late. Your hair’s grabbed—as well as your entire skull—taken in one meaty hand, pulled out of the safety of the cage, and shoved harshly down into the wet dirt.

He locks up the gate again as you lie there. And you take your chance to try and run, crawling forward—fighting through the clay, dragging you down. Scrambling for balance, you’ve barely even made it up on your feet once he grabs you again—this time leading you towards the other two standing in wait along the torture device they’ve set up just for you.

You’re lifted to stand atop a crate, making you the right height, then bent over—with your wrist led into each their position as well as your throat, shoved down as the lunette comes down and successfully locks you in place—perfectly trapped in the pillory with no means of escape.

You pull and struggle, toiling against the wooden plates—too late for any such silly thing as regret you can only whimper in short, panicked screams and cries—but it’s no use. The hand comes back and grabs your hair, yanking it tightly, making your neck crane as he forces you to look up despite the fixed position.

He smiles down at the look on your face—watching your tears make clear streaks through the mud, lips wobbly as you begin to beg, “Please—I’m sorry, I’ll—”

“Oh, don’t worry, little elf,” he cuts you off with a coo, grabbing your jaw in his other hand. “You’ll be fed, just like promised.”

Something behind you rips your silk cloth away, baring you. You stiffen all over, breath hitching as useless fists whiten in their restraints. You want to kick, to thrash—but poor balance only results in you choking yourself—and so you’re left to stand there, helpless—bowed and nude before three orcs you’ve angered with your reckless entitlement.

“Mh, pretty elf holes…” one of the guards behind murmurs, cupping your asscheeks and spreading them to take a look, filtering grubby fingers through the crack and lips, rubbing over both holes.

You shake, trying to thwart their efforts. But a gritty pad roughs over your clit and finds purchase below it.

“Stop, stop! Don’t!” you wail, but it pries you apart anyway—wriggling inside your cunt in a brutish shove, it sheathes itself deeply in curiosity to see how much you could fit, eagerly pumping it inside knuckle-deep before pulling back out—then repeating the motion—promptly finger-fucking the tight opening with a digit the size of an average elf’s manhood.

You sob, heaving for breath. Shaking your head in shame as you start to slicken—if just to make it a little more bearable, but the wet noise of it only serves to make you wish they’d killed you instead.

“Shh, elf. Don't cry.” The commander orc in front of you keeps his hold on your hair, talking down to you as he admires your despair. “We’ll give you what you beg for…” He strokes your cheek harshly with the other hand, smearing your tears before moving on to his armored belt. 

You whimper as it drops, revealing what must be your newest and truest worst nightmare. 

“A warm meal in all your hungry holes.”

The two guards take turns behind you. You can’t see them, but they’ve made themselves more than known—having stretched out both your openings to accommodate their overgrown size. 

They seem to like it when you cum—keeping their fat fingers on your clit and always fondling your tits, rubbing your nipples as they fuck your womb deeply until you wet them with your fluids. Your knees gave in a little while ago—their groping now the only thing keeping you upright, and the steady pounding the only thing keeping you awake.

Meanwhile, the commander has his fun with your face. Making you cuddle his heavy ballsack, dousing your face in the rank. With a dagger threatening your pretty eye, he'd coaxed your tongue out to play sooner than you’re proud of—now pliantly hanging from your mouth, licking every foul-tasting patch of his toad-like skin—feeling worse than a beggar eating scraps.

But you ought to thank him. Earlier, he’d tried forcing his length down your throat—making your jaw all but unlock to make room. His cockhead is the size of your fist—in the end, you could only suck on it, only able to satisfy him and his harsh scalp-ripping grip on your hair by prodding his dickhole with your tongue. He started petting you when you did that, making you feel all the more defeated.

His mercy tastes worse than the rancid white you’d been made to swallow. You’d wanted to bite, but the dagger he’d earlier stabbed into the wooden plate for safe-keeping keeps you sweet as you lick and suck the prominent veins running up his fat size—face glazed in sweat and spit, both his and yours.

“Poor elf-bitch…” he jeers while twirling a lock of your fine hair around his crooked finger. “Fed twig all your pretty life—of course, you’re hungry.”

He chuckles, voice hoarse and muted—almost soft, were it not for its gritty timbre. Keeping his cock resting heavy against your face, covering your eye while rubbing the base against your pouty lips.

“A mouthy whore like you needs real cock. Only happy when you’re pounded like meat.” He hums, “In your natural state, pleasing those bigger and stronger than you as a good pet should.”

He laughs louder, rumbles with it enough to shake the ground, then breaks away from you.

“Leave her cunt to me,” he says, folding his arms upon his chest, leaving his heavy cock to swing between muscle-ripped thighs as he leers at the scene. “Prissy elf pussy’s mine to breed.”

One of the guards soon takes up the vacant spot in front of you, putting his leaky tip to your lips in a sloppy kiss before pressing through to fight your throat for space—putting you in an air-tight spitroast—with your ass already being forced to play host for the other intruder, getting your drenched and swollen pussy slapped by a pair of weighty balls on each of his breath-robbing thrusts into your guts.

“A'right, boys,” the commander announces, “Let's stuff her ‘til she’s big and round. 'See if she's still hungry then.”

They both groan and dig in as far as your body allows, bordering on its limits, making you stretch to take them deeper before planting their seed—coming in fast ropes at first, then thicker waves, and finally smaller spurts aided by the shunting of their hips as they rut against you—feeding it to you without rush, one dose after the other, until their balls were all good and empty.

Then they sigh, breathing heavily, waiting for their seed to be settled and swallowed in your bowels before slowly sliding their spent cocks out—letting the overdose spill from your holes as you take a weakened breath and quake in the aftershocks, left hanging in the stand with a body full of orc cum and something else, something that's made your mind feel all funny and flirty. 

Then, stomach heavy and warm, hanging with more weight than your breasts—tender and oddly tingly all over—you croon, like a cow, when the commander lifts your hips and eases inside your cunt only a short moment after—starting to pound you softly but deep enough to make your head hang and tongue drip with drool, moaning like an animal in its heat, all silly, like a mating-call, waiting for your womb to be fed with the same warmth.

He cups your buttcheeks with both his thumbs hooked within your ass, and still, he feels you tremble and cum without your clitty being touched—milking him for his spend, begging him with your tongue out in sweet mews. "Bleath, bleath, mathder~"

And although he can't see it from his position, it still makes him smile. “That’s right, dumb little elf-pet. Beg, and you will be fed.”

You clench up and throttle when he finally blows, and the warmth swarms your gushy insides in heavenly goo—leaving you feeling cozy from the inside out—cross-eyed and panting in utter ecstasy.

He also waits—waits until his cum takes root and his cock unswells for a good minute or two before pulling out with a throaty sigh. Then he rounds the pillory, a heavy step at a time, until his lousy and still steaming cock is met face to face with your sweaty flush-cheeked expression.

“Still hungry, elf-girl?” he asks, jostling the sloppy member against your equally drowsy face. “Or was it thirsty?”

He picks your chin up with a hand, holding it steady while watching your half-mast and glazed heart-eyes lazily blink up at him—grinning and humming at the sight.

“Tell me, elf-pet, which of it was it you were whining about?”

Drool spills from your mouth as you answer, speech slurred like a drunken degenerate, “Both~”

He clicks his tongue, “Spoiled.” But he doesn’t seem angry—no, rather pleased. “You’ve been well-fed for now—time to wash it down.”

He lifts his heavy slug and puts the numb tip to your lips, which eagerly parts wide for him to press inside softly, filling the drizzly cavern, cockhead resting neatly on the wet bed of your tongue. 

You obediently await it with your eyes locked onto his—both moaning once it comes. Hot and salty-sweet, it pours onto your tongue and sloshes down your throat, spilling from your mouth and somehow splashing all over your face—making you shudder in warm bliss as you gulp it down as if it’s in another class from the aged wine back home.

“Drink, elf-slave. Drink and be grateful,” he instructs, and you obey, allowing the piss-stream to hit the back of your throat where you could glug it all down with minimal spill.

When it stopped, you sucked his tip and tongued the slit like before, cleaning it dry of the last drop, saying, “Thank you—thank you, master.”

Elves never cease to surprise him. Always so prissy—high and mighty creatures—and yet they fall the farthest from grace when pushed. 

He had many different ideas on how to make an example of you to the others—cease any ideas they might have of uproar and rebellion. Leave you here for the ogres and trolls to come and have their sloppy seconds. Tie you up by your ankles and drag you behind the horses through all the muck. Let the rest of his troops have at you until you met with your unfortunate end.

But no. He thinks not.

“Let’s move—” he announces to the camp. “Time to take our bounty home.”

After all, for all your whining, you did have a point earlier—you elves are only good to them alive and well. Best get you to the nearest market and sell you.

The guards unfix you from the pillory and start hauling your collapsed form back to the cage.

“No, not her,” he corrects them, thinking of your pretty eyes and soft tongue and that pretty elf cunt that milked him dry like none other. “She rides with me.”

On bearback, he ties your hands around his neck and lets you sleep with your head on his chest, riding backward with your legs draped over his—still naked with your cum-belly leaking out over his saddle—making a mess he’ll have you lick clean later.

“Tell me if you get hungry again, little elf,” he sneers, though a little fondly. “I’ll feed you again.”

And you, despite groggy, with eyes closed, mumble back dumbly, “Thank you, master.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Enji, AFO ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Kenjaku ♡ HxH – Uvogin

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[cleolinda]

Kamala Harris’ concession speech, in which she stresses the importance of conceding peacefully in this specific moment, while continuing to fight as a way of living. All the posts today about how to carry on? It’s those as a speech, delivered with a smile of greater strength than I sure have. Starts at 24:30 for some ungodly reason.

And America, we will never give up the fight for our democracy, for the rule of law, for equal justice, and for the sacred idea that every one of us, no matter who we are or where we start out, has certain fundamental rights and freedoms that must be respected and upheld. And we will continue to wage this fight in the voting booth, in the courts and in the public square. And we will also wage it in quieter ways, in how we live our lives, by treating one another with kindness and respect, by looking in the face of a stranger and seeing a neighbor, by always using our strength to lift people up, to fight for the dignity that all people deserve.

[…]

Sometimes the fight takes a while. That doesn’t mean we won’t win. That doesn’t mean we won’t win. The important thing is don’t ever give up, don’t ever give up, don’t ever stop trying to make the world a better place. You have power. You have power and don’t you ever listen when anyone tells you something is impossible because it has never been done before. You have the capacity to do extraordinary good in the world.

[…]

Do not despair. This is not a time to throw up our hands. This is a time to roll up our sleeves. This is a time to organize, to mobilize and to stay engaged for the sake of freedom and justice and the future that we all know we can build together.

[…]

The adage is only when it is dark enough can you see the stars. I know many people feel like we are entering a dark time, but for the benefit of us all, I hope that is not the case. But here’s the thing, America, if it is, let us fill the sky with the light of a brilliant, brilliant billion of stars. The light, the light of optimism, of faith, of truth and service.

This speech didn’t heal me or fix anything, but it made me feel like I could get out of bed.

[8-evil-annoying-catboys]

i keep finding myself wondering.. why did she open the drawer where the gun case was hidden? i’ve seen people say it was a mercy to curly, so that maybe he could open it to use it for a quick and less painful way out, or defend himself if jim broke in.. but i can’t really believe that. she’s a nurse. she knows curly can’t even really move, let alone move with the coordination and dexterity required to open the gun case, get the gun out from it, and actually use it on anyone. plus, while jim obviously doesn’t have a lot of reservations about hurting curly, i think she knows he wouldn’t kill him, because if he would, why wouldn’t he have already done it? so i don’t think it’s for his potential self-defence.

could it be.. that she’s taunting him? here’s this case. we both already know that there’s a gun inside it. you can’t open the case. i can’t open the case. you can’t use it to defend yourself anymore. neither can i, because i never could. the same goes for hurting yourself, you can’t do that with it any more than i could, even though you’re in so much pain now that there’s no way it could hurt much more with the gun. you can’t even tell me how to unlock the case, even if you wanted me to have it now that you know so much more than you did before, back when i wished you’d have let me take it. of course, knowing you never would, i hid it. it’s been here the whole time, literally right under you, and you never knew. and, to top it off, i’m proving to you that i never would have used the gun on myself, because watch how easily i can do the same thing with tools that were directly entrusted to me, because of the nature of my job. and you’re going to watch, because.. what else can you do? you can’t even turn your head to look away.

but then, anya is so gentle, that seems like it might be out of character for her. and like, maybe the situation just got to her that bad that she’s acting this different, and i can’t really wrap my head around another possible reason, but i keep fixating on that. why did she open the drawer? like, maybe she was going to try and brute force her way into it, guessing codes at random until it opened, and she became impatient and took the pills? maybe, after taking the pills, she started to feel bad for curly since she locked him up in the room with her and she tried to open the case and give him one last act of mercy, but died before she could succeed? maybe she figured that jim would find his way in no matter what, and since her own safety was no longer at risk since she’d die anyway, she left it so he could go through with a mercy killing, trying to leave him with no option other than to step up to the plate and take responsibility as the new captain for putting curly out of his misery? maybe she thought that since swansea had the utility axe, he would be the one to break into medical and would be smart enough to brute force his way into the gun case, and take out this maniacal, incompetent tyrant of a self-imposed leader, saving daisuke and possibly himself, and putting curly out of his misery?

ultimately, we obviously can’t get a concrete answer from canon.. but does that mean i’ll stop wondering about it? no, it actually means i will never stop thinking about it.

i need everyone to understand the poetry of curly turning a blind eye to anya’s suffering only to be robbed of his autonomy and voice as she was and then forced to observe jimmy’s crimes and the abuse of his own body

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Watch Your Mouth

Dealing with someone talking shit about your man and you stand up for them because you're not about to let someone talk crazy about your man. A/N: I like to imagine this as an office girly scene and you have that one hater ass bitter coworker [Requested by: onliafaze]

Zayne

You could tell you were coming down with a cold and it was going to be a bad one. Zayne just so happened to have the day off and you were struggling to make it through your last shift before your days off. So being the loving boyfriend that he is, he brought you homemade soup and some cold medicine. He even kissed you before leaving not caring that you might get him sick as well. Just another reason to spend the day in bed with you. You sat at your desk with the biggest smile on your face. Suddenly a bitch with a voice like nails on a chalk board decided to insert herself into your bubble.

Hater: If you took better care of yourself your man wouldn’t have to waste his time coming all the way here to bring you soup MC: Weren't you sick last month and your man told you he was going to leave until you were healthy again and proceeded to ignore you for a week? Hater: ..... MC: Just because your man doesn’t care about you doesn’t mean you need to project on me Hater: I’m not projecting! MC: ………Whatever helps you sleep at night miss girl

Once you get home to tell Zayne what happened when he left, him being the sensible person that he is, suggests that maybe your coworker was just in a bad mood.

MC: Don't defend her Zayne: Sorry I meant her man hates her MC: Thank you

Rafayel

Rafayel truly had eyes for you and you only. He cared very little for others feelings you were the one and only exception. He also hated to be touched so when your coworker saw you constantly having a hand on him, when he would come by the office, she thought she’d try her luck. Rafayel immediately looked at her like she smeared the most vile thing known to man on his arm.

Hater: Your man is rude as hell MC: To you. Hater: No he’s just rude MC: To you. Hater: Why just me MC: You’re weird … who grabs on another woman's man right in front of her? You’re weird Hater: You’re rude as hell too you guys are made for each other MC: Cry about it

Rafayel stared at you in admiration while you told him what went down after he left.

Rafayel: Have I ever told you how hot you are when you get serious? MC: Yes all the time

Xavier

“Damn it I left my tea in my car” You had gotten all the way up to your desk when you realized what you were forgetting. On top of that it was cold so you were dreading having to walk in it again. Maybe you could make a cup in the office kitchen, but they only have sugar and you prefer honey; you prefer your tea. “I’ll go grab it for you just stay here and warm up” Xavier said as he appeared next to you with that soft expression he always has when he looks at you. “Thank you Xav you’re so sweet” You handed him your keys and watched as he quickly made his way out of the office before turning and smiling to yourself.

Hater: What is he a dog? Does he do everything for you? MC: ….. You know if your man hates you just say that Hater: M-my man doesn’t hate me w-why would you say that? MC: Look at you stuttering and shit did I hit a nerve? Hater: Whatever MC: Have the day you deserve babes!

Xavier approached you right as your coworker barged past him almost knocking the tea from his hand. He looked back with confusion etched across his face before turning back to you.

Xavier: What happened? MC: She was just admiring the relationship we have Xavier: What really happened? MC: She wanted smoke so I gave her a barbecue

Sylus

Thanks to Sylus wanting to spoil you at all time your office was the most decorated with all new everything and was even professionally designed to be organized and efficient. People loved to come by and admire your office set up. Except for one person who just seems to turn her nose up at you. She pouts for hours on end when Sylus makes his appearance to bring you lunch, flowers or even a ‘just because’ gift when he wants to see you. You ignored this bitter coworker day in and day out because why would you need the kind of negativity in your life? One day though she finally decided to voice her unwanted opinion to you.

Hater: You only have all of that because your man buys you everything MC: Yea … he does … tell your man to work harder Hater: That is so insensitive what if I'm single? MC: I can see why….. Hater: What's that supposed to mean!? MC: You're insufferable I wouldn't date you either

Sylus always found your attitude cute and it was even better when it wasn't directed at him.

Sylus: You said she was insufferable? MC: Somebody had to do it Sylus: and you were the perfect one for the job huh? MC: I was defending you praise me Sylus: I've never been defended before thank you Princess

[thelovehypothesis]

You ramble, but it's adorable

Ollie Bearman x fem!reader

From this request 

+1k words

a/n's: this was requested on my old account which I accidentally deleted but, hope this fic finds the person that requested it!

warnings: fluff!

summary: lost in your latest obsession, and he's completely captivated by your every word—because to Ollie, every ramble is just another reason to fall in love.

Ollie had always found it easy to get lost in the small moments—those quiet pauses between races, when the world slowed down just enough for him to savour the simplicity of life. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the way he felt right now, watching you animatedly explain your latest obsession.

You were sitting on the couch, knees tucked under you, eyes sparkling as you tried to unpack the complex universe that Taylor Swift had created with her "folklore" album. Your hands moved in quick gestures as you traced out what you called "the love triangle of all love triangles" between Betty, James, and August. Ollie leaned against the backrest, listening with a quiet smile, his eyes never leaving your face. 

"And then—" you continued, your voice slightly higher in pitch with excitement, "in 'Cardigan,' Betty is talking about how she loved James even after he messed everything up. But, and here's the crazy part, 'August' is from the perspective of the girl James cheated on her with!" You waved your hands in a dramatic arc. "It’s so genius because it’s like each song is a different piece of the same story. I mean, can you even imagine the emotional depth it takes to create something like that?"

Ollie chuckled softly, shaking his head just enough for you to notice but not enough to interrupt you. You barely paused, too deep in your passionate analysis of the music to stop. 

"But wait, I’m not done!" You looked at him, eyes wide. "You’ve got 'Betty' next, which is James' apology song. He’s basically trying to get Betty back after messing around with August, but you can tell he’s just a stupid kid who didn’t know what he had until he lost it!" You sighed dramatically, clutching a pillow to your chest. "It’s heartbreaking, but also like... I can't stop listening to it on repeat."

Ollie couldn't help it; his heart swelled at how much you cared about all these tiny details, how you put your whole soul into explaining it to him. He loved how your face lit up with excitement, how your voice carried the melody of your thoughts so effortlessly. And he especially loved how you didn’t care whether he knew every little detail or not—you just wanted to share it with him.

"You’re adorable, you know that?" Ollie said softly, his voice cutting through your rambling just enough to make you pause.

You blinked, thrown off for a second. "What?" 

"You ramble, but it's adorable," he repeated, this time with that signature Ollie grin that made your stomach flip. He reached out, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered near your cheek, warm and soft.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. "I’m not rambling… am I?"

"You absolutely are," Ollie teased, leaning forward so that his face was inches from yours. "But don’t stop. I like it when you talk about stuff like this. It’s like... I can see how much it means to you, and I love seeing you so happy."

You playfully swatted his arm, but your heart was beating faster, the tender warmth of his words melting away any embarrassment. "Fine," you said, narrowing your eyes in mock seriousness, "but don’t complain when I start talking about the metaphors behind the lyrics."

"I wouldn’t dream of it." He pulled you closer, his arm slipping around your waist. His eyes softened as they held yours, and for a moment, the world outside your little bubble disappeared.

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft at first, a gentle brush of affection. But then Ollie deepened it, his hand cupping the side of your face as he pulled you impossibly closer, his lips warm and insistent, making your heart race even faster. 

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, you couldn’t help but grin at him. "I think that was just a tactic to stop me from talking."

Ollie smirked, the mischievous glint in his eyes impossible to ignore. "Maybe," he admitted, his thumb grazing your lower lip, "but it worked, didn’t it?"

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny that you were already melting under his touch. He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing you in as if you were the most precious thing in the world. 

"Seriously though," Ollie murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "I love listening to you talk. About Taylor Swift, about racing, about whatever it is that’s on your mind. You’re just so… passionate about everything, and it makes me love you even more."

The way he said it, so effortlessly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, made your heart skip a beat. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close again, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.

"You’re too sweet, Ollie," you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

He chuckled lightly, his arms tightening around you. "Only for you."

For a while, you both stayed like that—curled up in each other’s arms, the TV flickering in the background, the weight of the world outside fading away. You weren’t sure how long you sat there, but you didn’t care. All you knew was that this moment, with him holding you so gently, was exactly where you wanted to be.

After a while, you shifted slightly, tilting your head up to look at him again. "Okay, but I’m serious about that love triangle. You have to admit it’s pretty genius, right?"

Ollie smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before nodding. "It’s genius," he agreed, even though he barely understood half of what you were saying. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way your eyes lit up, the way your voice danced with excitement. And if listening to Taylor Swift conspiracies made you this happy, then he would listen to every single one.

"Thanks for putting up with my rambling," you said, your voice softening.

Ollie smiled, brushing his lips against yours once more. "It’s not putting up with anything. I love it, and I love you."

And with that, he kissed you again—soft, sweet, and full of love. The kind of kiss that felt like home. The kind that made you feel like no matter what you rambled about, he would always be there to listen, to smile, and to love you through it all.

---The End---

-Lots of love, Em.

[ariestrxsh]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 content warning: smut, some fluff, some angst, mommy kink, edging, handjob, sub!virgin!matt, experienced!pervy!reader

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 author's note: here are parts one, two, and three to me & u. 💖 thanks for being patient with me while i took so long to get this out, and there will be a part five to this story in the near future.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 summary: while spending time with matt, you start to find out more about his past, which leads to your first disagreement with one another.

me & u part four

"What if I came and cleaned it up for you with my mouth?" You said in a sultry tone through the phone. You smirked at Matt through the window after you watched him finish using his new sex toy, but he'd already grabbed an old t-shirt and was wiping up the mess he made.

"I'll tell you what. You can clean up the next one," he said in a breathy voice on the other end of the line. "I'd be honored," you replied, squeezing your thighs together to relieve some of the tension you were feeling.

"I'd love it if you came over, though. My dad's gone," Matt bit his lip. "What are we gonna do?" You asked him. "Anything you want," he responded. "Anything?" You wondered in a flirtatious tone. "Within reason," Matt chuckled at how dirty-minded you were.

"I'll be over soon," you replied, hanging up the phone and hurrying over to the neighbor boy's house. You let yourself in through Matt's front door, taking in all of the changes that had taken place since you'd last been over.

There were actually kitchen appliances on the counters and portraits on the wall of Matt in his younger years. You smiled, running your fingers along the frames and the glass before making your way up the staircase.

You turned the door knob to Matt's room, and as you swung open the door, he was pulling his zipper closed and still trying to catch his breath. He looked up at you and smiled. "So, what do you think of your new fleshlight?" You teased Matt.

"I think you know what I think," Matt playfully rolled his eyes. "I'm glad you like it," you leaned up against his door frame and looked him up and down. "Like is an understatement," he said, taking his toy to his bathroom to rinse it out. "Your house is coming together nicely," you called to him from his bedroom as your eyes glossed over the new additions to his space.

"Thanks. My dad and I had a lot of time to unpack today," Matt called back to you. You sifted through a few vinyls Matt had stored on a shelf beneath his record player. "I didn't know you were a music fan," you told him. "I mean, who doesn't love music?" Matt asked, coming back into the room and studying the way you ran your dainty fingers across his music collection.

"Yeah, but you listen to really good music," you replied, taking a Led Zeppelin album off of the shelf and slipping the record into the player. Traveling Riverside Blues came through clearly on the speaker. "What can I say? I have my dad's taste," he shrugged. You picked up Matt's journal off his desk and started flitting through the pages.

"May I?" You asked, glancing up at him. "I mean, I just came on the phone with you. I don't see why you can't read my journal," Matt chuckled and reached around to rub the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous.

There was nothing written for the day the two of you had met, but there was an entry written for the day after. "I met my new neighbor yesterday. She's kind of a slut," your jaw dropped as you read the words on the page and peered up to look at Matt.

"Look, I know that wasn't the nicest way to put it," Matt said, walking towards you, prepared to de-escalate your anger. "Don't worry. It turns me on to be called that," your shocked expression turned to a smirk, and you continued reading the next sentence.

"She's really hot, and she seems to know what she wants. I like that about her. She's nothing like May. Who's May?" You wondered, glancing up from the leather book again. "My ex-girlfriend," Matt timidly told you.

"I didn't know you had dated anyone before," you relayed in a surprised tone. "We dated for about three years, but she's the only girlfriend I've ever had," Matt admitted to you. "Three years? Why'd you guys break up?" You wondered aloud.

There was a moment of silence before Matt answered you. "We ended things because I moved away," Matt said with a somber tone in his voice. Your stomach dropped. "So you guys broke up recently," you replied, fiddling with the leather cover. "Yeah, fairly recently," Matt said.

"So, you're not over her yet? I mean, it would be crazy if you were. It was a three-year long relationship that ended recently," You insinuated, trying to hold back the tears that were beginning to form in your eyes.

"I mean, I don't even know what it means to get over someone. I've never had to do it before," Matt said defensively. "Why didn't you tell me about her?" You narrowed your gaze at him.

"It didn't come up, and I was waiting until the right time to tell you," he answered you. "Do you still love her?" You wondered with a hurt look on your face, and Matt stood silently, staring at you for a moment.

You shut off the record player. "It's a simple question, Matthew. Are you still in love with her?" You interrogated him with a bit of anger in your tone now, crossing your arms over your chest.

"We ended things a couple weeks ago. How am I supposed to say no?" Matt asked, raising the volume of voice. "Do you guys still talk?" You wondered, taking a step closer to him.

"She texted me last night and asked me how I liked my new house. I was too high to answer her, but I texted her back this morning," Matt hesitantly admitted, shrugging his shoulder and sticking his hands in his pockets.

You didn't want Matt to see you cry, so you spun around without saying another word, bounded down the stairs, and ran out the front door. You headed for your backyard to be alone and collect your thoughts, climbing up the ladder to your treehouse as hot tears started falling from your eyes.

You knew that Matt and May weren't together anymore, but it was the fact that he still had leftover feelings for a girl he'd probably still be dating if he lived in the same state as her. Not only was he still in love with another girl, but a girl that, in his words, was very different from you.

On top of it all, you had always struggled with jealousy in relationships. Your mind raced through the worst-case scenarios. What would happen if Matt went back to visit May, or what if she traveled here to visit him? You wondered if it would change the way he felt about you.

You were wiping your tears with the back of your hand and sniffling when Matt poked his head up from under the treehouse as he followed you up the ladder. "I didn't mean to make you cry," he timidly said, looking at you with his big, blue eyes. "Did I say the wrong thing?"

You wanted to shout at him and tell him to leave you alone. You wanted to say anything to hurt him to make him feel what you were feeling. You wanted to hide behind your tough facade, secretly afraid to be vulnerable with him, but you couldn't look at him and imagine being mean to him or raising your voice at him.

"I don't want you to be in love with May," you blurted out as you started to sob again. Matt climbed into the shelter with you, his journal in hand, placing it in his lap as he sat beside you, wiping away your tears.

"It's just still fresh. That's all. It was three years, and the reason we broke up was beyond our control, but it doesn't make sense for us to be together, and now that I've met you.." Matt trailed off, rubbing your back.

"Since you met me, what?" You asked softly, lifting your head. "Well, you didn't even finish the journal entry, silly." Matt handed you his leather notebook, and despite your hesitancy to read on and hurt your own feelings worse, you opened it back up to the page you left off on.

"She's nothing like May. The more time I spend around her, the more I realize things I didn't really like about May and my relationship with her. Like how passive she was, how she always kept me guessing about how she felt about me, and the way she never disagreed with anything I said or challenged any of my beliefs," you read aloud.

"Wait, you actually like that I'm disagreeable and direct?" You asked, peering up at him, surprised because those were usually the qualities people criticized you for. "Yeah, those are my favorite things about you. It's refreshing to meet someone like you," Matt told you, looking into your eyes.

"I'm sorry I stormed off," you apologized. "I'm not upset," Matt assured you. "I just wasn't sure whether I was supposed to follow you or not."

You two sat silently for a few moments, just staring into each other's eyes, and the magnetic force between you and Matt pulled you each closer to one another until your lips were locked. The chemistry between you both when you'd kiss was undeniable, and you could each confirm that you felt it through your body language in the way your hands would wander, never being able to pull each other close enough.

"Do you wanna get high and go lay on your floor and Iisten to your records?" You asked him, looking into his blue eyes and caressing his face once you pulled back from the kiss. "Sure, but I'm only taking one hit," Matt looked at you, wide-eyed and smiling.

"That's really all you need," you smiled back at him, reaching for your stash and pulling a pre-rolled joint out of a plastic bag. You lit it up, exhaling smoke and watching it dissipate into the air.

"Do you wanna shotgun kiss again?" You asked Matt. "Shotgun kiss?" He reiterated in a confused tone. "Yeah, it's where I take a hit, and then we kiss, and I blow it into your mouth," you smirked at him. He nodded at you, leaning in as you took a drag, the cherry end of the joint glowing and crackling as you gently pulled from it.

Your lips softly brushed up against Matt's, blowing out the weed smoke as he breathed in and gave him a couple of pecks before pulling away. He exhaled, expelling the wispy, grey smoke from his lungs. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that," Matt laughed in between coughs.

You took a few more hits while you silently stared at the cute boy beside you. You watched as his eyelids grew heavy and the whites of his eyes turned a bit red. "Let's go check out your record collection," you suggested to Matt, nudging him in the arm and putting out the joint.

The two of you descended the ladder as the sun sank lower below the horizon, leaving behind a bright orange sky in its wake. You followed Matt's silhouette out your gate and back over the path that led to his house.

You found yourself lying on Matt's giant rug in the middle of his room while he laid his head next to yours but had his feet pointed in the opposite direction. You both stared up at the ceiling as Riders on the Storm by The Doors came through over the speaker of the record player, sounding textured and crisp.

"Can I stay the night here?" You asked Matt, peering over at him and his glazed over expression. "I don't see why not," Matt shrugged, looking at you wide-eyed. He did want you to stay the night, but he was afraid that you had certain sexual expectations about how the night would go.

"I'm not ready to have sex with you yet," Matt blurted out, searching your expression for a reaction and wondering if he was being too presumptuous by saying that. "That's okay. I understand. Could we maybe do other stuff?" You nibbled on your lip, looking at him hungrily. "I think I'd be okay with that," Matt nervously replied, nodding at you timidly.

The two of you enjoyed your highs a bit longer as The Doors' L.A. Woman album played through its track list until you were both too tired to keep your eyes open. Matt switched off the light, and you, the record player.

The two of you climbed into Matt's bed, stripping down into your underwear, nestling under the covers, and cuddling. Matt couldn't help but to get hard with your half-naked body curled up so closely to his with your nose nuzzled into his neck.

You guys heard Matt's dad pull up in his loud, rust-colored pickup truck, casting shadows across the bedroom as the headlights danced through the window. It's not that Matt wasn't allowed to have girls sleep over, but he certainly didn't think his father would approve of it, so the two of you silently decided to keep your staying the night a secret.

A couple hours later, you woke up to some movement in the bed. You figured Matt must have been tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. You listened a little more closely, and you heard soft noises and labored breathing coming from him.

It wasn't long after Matt's dad came in through the door that he trudged up the stairs and made his way into his bathroom, turning on the shower and getting ready for bed. You and Matt laid in the dark, the only bit of light pouring into the room from a nearby street lamp, and you fell asleep shortly after in each other's arms.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

As your eyes adjusted to the low lighting, you caught a glimpse of desire on his face while he grinded against his pillow, desperate for relief. You watched quietly for a few minutes as he rutted into his blankets and listened as your name faintly fell from his lips. You smirked at how needy he was being.

"Need some help?" Your voice broke through his breathy whimpers. "What?" He asked, immediately stopping and acting like he'd just woken up. "Help me with what? I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, you naughty boy. Are you lying to me right now?" You moved closer to him, speaking in a low whisper while you tenderly grabbed him by his jaw. "Wanna try that again, hmm? You gonna tell me you weren't just humping your pillow?" You asked in a quiet voice.

"I'm sorry, mommy. It's so hard. It hurts," he whined in a bratty tone. You started slowly kissing Matt's neck, and you felt his body tighten against you. "I'm gonna make it feel all better," you moaned against his ear.

"My dad's asleep in the next room," Matt said quietly before letting out a stifled moan. "Makes it more hot that way, doesn't it? When it's a secret? When you have to keep your volume low? When it's risky and you could be caught if you're too loud?" You cooed, gently brushing your fingers over the fabric of his underwear, exciting him even further.

"Mmm. I dont know," he softly purred as you caressed his member. "I'll stop if you want me to. You know, so your dad doesn't hear us," you teased, whispering into his ear and delicately touching your lips to his ear lobe before kissing it. "No. Please. Keep going," he moaned quietly.

You slipped your hand into the waistband of his boxers and started running your fingers along his length while your lips moved back down to his neck. You could feel each of his veins as you lightly grazed him, testing how much teasing he could take.

He kept anticipating you wrapping your fingers around his thickness and sighing every time you didn't. "Why are you teasing so much?" He softly whimpered. You gave him a gentle squeeze, quietly chuckling at his neediness.

Finally, with his cock in your grip, you started to move your hand up and down, stroking his length while soft, delicate whimpers poured from his lips. "How do you like that, baby?" You asked in a voice just barely louder than a whisper.

"I love it, mommy. Please don't stop," he begged in a hushed volume. "Good boy," you cooed back as you started to pick up the pace a bit. "You can't finish until I tell you to," you added at the end.

He let out a long sigh. "But mommy. I'm already so close," he quietly cried. "Then you'd better get ahold of yourself," you responded in a sultry moan. He nodded at you obediently.

You couldn't tell how big he was because it was dark in the room, and you were jerking him off under his blanket, but it felt bigger than average. You noted that your fingers struggled to wrap around his girth, and your strokes felt long as you pumped his length back and forth. You couldn't wait until the day you'd get to see it.

You felt a wet warmth between your legs as you listened to the boy whimper beneath you while you continued sucking on his neck. "Mommy, please," he whispered. "Please, what?" You softly cooed against his hot skin.

"Please let me cum," he said in a strangled moan. "Not yet, baby." You smirked as you brushed your thumb over the tip, spreading around his pre-cum and eliciting more clear liquid from his sensitive slit.

"Mommy," he desperately whined, struggling to keep his volume down. "Sh, sh, sh," you whispered back into his ear while you stroked him mercilessly, admiring his facial expression that was saturated with pleasure in the dim, cool light offered by the street lamp.

His eyebrows were brought together, causing a little wrinkle between them, and his eyes were tightly closed. He caught his lip between his teeth in an attempt to muffle his pleasured sounds, which he did poorly.

You slowed down, taunting him some more. "No more teasing," Matt said in a breathy voice. "Oh. Please, mommy. Mmm. Need to - oh - need to cum so bad," Matt managed to get out in a series of broken moans and stifled whimpers.

You sped the pace back up for him, covering every inch of his cock, sending ripples of satisfaction through his body. "Please," he said once more. "Wait," you told him in a quiet, stern voice. He nodded at you with a submissive expression on his face.

You slowed down again, drawing out the process, really making him beg for it. He huffed in response. "If you wanna get an attitude with me, I'll stop and leave you unfinished," you replied, slowing the pace of your strokes.

"Mommy, please. I'm sorry. I won't get an attitude," he weakly answered, gripping your wrist to keep you from removing your hand from his dick. "Then be a good boy for mommy, okay?" You whispered, taking your free hand and tilting Matt's chin so that he was looking at you. He nodded, releasing his grasp on you.

You pumped back and forth again, fisting his cock while he started writhing under your control. "Good boy. You're doing such a good job," you cooed. Your name passed through his lips a few more times along with a few oohs and aahs.

"Mommy, please," Matt sobbed. You ignored his pleas, continuing your strokes, paying special attention to the head every time you brushed against it.

You felt him twitch against your palm, his dick begging for sweet release. Matt was so close to the edge, graciously trying to hold out just for you, but he wasn't used to waiting to cum or asking for permission to finish, but he was discovering how much he liked it.

He was so grateful when these next words left your mouth because he didn't know how much more he could take.

"You've been such a good boy. Why don't you cum for mommy?" You whispered into his ear before you went back to kissing his neck. "Yes, mommy," he pathetically whined. He'd been waiting.

You saw the muscles in his face tighten in the dim light as his cock pulsated in your hand, blowing his load into your palm. His orgasm lasted several seconds due to how much you'd edged him, and he emitted a few guttural groans before a smile overcame his expression.

"Good boy," you whispered once more, kissing his forehead. He looked up at you breathlessly with his big, blue eyes and a satisfied grin on his face.

You got up and wandered into Matt's bathroom to clean the evidence off your hands, and once you got back into Matt's bed, the two of you wrapped yourselves up in each other.

You woke up early on Wednesday to the sound of the birds chirping and the morning sun peeking in through Matt's window as it came up over the hills.

You drifted back off to sleep, your legs intertwined with his and your head buried into his chest while you listened to the sound of his slowing heartbeat as his vitals returned to normal after his climax. Soon, you and Matt were both soundly asleep again.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

You let out a big yawn, and you heard the cute boy beside you begin to stir. His eyes fluttered open, and your image became clearer as he adjusted to the change in lighting.

"Good morning, pretty boy," you said in a soft murmur. "Good morning, baby. You're up early," he mumbled back in his sexy morning voice. "I know. I have to work today," you told him, climbing out of bed and putting back on the clothes you'd wandered out of last night.

Matt reached for you with a pouty look on his face when he realized he wasn't going to get to see you until after your shift. You leaned in and kissed him. "How do you usually get to work?" Matt wondered out loud.

"I usually just walk. It's only a few blocks," you shrugged. "If you get back in this bed and cuddle with me for ten more minutes, I'll take you to work in the truck," Matt smiled up at you. "Deal," you replied, climbing back into bed and wrapping your arms around Matt for a few minutes longer.

"If you want to go run over to your place and get dressed for work, I'll go start up the truck," Matt offered, grinning at you. "That would be really sweet of you," you softly replied. The two of you left Matt's room, tiptoeing down the stairs and trying to stay as quiet as possible to keep from waking Matt's dad and blowing your little secret.

All your efforts were for naught when you and Matt made your way into the kitchen, realizing Matt's dad was already awake. He was sitting at the kitchen table, reading his Bible, and drinking a cup of coffee.

"Oh, good morning. I didn't realize you stayed over last night," his dad said, peering up at you both from the page, his gaze dancing between you and Matt. "Morning, Mr. Sturniolo," you timidly said, avoiding addressing the sleepover.

"Uh, hi Dad," Matt responded, reaching behind his head and rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I'm gonna take the truck to go drop my friend off at work really quick," Matt said, picking the keys up off the counter.

"Why don't I come with you guys? So I can learn a little more about your friend here?" Matt's dad asked, getting up from his seat at the table and extending his arm for Matt to hand over the keys.

Matt gulped, knowing that on top of figuring out you had stayed the night, now he was also going to know what you did for work. He reluctantly forked over the keys. "I'll meet you guys at the truck in about a half hour," you said, giving Matt a quick, awkward side hug.

You couldn't get out of the situation quickly enough.

The whole time you were showering, changing into clean clothes, and brushing your hair and your teeth, you were dreading how awkward the drive over was going to be. You resented that this was only your second interaction with Matt's dad, who you really wanted to like you and approve of you.

You were afraid it would go how any other relationship you'd had went. Their parents would either outwardly not like you, judging you based on all the most scandalous things about your personality and not bothering to get to know the other aspects of you better.

Or worse, the parents would pretend to like you to your face and then would badmouth you to your partner in private, telling them how much better they could be doing and how bad of an influence you are.

You braced yourself for it all as you sauntered out the door and headed for the orange truck.

"You ready?" Matt asked as he opened the door for you. You nodded and nestled in between the two men as Matt climbed into the truck behind you.

"So, what do you do for work?" Matt's dad asked you, pulling out of the driveway. "I work in retail. It's this way," you said, trying to avoid giving too much detail about your job and pointing in the direction of the road he needed to take.

"What do your parents do for work?" His dad wondered. "My mom is a flight attendant, and my dad was a pilot, but now he works in air traffic," you responded.

"Ah, so they work in similar fields," Matt's dad nodded. "Yeah, they met at work. Fun fact, I was actually conceived on a plane," you told them both. "Shit. Sorry. That was an overshare," you said, putting your palm over your mouth once you realized you'd just sworn in front of Matt's very Christian dad.

He didn't laugh or find your quirkiness charming. Matt looked at you wide-eyed, knowing your humor wasn't going to land well with his father.

You continued giving him directions to your retail job, which wasn't totally a lie, and he cleared his throat and gave Matt a look when the three of you pulled into the parking lot of a sex shop. Matt stepped out of the truck to let you out.

"Well, this has been fun," you said sarcastically, feeling the thick tension in the air as your feet hit the pavement. "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Sturniolo. Matt, I'll call you on my lunch break," you told him, leaning in and giving him a tender peck on the lips.

You could feel how warm and red your face was as you turned around and headed for the front door of your job. Your coworker, Carly was at the register, giving you an inquisitive look and watching the scene play out.

"Did your cute neighbor boy take you to work?" She asked, giving Matt a little subtle wave, and he waved back, giving Carly a shy smile.

"Yeah, and his very Christian father after he caught me sleeping over. Oh, and he didn't know I worked in the adult entertainment industry until about a minute ago," you added, looking at Carly with a deer in headlights look.

"Oh. That sounds like a very awkward morning," she said, trying to contain her laugher. "It's fine. You can laugh. It is comical, really. I just hope he's not in the truck, telling Matt that I'm a harlot and trying to convince him to stop hanging out with me," you expressed to Carly, tears forming in your eyes.

Her face softened, and she took on an expression of pity. "I'm so sorry. Come here. You know, no matter what his dad says about you, I'm sure Matt's still gonna like you," she said, pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back while she comforted you. You wiped a tear out of the corner of your eye before it had a chance to fall. "Thank you for saying that."

Meanwhile, in the rusty-colored Dodge Dakota, your worst fears were unfolding. "Matt, what on earth are you thinking? Running around with a girl like that?" He asked angrily as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Dad-" Matt started to say, but the older man cut him off. "She works at a place called Temptations. You don't see anything wrong with that? You think God wants you canoodling with a girl like that," he replied, giving Matt a somber look.

"A girl like that? What does that even mean? There's so much more to her than that," Matt defended you, raising his voice a bit. "Son, just be careful. Girls like that are trouble. I don't know if this is some kind of overcorrection because you're upset about May-" Matt's dad started.

"How dare you bring up May?" Matt glared at his father. "I'm just saying, son. You and May made sense together," his dad replied, shrugging. "Actually, dad. We didn't. May and I stayed together for so long because neither one of us wanted to admit we were incompatible," Matt scoffed. "What?" Matt's dad asked, completely taken aback by his kid's comment.

Matt and May's relationship was picture perfect on the outside. They didn't argue, they didn't complain about one another to their friends and families, and everyone envied what they had. Everyone thought they'd be together forever, including the two of them.

"I know this new girl is completely different from May. She's not a Christian. She's loud and domineering. She's aggressive, and she's overbearing. And she's honest. Maybe even too honest. She always says what's on her mind even if other people aren't going to like it. And I don't love her despite those qualities. I love her because of those qualities," Matt huffed, silencing his dad.

The two men sat quietly beside each other in the truck, mulling over what the other had said. Matt's dad was a lot of things, but unsupportive wasn't one of them.

A few more moments passed before his father finally spoke up. "Fine. Invite her over for dinner. I want to get to know the girl you love."

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[gdn7-dollopole]

There’s something so sweet about this scene. Not only Arthur is surrounded by his knights, his friends, he still can’t seem to forget there’s someone missing.

And the way he approaches Merlin is nothing funny or sarcastic: it’s pure concern, it’s love, it’s respect.

Merlin admits he’s scared, without thinking about it twice, because yes, this is Arthur, the same man who makes fun of me on a daily, but he’s also my best friend, the man I love, and who I could lose, but I can’t tell him, but, oh God, if he needs to know I don’t want him to die. I’m the most powerful warlock on earth, yet I’m scared of Morgana, because she wants to kill Arthur, and I’m weak when it comes to him, I’m scared I won’t be able to protect him as I should (especially since Merlin has heard the prophecy that spoke of Arthur’s bane).

I like Arthur’s stunned face. Merlin is referring to his life. “You don’t care you could die?” And not only Arthur is shocked by it, because he thought Merlin knew his reasonings by now, knew that Arthur would never risk losing his knights, losing Merlin. But Arthur doesn’t care as long as his men are safe, as long as Merlin’s safe (because, let’s be honest, this conversation is nothing but a way for them to tell each other how they feel towards one another, without exposing themselves to the danger of this revelation). And Arthur needs to make something clear:

“Only about you.” Because Arthur brings Merlin everywhere like he’s a solider, a warrior, someone who knows how to fight with a sword, who’s an asset to Camelot and the kingdom itself, so he considers him an equal, someone he can sit with on a lower step and chat with about his fears, because he can be vulnerable with Merlin. Arthur knows he’s safe with him.

Arthur includes Merlin in his speech, and this is something that could mean, “Oh, so Merlin isn’t a friend, isn’t a brother, he’s so much more.” This scene is so impactful, because it’s one of those rare moments where Arthur shows how deeply he can love, how much risk he’s willing to take to bring peace to his kingdom and to his people: to the ones he loves.

And he knows his knights, he knows Merlin won’t abandon him, because he has never done it, and Arthur truly believes Merlin has no reason to do it now, even if he’s scared. It’s as if Arthur is asking, just to make sure, just to have the confirmation that they think the same of it.

And they do:

I wish I didn’t understand how much I’m willing to risk, and have already risked for you. Because this is why I’m here: for you and only for you.

The self deprecating smile, because Merlin can’t back down, he never will. He’s so frightened, yet not even the prospect of battling against Morgana and her army will make him run.

He has Arthur to protect.

The way he smiles, it’s as if he’s saying, “Why didn’t I understand this sooner? Arthur’s just like me.” But it’s the fact that they told each other this, they know now, after ten years, that they’re willing to do anything and more for the other to stay safe, to be alive, even if one of them isn’t.

Merlin tells Arthur. He watches him intensely, because Arthur needs to understand. He’s honest.

Arthur gets it, and he’s finally happy. He’s relieved that Merlin won’t abandon him, that he will stay by his side, like he always is, protecting him, fighting with him, and helping him.

Arthur smiles at Merlin like he’s seeing him for the first time, and he falls in love with him just that tad bit more.

[unforth]

I keep seeing posts comparing this to 2004 or other past election losses and how this feels the same or similar to those past times.

As another Old who voted in 2004 (and I missed voting in 2000 by a month and was furious about it) I really can't even put into words how vehemently I disagree.

In 2008, I remember very earnestly sitting down with some friends and saying that if somehow McCain beat Obama, I'd have to join the fucking revolution, because I couldn't believe that this country would elect a Republican AGAIN after the previous 8 years of bullshit. I look back now and think how incredibly naive I was, but I also look back now and think, damn, why aren't I 25 NOW? I can't join the revolution now, I'm 41 and I own a house and have two young children and one old parent depending on me.

Because honestly, truly, as someone who has been studying American history since I was 7, as a Civil War buff with expertise on the years before the Civil War, as someone who has at least some memories of every election since 1988... guys, this isn't the same as 2004. I was furious then. Swift Boat bullshit I swear to fucking dog. And I was and still am fairly convinced that the 2000 election was deliberately stolen. But also I still had every reason then to believe in the rule of law.

In 2004, I still believed term limits would be respected.

In 2004, I still believed a person who wasn't elected would demure gracefully to the winner.

In 2004, I still trusted the courts.

In 2004, I still believed that we'd made progress on bigotry.

I could go on, and to be clear, my point isn't "I thought these institutions were ~good~" in literally any objective sense. Y'all are cynical but my generation was raised by, surrounded by, Vietnam vets and trust me, there was no way to be a kid, seeing what the 70s did to this country, and not come out as cynical and furious as the best of um. (My grandfather was a World War 2 vet, as were his close friends. My father and both his brothers are Vietnam vets, tho my dad didn't go overseas.) But I did believe that even corrupt institutions, even broken racist systems, even fucking Republicans, would follow basic norms of democracy. They said they believed in the constitution and I believed them. I believed that, like Nixon, truly getting caught doing something insane would at least force a mea culpa and turn public opinion. I believed...

Well, I guess it doesn't matter.

Because I no longer believe any of that.

I have watched the guard rails disappear over my lifetime. I have watched the party who once spent 2 years pursuing a guy over a BJ in the oval office elect a convicted rapist. I have watched and at times I've participated and I've voted and I've organized and I've protested and I've read the news more days than not and I've lived and I've grown and I've learned.

I have been an adult, legally, for almost 24 years now.

Guys... there are no norms remaining on the far right. The guard rails are gone. The Fascists control the White House, the senate, the Supreme Court, and things aren't looking promising for the House.

The bus has no brakes anymore. They think they have a mandate - and I can't blame them, as horrifying as this mandate is, because if things had gone the other way and Harris had gotten these results I'd also think it was a mandate.

Please sit with what this means: Trump and the Republican party said, "hand us the reins and we'll make everyone you hate hurt," and more than half the people who bothered to vote said "sure buddy, here goes." We don't have a usurper this time. This is the country that the majority of Americans said they wanted. Whether they come to regret that or not, they saw open Fascism and went "oh yes, count me in." And it wasn't because of the electoral college this time. It was because this country is so bigoted and misogynistic that they'd rather have this than a woman of color in the office.

I'm sick of "well she didn't run a good campaign." (Lie.) I'm sick of, "well we didn't get a primary." (Who cares?) I'm *extremely* sick of "well, Palestine." (Yes! Democrats actions have made the suffering there so much worse! It fucking sucks! You know what's about to suck so much worse?)

15 million people who showed up for Joe Biden couldn't be fussed to place a vote for Kamala Harris. Whatever their reason for not voting, we all knew the outcome if she lost. And seeing open fascism didn't fire them up enough to make the effort, and that's fucking pathetic. The consequences of the worst happening mattered so little to them that they couldn't be fucking bothered to make the minimum effort to stop it, and now millions of people will suffer as a result.

Because here we are: the huge swathe of the country who wanted a strongman now have one.

Look, I don't know what happens next. But I do know, and remember keenly: after 2016, Trump did, or at least tried to do, most of the things he said he'd do. When he was stopped, it was often because of career government employees: judges, bureaucrats, etc. And this time, he's said he's going to purge those people. I don't know if he'll succeed, but I certainly believe he'll try.

This is not 2004 again.

This is 2024. The Republicans have ripped the mask to shreds, shredded apart the book of political norms, and empowered hate, and they've been handed a governmental mandate for stamped "have at with our blessing!" in exchange.

And now they'll use that mandate to make everyone they hate suffer: people of color, queer people, trans people, immigrants, non-Christians.

Don't assume the worst can't happen. I am a Jew, and I have a photo album full of black and white photos of dead people that constantly reminds me: the worst has happened and it can happen again.

Do not despair. Despair is enervating. Be furious. As we should be. These douche bags are repulsive. Be prepared to fight. Be prepared to flee. Be prepared to defend. Don't assume you simply can't do something. There's always something to do, and even the smallest act of defiance can help. There's never any knowing until after which acts of resistance will end up galvanizing the good and just out of their apathy. But that apathy is the enemy.

Because none of this is normal. None of this is "just like when..." Please stop saying it is.

And before anyone screams "privilege" at me, yes, I am in many ways. I'm white. I have access to some generational money even tho my own family lives paycheck to paycheck - we won't be rich but have enough of a support network to be comfortable. I live in a blue area of a blue state. But I'm also a woman (legally speaking, at least) married to another woman - since before Oberkfell, and yes I remember exactly what steps we had planned any time we wanted to leave our state. My wife has physical disabilities. We have two children. Both are biracial (half black). One is trans. We are caring for an elderly parent. I am Jewish and as my kids' birth parent, so are they. I own a publishing company that publishes the exact kinds of queer and kinky lit these people intend to ban. We tick so many boxes of what these people hate.

I know ya'll are scared. Trust me, I'm terrified. But fear is paralyzing. And that won't help. Whatever happens, don't lie down and take this shit.

When Gore lost I was one month shy of my 18th birthday and already in college. I have been fighting my entire adult life, and I'm exhausted. I'm much less able to fight now, much more tied down with responsibilities. But the fight isn't over. I'm checking our passports. I'm packing a go bag. I've convinced one vulnerable friend to move here and I have another who wants to and we're figuring out how to make that happen. I'm protecting who I can, starting with putting on my mask first. I don't know what will happen but if in the end all I can do is uproot my entire life to protect my children then I am preparing to do so. I can at least save them if no one else.

None of this is normal.

And I'm not sure, after Trump's in office, that anything will ever be normal again in the US. At least not the old normal. And there are ways that's a good thing, so many ways that the old normal sucked for so many people, and I'm optimistic that there's a bright future ahead, but man it looks far away right now. I don't want to go back to the old normal, and I want to be part of establishing a kinder, more just, more equal new normal, but we're a long way from there.

Whatever happens, we must endure. We must survive. We must support each other. We must find our allies and be prepared to compromise with them. Don't try to save everyone. You'll fail. Help even one person and you can change the world. Everyone things they can't do everything and so do nothing. That's insane. Do a single thing and it will be better than nothing. One phone call. One letter. One act of defiance. Very few people get the opportunity to grand gestures that matter, and the rest of us will die waiting for that moment. But the secret is that what makes those moments - the time when one person is in the right place at the right time for their action to matter - is built on millions of small moments by millions of people doing what little they can to make things slightly better. Think of every iconic photograph of a Sole Resistor you know of and think about every single tiny thing that had to happen for that moment to occur. Most of us will never me that one person, but that one person is a myth anyway. Countless tiny unseen moments create those myths. Doing literally anything is better than doing nothing.

And tooth and nail, quietly and loudly, in our homes and our towns and cities, during protests or when they come for our neighbors, we must fight.

[undead-supernova]

Prologue - Chapter 1

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

plot: you and Mr. Munson are freshman english teachers at south jefferson high school and it seems that some of the kids think he's a better teacher than you. and, yeah, you're a little bit pissed

wc: 3.9k

no cw for this prologue - (lighthearted enemies to lovers)

a fun 2000s idea i had after watching the tv show English Teacher

title reference: We Are Going To Be Friends by The White Stripes

You were a curious moth to a smoldering flame. If anyone accused you of such a thing, you’d tell them they were crazy. And yet, here you were, staring at a piece of lined paper sticking out of a locker. 

It belonged to Dustin Henderson, obvious from the Weird Al sticker stuck next to another of a retro baseball hat that read This is my thinking cap! Yeah, undoubtedly Dustin’s.

You thought about trying to push it back in so he could avoid some stupid bully ripping it. There was no reason for anyone to do that, but Dustin was a freshman and, well, he wasn’t exactly the most popular guy here. 

Fuck it, you thought before taking a step forward.

As you touched the worn corner, you spotted your name poking out from the page. Next to it was…Mr. Munson’s?

You couldn’t help yourself from pulling it out just a little further.

I just think Mr. Munson is better

Huh?

You yanked the paper from the slit, fisting it with both hands as you scanned the page. That was undoubtedly his handwriting, haphazardly written like he was always thinking faster than he wrote. 

So what the hell was Dustin Henderson doing saying that Mr. Munson was a better teacher than you? Dustin was in your class, not his! How the hell would he know?

A sudden flood of panic washed through you, causing you to throw a glance over to Aisha sitting farther up the hallway, scribbling away at something.  She was always here before everyone else, begging you to give her homework early. Most days the answer was no. Most days.

But today, her attention seemed far away. 

You looked back down, noticing a bunch of tally marks in pencil and pen. Even one was made with…an Expo marker? What the fuck?

she’s hot though, someone responded under Dustin’s comment, taunting you in red ink.

dude I’m dating Suzie 

that doesn’t mean you can’t look

Mr. Munson is super fucking cool

Why did this feel like betrayal? Why was the word gnawing at your gut? Why was it bringing that bagel you’d scarfed down this morning up to the surface? 

“Find anything good?”

You startled, instinctively jumping backwards and into the chest of the person behind you. Whirling around, you were face-to-face with Mr. Munson himself. 

This was the first time he’d spoken to you. Ever. You’d been here since last spring, subbing for a teacher on maternity leave before she decided to become a stay at home mom. The hiring process was much easier after that. You’d see him at staff meetings and watch him holding the door open for the students after school like he was herding zoo animals off of his arc. 

And now here he was, looking way too put together for a Monday morning. He had a crisp white button down with a noticeably ironed black tie and his long hair skillfully tucked into a low bun. His shaggy bangs were freshly trimmed with little tendrils framing his face. You couldn’t help but think he was the only teacher here without dark circles under his eyes. 

“I…” you trailed, trying to parse through everything that’s just happened. The tally marks. The comments. The other candidate standing in front of you. The sheer amount of tally marks declaring you inferior to said candidate. 

Mr. Munson’s eyes flickered down at the page, eyebrows shooting up. Before you could respond, he plucked it from your fingers. He mouthed the words as he read, scanning intently.

And then he let out a wheeze of laughter.

“Dustin fuc—freaking, excuse me, Henderson. You know, he’s just—” He looked back up at you, grin fading as he noticed your deflated expression. “Woah, hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, hurt your feelings or whatever.”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine and you hated that it wasn’t fine. 

There was an image that flashed briefly before your eyes, of a note stuck to your locker with gum. A love letter from your crush, the one you held to your chest with a death grip as you floated through the cafeteria to his table. The great swell of hope before the roar of laughter that ensued. Before he high-fived his friends and let you down hard. 

But this wasn’t your hometown. The walls weren’t flecked in vertical lines of blue and gold. The lights didn’t signal a death sentence.

And standing in front of you was your colleague, stuck with you in this limbo between the past and the present.

“Don’t let it get you down or whatever. They’re just kids.”

You could’ve sworn he saw the swirling fog that lingered in your eyes. Was this him letting you down easy? 

Then why does it feel like a jab?

Mr. Munson was acknowledged as the favorite teacher of the freshman class last semester. You’d caught the tail end of this recognition, watching him laugh and roll his eyes as he gave a quick salute and sat back down. Mr. Munson, who already had everything figured out within the first year of teaching here. 

You opened your mouth, pathetically suppressing the urge to ask, How did you do it? What am I doing wrong?

But the wave of students coming through brought you back to the current moment, stifling any admittance of weakness.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you said. “Gotta run, bye.”

You turned.

“Isn’t your classroom that way?”

Wincing, you turned back around, watching a smirk fill Mr. Munson’s stupid face. His eyes flickered toward your classroom three doors down from his before back at you.

“Yep, thanks. I know where my classroom is.”

“Yeah, I bet you sure do.”

“Great.”

That was the last time you would ever speak to Edward Munson.

Two weeks after you two found the list, you’d decided to sit in the empty break room for lunch. Every time you went to the cafeteria, you saw Mr. Munson there, laughing with the music and band teacher, Chelsea Jennings. 

The numerous times you’d tried sitting even slightly near them, you always heard Mr. Munson talking loudly about his Creative Writing elective. He’d rattle on about the short stories he’d assign them as models with authors even you didn’t know. Names that flew past your head, some even being professors from the local university you hadn’t attended. Professors that he still talked to.

You had taken up the Poetry elective, quickly updating the curriculum to include more female poets and sprinkle in some of the moderns. You’d desperately wanted to talk to someone else about it, but insecurity spread the second you realized all of your poets were well-known. But how could you ignore Emily Dickinson, Annie Finch, Pablo Neruda, and Mary Oliver?

Chelsea wasn’t the only one who talked to him so casually. The other teachers would greet him with such warm demeanours that it made you feel sick. George Bedding, the junior geometry teacher and Mathletes coach, ruffled Mr. Munson’s hair and pretended to punch him before sitting next to him. The fucking P.E. teacher and football coach, Shaun Atkins, even clapped a hand on his shoulder while heading towards the line for pizza day.

The few teachers that had been more than welcoming to you were never around for lunch. Angela Bradbury, one of the senior English teachers, was always helping students or hidden away in her room, nibbling on her Wonder Bread sandwiches while reading the latest romance novel. Sarah Stewart, an art teacher, was your closest ally but spent her lunches working on her own projects. 

See? There was no need to be jealous of him. You weren’t stuck on the outs. You fit in just fine.

Or, at least, that’s what you once thought. Now you had no idea how you were being perceived. And if you hadn’t come to the break room today, you would’ve spiraled. Again.

The room was small, coated in depressing beige with flimsy cabinets filled with powdered creamer and Folger’s coffee that expired two months ago. The refrigerator could barely keep anything cold. 

So, yeah, no one really came in here. 

(The other teachers hid a coffee pot in one of the supply closets with the good creamer in a mini-fridge you’d all chipped in for. Rumor has it that even Principal Scott used it.)

You sat down at the folding table, lower back already aching from the lack of support the metal chair gave you. At least you wouldn’t run into Mr. Munson again.

He’d just laughed while you were in the throes of humiliation. You supposed he didn’t have to think much about it because he was the one who was winning. Even if he was just some guy in his mid-thirties who must’ve taken this job as a last resort.

As if you hadn’t done the same.

But that was irrelevant. 

And, yes, you looked at Dustin a bit differently after the incident. Every time he raised his hand, which was a lot, you couldn’t help but see his penciled scrawl. 

Mr. Munson is super fucking cool

You wondered dejectedly if they wrote that during your class. 

Before you could let out a frustrated groan, you noticed Mr. Munson in the doorway with a metal lunchbox covered in band stickers. He paused, wide eyes locking with yours. You couldn’t help but glare. 

Should the opinion of fourteen-year-old boys affect the way you treat another adult? No, probably not.

But you weren’t always known to be a rational person.

It could’ve been minutes. You couldn’t say. The two of you locked in a stare that seemed more like predator and prey than two teachers just trying to make it through another Tuesday. His dumb expression, dark eyes as wide as a deer caught in the fluorescence. You, a mountain lion trying desperately not to devour your sandwich, chips, and Coke in one bite. Including the aluminum can.

What was worse was the longer you stared, the more you noticed how attractive he was. Properly attractive, with lips coated in what seemed to be tinted chapstick. There was no way his lips were that pink, right? And he had to be using some kind of mascara with how dark his eyelashes were. Then there was his hair, seemingly still stuck in the Eighties with the waves. At least he brushed his hair at all, which was more than any of the greasy-haired teenage boys that frequented the halls. Maybe he could be something to aspire to.

Maybe he already was.

Mr. Munson moved silently, only heard as he pulled out the chair across from you, the legs screeching against the dirty linoleum. You surveyed his lunch, an already cooked ramen cup with a Dr. Pepper. He must’ve found a better microwave in Sarah’s closet.

The teachers of South Jefferson High School had a lot of secrets hidden in their closets. 

You finally dug into your sandwich, nearly moaning in relief. The school had implemented some new rule that the kids couldn’t bring snacks or they’d be “confiscated.” This rule applied to the teachers as well which was fucking cruel. You’d said your tearful goodbyes to apple slices with caramel and coughing fits between periods because you’d tried to choke down packets of Cheez-Its.

However, you weren’t prepared to watch Mr. Munson heave noodles into his mouth with a plastic fork, slurping and sucking the entire time. You couldn’t help your grimace, desperately trying to hold back the sound of disgust in the back of your throat.

Until he looked up, stray noodles plopping back into the styrofoam.  

“Uh, what kind of sandwich is that?” 

He only swallowed after he posed his question. Jesus Christ, this was the guy the kids were deeming their favorite? If only they saw him like this.

“Turkey and provolone,” you responded curtly. 

He lifted an eyebrow. “Really? ‘Cause I see other stuff on it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Banana peppers and onion.”

“And lettuce.”

So much for that scared little deer. Now he was some annoying warthog or a fox trying to slither through chicken wire.  

“Why are you interested in my sandwich?”

He shrugged, a hint of a smile growing in the corners of his lips. You hated it. “It, uh, looks good.”

“It’s Jersey Mike’s,” you said bluntly. 

Mr. Munson only shrugged again. “I only have ramen at my apartment.”

“Right.”

“And that fridge is a piece of shit.”

“True.”

“Woah!” he exclaimed, a huff of laughter leaving his lips. “Did we just agree on something?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the feeling of being a teenage girl again. It figures you’d revert after being in this environment for so long, with the stinging scent of cleaning supplies and hormones spreading like diseases. But nothing prepared you for this to transport you back to a time once easily forgotten.

On instinct, your tongue grazed the front of your teeth, laving over the missing braces that hadn’t been there for nearly twenty years. 

“Why do you care?” you snapped. 

Something flickered across his eyes, too quick for you to distinguish. “Oh, I see,” he started, pointing his fork at you. It was then you noticed that it was in fact a spork. “You’re still pissed off about the list.”

You feigned a snort, waving him away as you took the final sip of your Coke. “What? No way.”

Another pearl of laughter flew out of him. “Has anyone told you you suck at lying?”

“Has anyone told you you’re annoying?”

As soon as it flew out of your mouth, you realized just how mean it sounded. You winced.

Mr. Munson let out another laugh but this one didn’t sound the same as the last. “If I had a penny for how many times I’ve been called annoying, I think I’d be, like, the wealthiest guy alive.”

“You’d surpass Bill Gates?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood.

He pretended to think about it before nodding. “Oh, yeah.”

“Wow.”

You couldn’t help the ease you felt when he played along. But the irritation started right back up as he reopened his mouth.

“I know you’re impressed,” he teased. “It’s okay. Go ahead and gawk.”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely starstruck.”

“Don’t worry about the list.” When you rolled your eyes again, he added, “Seriously! Those guys are just bored. I bet you’re a great teacher.”

“Thanks.” You didn’t even pretend to mean it.

After another shovel of noodles, he said, “But, just between us, I am kinda the best English teacher here.”

You couldn’t help a third eye roll. “I sincerely doubt it.”

A smug grin filled his face. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be sponsoring the new book club next semester.”

A flare of anger flooded your veins.

“What?”

“Don’t get too jealous there,” he teased.

You shook your head. “No, I’m sponsoring the book club.”

He let out a hum and tilted his head. “You sure? ‘Cause I didn’t see your name on there.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t see Edward Munson on that list.” You said his name with a certain amount of venom that you knew wasn’t lost on him. His resulting scowl said it all.

He stood up, smoothing out his shirt and fiddling with his tie. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to deal with us being partners then.”

You were at a loss for words, unable to do anything but watch him move towards the door. “Been great talkin’ to you,” he said. He threw his napkin in the trash can before glancing at you over his shoulder. “I’m Edd-ie, by the way. Don’t wear it out.”

He walked away but you couldn’t help but throw a napkin at his fading figure. It made it as far as the end of the table.

That was the first moment you wondered why he’d decided to eat here in the first place.

“There must be some kind of mistake!” you exclaimed.

Principal Scott shook her head for probably the fourth time in two minutes. “I don’t see why you can’t work with Mr. Munson on this. If anything, that makes the club stronger.”

“It’s my chance to try and connect with these kids,” you explained, desperation leaking through your professional demeanor. “Ed—Mr. Munson has been here way longer than I have—”

“Only by a year,” she corrected, but you were far from over.

“ —and he has a leg up on me with them! I want to start making an impact! Kids these days are less interested in reading than ever before. It stopped being cool. What if I could inspire them to care? What if I could get them to read things that change their point of view on the world, to inspire them to think further outside of the little box their environment puts them in?”

Eddie was impressed by your speech, even if he wasn’t supposed to witness it. He’d actually been on the way here to talk to Principal Scott himself to try and keep his spot as the club’s head sponsor. Maybe keep you there but reduce your authority.

But then. Well. He heard you talk like this.

“And that’s great,” Principal Scott continued. “I just don’t see why you and Mr. Munson can’t do that together.”

“The kids like him,” you said before coughing. “At least, that’s how it seems.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to do this work if he’s taking the spotlight? I’m just supposed to stay sidelined?”

He thought about the first time he saw you, at that first staff meeting you’d attended. You fidgeted a lot, all flustered and nervous like all new teachers were. Even in your fear, he thought you were pretty. Standing there, shifting from one heel to the other like you’d rather go barefoot than stand in the opposite corner.

You’d looked over at him at the same time, caught up in an awkward staring contest where both contestants refused to stop blinking and had no idea when to call it quits. It didn’t help that you seemingly relaxed at the connection. It was kind of adorable.

When he saw you in the halls after that, he found himself pausing to observe you. You were always there to wish the kids a good morning and a good rest of their day with a certain amount of sincerity that he could never muster. If there was a hyperventilating kid in the hallway, you were the first one to huddle them into your room to help them down from whatever ledge their raging hormones put them on that day. 

Once, he’d walked past your room to see you opening a drawer while saying, “Don’t tell anyone about my secret stash, okay?” You pulled out a bowl of candy that even had his mouth watering. The student nodded her head, puffy-eyed but already reaching in. “If you promise to keep it a secret, you can come get candy whenever you want. How does that sound?”

If you were outside directing carpool, the worst of all the roulette wheel of responsibilities South Jefferson had to offer, you always seemed energized. Like it wasn’t a chore whatsoever. 

He knew you cared about these kids. He did.

But you seemed to have absolutely lost it at the mere implication that you weren’t already everyone’s favorite English teacher. You’d developed some personal vendetta against him as if it was his fault that fourteen-year-olds with greasy hair, braces, and cruel acne flares thought better of him. Especially Dustin Henderson and his group of nerds. He meant that with all the love in the world, of course.

The way you spoke to him was more intriguing than infuriating. Amusing, even. But then you said his name with such disdain, such vitriol. It prodded at something deep inside him, a well of nearly forgotten memories that seemed to overflow the second you said his name like that.

So, yeah, maybe he was starting to develop a bit of a vendetta against you.

Eddie had to shift his plans. Clearly you weren’t going to give up easily. Maybe he’d annoy you to the brink of insanity and get you to drop your sponsorship. He’d always had proficiency in that skill. Besides, it wasn’t too mean. What was another push?

“Don’t you think you’ll get better turnout rates if he’s there?” Principal Scott reasoned. “If the kids like him so much, you can use that to your advantage—and his. I know Mr. Munson is a dedicated teacher. He’s given your speech to me dozens of times about things that quite frankly matter less. He’s passionate. Just try to work together. It doesn’t have to be that complicated.”

“Fine,” you conceded. “Fine. I can do that. Thank you for your time, Principal Scott.”

“Call me Carrie.”

“Yes, thank you, Carrie. I’ll see what I can do.”

Eddie thought about walking away. Really, he did.

But there was a part of him that really wanted to see you. Your figure had been obscured by the doorframe and, sure, he’d gotten enough from your words alone.

Nothing prepared him for the sight before him. You were utterly defeated, scratching at your neck as you hunched forward. The cross-strap bag you always carried was slipping off of your shoulder, causing you to groan as you fixed it. 

As your eyes flickered up, he watched the scowl that seemed reserved for him deepen.

“What?” you challenged. “You wanna gloat?”

It was then Eddie realized he’d been grinning. He gestured to his face. “Was I not already gloating?”

“I can’t believe this,” you grumbled, quickly strolling past him.

But Eddie had a hard time knowing when to stop. And maybe, just maybe, he was solidifying his new plan. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

“You could take a picture, you know,” he continued. “just so you can keep up with every face I have when I win.”

“Shut up.”

Oh, he could get this done before Christmas break was over. If he challenged himself enough, maybe by the end of next week.

“I can lend you a camera if you’d like.”

You halted with a huff. “I’m trying to get things done for these kids. I’m trying to help them. Do you not get that? Or is this just a mask you wear to make people like you?”

Eddie tried to disguise the quirk of his eyebrow as he considered your words. But judging by the upwards flick of your eyes, he knew he’d been caught.

What was it that you saw in him that hadn’t been uncovered since his youth?

“You think so low of me.”

“I haven’t been given a reason to indicate any other kind of reaction to you and your incessant need to be a pest at any given time of the day.”

Eddie resisted the urge to give you a slow clap. Instead, he settled on “You done?”

You took a deep breath before nodding. “Yes.” Something seemed to shift as you took another deep breath and straightened your posture. “Winter break is coming up next week. We should try to figure out how to make this work. Why don’t we go get coffee or something and hammer out the kinks.”

“I think that is a great idea,” he replied, his tone more mocking than anything. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You opened your mouth, seemingly to say one thing before hesitating and starting over. “Meet me next Tuesday at Java Bean at one p-m.”

Eddie grinned, smugly wondering what your reaction would be when he said his next words. Professionalism be damned.

“It’s a date.”

Your eyes widened, amusing Eddie to no end. Oh, yeah. That hit something. 

“Do you hear yourself?” you asked, nearly scoffing at him.

There were those eyes of yours, searching for something in his. As if you were both trying to find the truth behind your cement walls of defense. But you gave up first, spinning around and trudging down the hallway.

“See you Tuesday!” he called after you, smiling triumphantly when your shoulders locked up.

Oh, yeah. This would be a cake walk.

thank you to @jo-harrington for all the time she took helping me with the writing process and @littlexdeaths for always making the best dividers. i love you both so much it's hard to articulate.

[lost-romantique]

Updating this post to include evidence from Ghostfuckers...

"OH THAT BIRD STEALING COCK BAG!"

One of the main contentions as to why people were into the idea of a love triangle was because they wanted to see more Jealous Blitz.

I think this had to do with people thinking that Blitz was a lot stronger than he really is. A lot of people thought that, "Well, Blitz is a strong guy, and I think he can fight for love, and fight for Stolas' affections."

But the problem is that isn't what happened...

Instead we got this...

GIF Credits to @angelshizuka

A pathetic image of a man who literally spent the entirety of one month holed up in his office, gorging himself in ice cream, watching porn, and spending all his company's assets on the stupidest shit imaginable.

Blitz is angry at Millie for calling what he and Stolas had as a breakup when they were never in a relationship, but he turns his head and his voice breaks when he says the words, "...and we never will."

The tone of his words express hopelessness and remorse, but the main conclusion I got from those words is, I give up.

How can there be a love triangle, when one man's already given up?

The one thing that Ghostfuckers makes blatantly obvious is how much Blitz is aware of his fuck ups in his relationship with Stolas, and just how deep his feelings for Stolas actually go.

Blitz regrets rejecting Stolas' reaching hand in Ozzie's

Blitz regrets accusing Stolas of only assuming that their entire relationship was based on sex.

Blitz regrets ever receiving the crystal, and considers it one of the most traumatic moments of his life, because losing the book and gaining the crystal was equivalent to losing Stolas.

Blitz regrets pushing Stolas away during their argument in Apology Tour.

Blitz regrets ever making Stolas think that he never gave a shit about him, when the opposite is true.

Blitz regrets even questioning Stolas' love for him because these are the words Blitz says to Stolas during this scene.

"This whole thing we had going... I'm- I mean you're a fucking prince. How could you ever actually care for an imp... Me? How could anybody?"

Or perhaps the reason why this memory is here is from the response Stolas gives to him instead, indicating a place of pain. "Blitz. There is a crowd full of people here, who cared so much, they'd throw an entire fucking party about hating you, every year! Do you know how much you have to care to do something as stupid as that?"

The last image of Stolas in Blitz's memory is his kiss with BTB, indicating a look of pure envy and hurt.

We the audience are aware of the fact that Stolas was lost in the throes of passion and happily engaged in that drunken kiss, both sets of his eyes are closed and he's just lost in the moment, not fully aware of his surroundings.

However, in Blitz's memory, Stolas' upper set of eyes are open and for Blitz, he didn't see that kiss as a drunk kiss. No, he saw that kiss as Stolas moving on from him. Look how happy Stolas' upper eyes are to be kissing BTB.

For Blitz, that's the only thing he needs to see to indicate that Stolas has moved on from him.

Even if Blitz was able to acknowledge his feelings for Stolas by the end of Ghostfuckers, that doesn't mean he's going to fight for Stolas' affections if he sees Stolas genuinely in love with another man.

Blitz isn't that strong, emotionally. This man does not have the heart to fight for something if he feels unwanted or unloved, he'll just count his losses and move on.

It's what Blitz did with Fizz. Blitz saw Fizz was genuinely happy and in love with Ozzie, and while he makes jokes with him, he isn't taking any active steps to actually break them apart.

Don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean he won't come for Stolas if he sees him in danger. I have no doubt that seeing Stolas in danger will push Blitz into action to save him and protect him.

But to fight for his love? Make attempts to appeal himself to Stolas while dating another guy? Actually try to break Stolas apart from someone else that he (in Blitz's eyes) is happily in love with? No. Blitz won't do that.

Me the moment Stolitz becomes a love triangle...

NOTHING YOU PEOPLE SAY WILL EVER CONVINCE ME THAT A LOVE TRIANGLE IS A GOOD IDEA!!

*cough* This is to address the concerns that people have been messaging me on reddit and tumblr.

~~~

Oh Stolas needs to experience a healthy romantic relationship...

The man needs friends. For fucks sakes, stop trying to get in his pants and get this man to join a fucking book club or something. He's lonely.

Don't you think it would be romantic if Stolas actually chose to be with Blitz in the end?

Why does Stolas choosing Blitz always have to involve Stolas breaking the heart of another guy in the process?

I want Stolas to experience that fairy tale romance.

They don't exist.

We can get more jealous Blitz.

No, we are getting more "Depressed Blitz that thinks he's gonna die alone because this man has a major inferiority complex the size of fucking Jupiter."

Blitz already had his chance...

The man didn't even know he was taking a test?

Blitz needs to fix himself first before he gets in a relationship with Stolas...

Blitz needs to deal with the root of his intimacy issues, yes. However, the idea that someone has to fix themselves in order to be in a relationship is a rather ableist viewpoint I do not condone.

Stolas also has problems that prevent him from getting in a normal relationship, but that's a whole other can of worms I don't want to open.

Blitz made Stolas cry!

STOP. IGNORING. HIS. FEELINGS.

This man has been in the verge of sobbing his eyes out in Full Moon and Apology Tour, and y'all didn't notice because Stolas didn't notice.

A love triangle will save their relationship.

Oh yes, who needs proper communication when the true answer all along was introducing a new person to the trash fire that is their problems. /j

Blitz and Stolas should just remain friends, and go find other partners.

Blitz has a body count of people he could have ended up with, but he didn't give a shit about any of them because that damn bird changed his brain chemistry so hard he went to a Party dedicated to hating his sorry ass.

And Stolas...

couldn't even forget about the motherfucker after going 25 years no contact. Do you honestly think he's going to get over him now after falling in love with the guy?

I'll be blunt, these guys also have way too much history together to remain "just friends" and stay "just friends".

Do I think they need to know each other as friends first before they start a serious relationship? Of course! But I also think these guys are gonna suck at being "just friends" and remaining "just friends".

Blitz and Stolas aren't endgame.

If these idiots were not endgame, than Brandon and Viv wasted four years of ours and their time on a relationship that was never going to come into fruition.

Also, the show is about Blitz and has always been about Blitz. The reason why Stolas is such an important character is because their building him up to be this red lizard's main love interest.

I am so tired. 😫

[chewnotchoke]

like no one else can

ೃ࿐ boynextdoor as your situationship

this was fun to write,,i was wondering if i should make individual fics abt this...what do yall think? ^__^ feedbacks and comments are appreciated ! and also my ask is always open if u wnna chitty chat <3

warnings: fluff, intense pining, light angst, signs of red flags

wc per member: ~250-400

sungho

“i’m trying to understand what am i to you?”

𓍯 situationship with sungho would be filled with a lot of "almosts" that keep you guessing, excitement, and unexpected outcomes. he would have this easygoing, carefree attitude as if he truly enjoyed your time together, but he’s also hard to pin down. he would bring you as his ‘plus one’ to parties or events and he has once invited you to a family outing “as a friend”

𓍯 sungho likes to do actions that you couldn’t help but assign meanings to these little things. he would give you a bite of his food in between laughter and throw tiny comments such as “i thought about you the other day.” the way he laughs at your jokes, recalls small details you mention, and checks up on you in between classes makes you question if he does the same with other people. if you didn't witness him opening doors for people, helping classmates with their homework, and giving the same endearing smile to anyone in need, it would be quite easy to convince yourself that the things he did to you meant something.

𓍯 when you mention being cold, he casually throws his hoodie over your shoulders and says, "just give it back whenever." yet it stays with you for days and he doesn't bring it up either, as if sharing his hoodie has become a relationship between you two. but when you decide to give it back, your heart aches to see another girl wearing his hoodie.

𓍯 the combination of highs and unanswered questions would be thrilling, and his charm would entice you to return for more. but the question “what am i to you” hangs in the open air because then, if you really meant something to him, he wouldn’t have treated others the same way he did to you.

𓍯 was it mutual at some point? maybe, or maybe not.

riwoo

“i know it’s casual but i look for you in a room full of people”

𓍯 likes having alone time with you. plans a hang out with your friends to watch a movie but the truth is he didn't invite anyone else just so he could watch the movie and spend time alone together. at the end of the movie, you'd just be wiping off your lips because you spent the whole time making out.

𓍯 situationship with riwoo is almost like a secret. he knows how to pull you towards him, and the relationship has you on chokehold. most of the time, he makes moves that make you question the very foundation of your relationship. he acts like he likes you. but does he actually do?

𓍯 during a chill drinking celebration at your friends' house, both of you always find a reason to text each other even if you're literally in the same room. that one time when you were seated a little too far from him, he pulls out his phone, typing under the table making sure no one gets a peak of his message, he would send you, "you're too far from me :(" it seems as though the thread that binds you is stronger than everything else, and every communication feels like a secret that only the two of you know. you'd look up from your phone to give him a glance and he gives you a subtle look—the look that even when you try to look away, you could feel his eyes settled on you.

𓍯 his red flag would probably be saying things like, "would you be jealous if i went out with someone else?" or talking about his ex. but right when he gives you enough reasons that he's not good for you, he pulls the "what would it take for us to stop pretending this isn’t more than casual?" card.

jaehyun

“you say we’re just friends but why do you look at me like that when no one’s around?”

𓍯 when you clearly don’t look like you’re just friends but it’s becoming a running joke now–jaehyun responds without skipping a beat whenever someone arches an eyebrow and asks if there is more going on between you and him. he casually replies, “we’re just friends.” and each time you force a smile that falls short of your eyes, you nod along.

𓍯 jaehyun has this habit of leaning towards you whenever he laughs, sometimes his head falls on your shoulder for a moment which kinda makes you flinch during the first few times but now that you’re used to it, you let your heads touch each other when you laugh together.

𓍯 when he spots you alone leaning outside the glass door at a party, you feel his presence slowly approaching you and then he simply stands there in comforting silence, staring at you in that familiar way, without saying anything at first. when you told him that you get more comfortable attending parties because he’s around, he’d flash a smirk, and his eyes return to the expression he always gives you when no one else is there. jaehyun looks intensely at your face as if he’s searching for something–searching for a sign.

𓍯 you can’t resist yourself to ask him a question if he’s sure about it. “sure about what?” his tone is gentle, and the corner of his mouth twitches as if he clearly understands what you are saying. “sure that we’re just friends…” you replied. jaehyun pauses before responding. he just looks at you, his eyes darting to your lips and back to your eyes, a spark there that he tries to conceal but can't quite get rid of. he lets out a tense and nervous laugh. “yeah, we’re just friends.” but his words were laced with hesitation and uncertainty. and there you thought, maybe the look he gives you is enough, for now.

taesan

“you treat me like this because you know you're my weakness.”

𓍯 taesan knows how flustered you get when he touches you. during lunchtime with your other friends, you tried to ignore how he sat closer to you than usual. when your friends make a joke and others laugh along, you try so hard to focus but you just can’t seem to grasp the fact that his knees and yours were touching. then, his fingertips lightly touched your leg, so gentle at first that you nearly questioned whether it was an accident. however, taesan’s hand becomes steady and warm, and you can only sense his calm presence. you attempt to maintain a neutral appearance on the outside as your heart twitches and your mind attempts to process the unexpected sensation. his smile is as laid-back as ever, and he continues to laugh with the group as if this is nothing unusual.

𓍯 situationship with taesan can be a little frustrating. he likes to give you mixed signals. he’s mostly all about you most of the time and he holds eye contact like you’re the only person he could see. but then the next day, he barely acknowledges your presence. he’s quiet and doesn’t speak to you. but you know what’s bad for you? the fact that you'd fold immediately bcs he really just knows how to give you butterflies right when you think he’s not interested. taesan would come up behind you, whispering to your ear saying, “i missed you today.” and you would quickly fold like you didn't just question everything about him.

𓍯 at some point, the feelings were mutual. but you got tired of going around in circles waiting for nothing to happen, so you just decided to move on and bury your feelings just to keep the friendship.

leehan

“teach me how to not care about these feelings that keep me up at night for nothing.”

𓍯 you don’t talk everyday but that’s what makes everything thrilling. and when you do talk, texting usually lasts until 3am. although you can feel the weight of your eyelids by this time, you try to stay awake just to converse with him. conversations with leehan are almost raw, something about each message is intimate—one you probably wouldn’t hear in the daylight. the thought that he actually also stays up with you makes you wonder how much he’s also feeling.

𓍯 leehan has the subtlest way of making you laugh. he’s nonchalant but he’s the type to make you intrigued without fully committing. with that being said, he knows when to pull back when he thinks you’re getting a little too attached over a situationship even if he's the one responsible for making you feel that way

𓍯 after dates, goodbyes often linger in the air. both of you enjoyed too much to actually walk away and go back home. when he stands close enough to hug you, you could feel his hand linger on your back like he’s in no rush to go back home. both of you stood there quiet, glancing at each other, enough to decipher by the look of your eyes that there are still unsaid words. “i’ll text you when i get back home.” he holds both of your hands as they slightly brush away from yours whenever he takes a step back. you know yourself you want something more from this situationship which causes your heart to ache.

𓍯 leehan is still not letting go of your hand even at the point where your fingertips are only touching each other. “let’s do that next time.” he says and adds, “sleep over.”

𓍯 and when he actually gets back home, you don't receive a text from him at all, and talked again the following days like nothing happened.

woonhak

"why does it feel like we’re both waiting for the other to make the first move?"

𓍯 it’s painfully obvious that both of you like each other. neither of you just couldn’t bring yourself up to confess. there’s always this tension that hangs heavy in the air when you’re with him. you're lounging on his couch while watching a film. with his shoulder almost touching yours, he is closer than friends should be. the couch's modest size is a flimsy excuse, but you both know there's more to it. woonhak’s arm occasionally moves, grazing yours and giving you a shiver, but he doesn't pull away. both of you are dancing around that invisible line, on the brink. his hand is getting closer and closer till your fingers would touch if you both moved even a little.

𓍯 every time you're together, you experience this torturous pulling, waiting for the other to finally release the tension that has been building for weeks. his hand moves next to yours, his fingers flexing as though he wants to grab you but isn't quite brave enough. and you can't help but wonder whether you're both simply waiting for a sign, anything that would eventually allow one of you to cross that line.

𓍯 woonhak constantly teases you, looking for excuses to rub your hair or bump into your shoulder, and he enjoys seeing how you respond to his pranks. he says something, though, that takes you entirely by surprise just when you think it's all a friendly act.

𓍯 “i feel like we’re both good at being complicated.” he chuckles. you can sense that you're both still holding back and skirting the truth because you're afraid of altering something that feels so near-perfect. but when you meet his eyes, you can see that this isn't the end of it because of the little warmth that remains in his smile.

[http-shield]

kinda obsessed with the idea of Bucky having an unhinged attack dog mission partner (as well as friends but they're always paired together on missions) when I say unhinged attack dog, I mean like that meme "he said no pickles!" and its just bucky hiding behind you as you scream at whoever makes you upset on his behalf. I can totally see this happening when you're confronting john walker after he killed someone in tfatws

youre standing between Sam and Bucky, dagger held between your fingers as you let the guys do the talking. It's not that they don't let you talk; you just don't find it worth the time or effort to try and reason with someone as unhinged as Walker. you're silent the whole conversation, even as he begins to spout of bullshit.

"Don't go down that road. Believe me, it doesn't end well." Bucky warns him, trying to create an ending that isn't a fight.

"I'm not like you." Walker seethes.

You take a step forward the second the syllables leach from his mouth. "Say that again, Walker."

Sam holds a hand out in an effort to deter you, but it goes unnoticed.

"What do you mean by that, huh?" you take another step forward, slipping the knife back into the holster on your hip. "Speak up Mr. America."

"It's Captain America, and he knows what I mean. The whole world does."

That causes you to see red. You're so fed up with everyone holding that over Bucky's head that you lunge forward, bare fists ready to make contact with Walker's face, but two arms wrapped around your waist pull you back.

"What are you doing?" Bucky hisses, pulling you back into ranks. "We're trying to avoid a fight."

"I can take him." you mutter, glaring at your opponent.

"You're in time out. Go outside." Bucky lets you go, pushing on your shoulders to shove you outside. "Walk it off."

"I'm an adult, you cant-"

"Outside. Now." he barks. "Take a lap."

-----

a/n: its like 3 am, idk what this is but I was watching tfatws and thought about how I wanted to smack everyone in the face who was mean to bucky (is this a bit pick me of a fic? i don't want it to be a 'im not like other girls' I just want it to be tiny angry dog protecting big calm dog

[urno1luv]

Change of Heart 1/2

i made this little fic a few months ago... cant believe im posting this now😭😭

mean girl minjeong x reader. pretty overdone but it's too gooddd😩nothing explicit just winter falling for you

💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘

You had always been invisible to people like Minjeong.

She was the school’s queen bee, the one everyone gravitated toward, the girl whose smile could send anyone into a frenzy and whose stare could crush your confidence without a single word. You were nothing to her—just another nameless face in the halls of the school. Most of the time, you stayed out of her way, keeping your head down, avoiding eye contact, because if you looked at her for too long, you might end up the target of some cruel remark. It was easier to blend into the background.

But recently, things had changed.

At first, it was subtle—a glance, a flicker of interest that you couldn't quite place. You'd catch her eyes across the room in class, and instead of the usual cold, dismissive stare, she'd hold your gaze a moment longer, as if studying you. Sometimes, there would be a small, almost knowing smile, one that was too soft to belong to the same girl who'd humiliated you just a month ago.

Then, one day after class, she was there—waiting by your locker, arms crossed, leaning against the row of lockers as if she had all the time in the world. You froze, unsure whether to turn around and pretend you hadn’t seen her or face her directly.

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes as she looked you over with a strange intensity. This was a different Minjeong. Without her usual entourage, her sharp features seemed more like a weapon than before, aimed directly at you.

"You're still avoiding me," she said, her voice quiet but dripping with a certain edge. "I thought you'd be smarter than that."

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to react. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Minjeong took a slow step toward you, her heels clicking ominously against the floor. "Don’t play dumb. I’ve been watching you, and I don’t like being ignored. You think you can just disappear in the crowd like everyone else? Not when I’m paying attention to you." Her voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper. "I’ve noticed you, and that means you don’t get to just blend in anymore."

The tension in the air was palpable. You couldn’t breathe, and for some reason, your heart raced faster with every word she said. Minjeong wasn’t threatening you—not exactly. But there was something in her tone that made you feel like there were no options for escape, no way to get out of this situation cleanly.

"I’m not interested in your games," you said quickly, trying to sound firm, even though your voice was trembling slightly.

Minjeong’s lips curled into a smirk, but it wasn’t one of amusement. It was sharper, more deliberate. “You think I’m playing games?” she murmured, stepping even closer, her body nearly pressed against yours. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just trying to figure you out. You’re different from everyone else here, and I can’t stand that. I need to know why. I need to know everything about you.”

You didn’t know how to respond. What did she want from you? Why was she suddenly so fixated on you?

Her eyes lingered on your face, unreadable, her breath just barely brushing against your skin. For a moment, you couldn’t even think straight.

“I don’t care what you think you know about me,” you stammered, your mind racing for something to say that would make her leave. “I’m not interested in being your—”

She cut you off with a soft laugh, and for a moment, you could almost feel the power shift. “You’re so desperate to push me away,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But you don’t get to do that. Not anymore.” Her voice was low, almost soothing, but the words felt like a warning. “You think I won’t notice? You think you can hide from me?” She leaned in closer, just enough so that your breath hitched in your throat. “I’ve been paying attention. And soon, you’ll realize you’re exactly where I want you to be.”

Her words hung in the air long after she finished speaking, the weight of them pressing against you. You didn’t know what was happening, but you could feel her watching you, feeling you, in a way that made every fiber of your being scream to run.

But you couldn’t. Because when Minjeong finally stepped back, her eyes didn’t leave yours. They lingered, studying you as if she was deciding whether to let you go… or keep you in her sights a little longer.

“I’ll see you around,” she said finally, but the way she said it left no doubt—she would be around. You couldn’t escape her.

And the worst part was, for some reason, you didn’t even want to??

[tpquill]

America, what have you done!

I am tonight sitting here (Australia) speechless from what has transpired these last 12 hours or so, what the hell happened?

Why on earth did he get voted back in?

What in the world went wrong?

8 years ago he was elected whether you choose to believe it or not, through nefarious means (Russia influence) at the time people fell for his charisma & charm, but soon realised just like women realise when they fall for the charm and the boyish behaviour, there’s a darker side they don’t reveal until it’s too late. Congratulations America, he revealed it pretty early on once he got his claws into the Resolution Table in the Oval Office.

We (the world) watched in horror as he separated families and deported illegals. He overspent on his billionaire friends and made middle and working class suffer. Had no health care plan, no infrastructure or employment plan. No commerce or education - nothing, zilch. He employed sycophants who bowed and grovelled to do his biding (half of them his own family - nepotism much?) he ran America like one of his bankrupt businesses and almost brought America to the ground. He was responsible for not taking responsibility when a pandemic hit the world and over 1 million died under his watch.

America impeached him twice, investigated him multiple times. Decided then they’d had enough and voted him out. You had four years of peace, of prosperity, of employment health care, higher wages and lowering costs. Your country opened up again and healthcare was restored, you started bouncing back, you’re coming has never been better. Meanwhile he ranted and raged the election was stolen, even though every court hearing and document was thrown out. America had turned a page in history for four years.

What the hell happened?

Joe Biden stood for another term but that wasn’t good enough, the America media had an axe to grind and so did it seemed those who were influential in the media circus and he stood aside for a women he picked as his vice. A woman with an incredible record in prosecution and protection of law. A woman who had fought against cartels and won. A woman of scruples and integrity. Who was willing to stand up to him and hold him accountable. A man who has current,y 34 felony convictions including falsifying business records and inflating assets to hide tax fraud. A man with 6 bankruptcies and multiple accusations of predator and rapist behaviour AND YOU HAVE VOTED HIM BACK IN?

Why?

Was it because you like someone with a need for vengeance? Someone who had made it very clear he intends to run America like Russia? A man who stole your nations top secrets and in some cases sold them off? A man for whatever bizzare reason is allowed to do whatever the hell he likes with no repercussions, because he’s Donald Trump?

This is not the America I remember as a child. This is not the president I saw growing up, who took care of his people, who cared for his country, supported their military and stood up to foreign enemies.

I sit here tonight devastated for all the brave and wonderful women and men, who voted to protect theirs and their daughters basic human, reproductive and civil rights. To the persons of all colours and religions, to the victims of domestic and sexual violence. To the wonderful trans community, to the gay marriages built on love. To all those who have fought both home and abroad in service. To the dreamers who see America as a shiny beacon of light & hope. To those who have crossed many roads in search of protection, in a country who had always welcomed you. I feel all of your sadness and anger at what has transpired.

None of this makes sense, none of this adds up.

Kamala Harris was a future light of hope and peace, of working with both sides for democracy to move America forward - now it seems she will be pulled back into the darkest part of her history. Back to when women had no right to vote, no opinion that was listened to, no voice protecting her own body.

She will be silenced once again.

Immigrants will no longer be welcome.

The church will control what happens in marriages and government decisions.

You will no longer be accepted as a trans or LGBTQ+

If you suffer a medical emergency during pregnancy, you will be forced to endure the consequences of either the child dying inside you, or be forced to give birth at “God’s will” Rape is just a word - a pregnancy from it will be unfortunate but a necessary as your right to choose will not matter anymore.

None of this adds up.

I will not accept that a man who got almost the exact same amount of votes as he did in 2020 can be declared the winner and Kamala only got 60 million, where did the other 20 million go? The votes came in too quickly the declaration called too soon. I’m by no means a conspiracy theorist but the math doesn’t add up?

Bomb threats - is America the Middle East? Interference through social media via Elon Musk and China. Giving away money to people who would vote for Trump. It stinks like rotten fish on a warm summers day here in Oz.

My final take.

If I devoted my entire like in government, in prosecution, in upholding the constitution - I would have questions, I would want answers as to how this happened with no increase in Trumps collective votes from 2020, he didn’t increase, he stayed the same.

President Joe Biden in his last few months of power, should launch an investigation because it’s not a case of well America decided to perform a lobotomy on itself and completely wiped the years between 2016-2020 from her memory and only remember the last 102 days, or something or someone played a hand in some very nefarious and illegal vote tampering.

Madam Vice President - do not concede.

[thelov3lybookworm]

I Am Forever Yours (part 2)

Day 5: Home

Summary: He thought her worthy enough.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1136

Warnings: nothin just fluff 🥹

A/n: i love love LOVEEEE this one its so soft 🥺

@lucienweekofficial

ANYWAY ENJOYYYY 🥳

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Another jolt shook the carriage, and Y/n clenched her thighs to prevent herself from toppling straight into the prince’s lap.

It was becoming harder and harder to stay in her seat the longer they remained on the rocky road they traversed on the insistence of the prince. Apparently, it was the scenic route.

She was the only one in the carriage with him, their parents and other members of court travelling in different carriages as they made their way to the King’s palace that was sparsely used save for hosting royal weddings. Y/n had expected to go through the same route her parents were supposed to be using, but Lucien had insisted otherwise.

"Are you sure this is supposed to be the better route? I am quite concerned about my wellbeing when- and if- we finally arrive."

He laughed, carefree and open as if he was not the reason her bones were knocking together.

"Just a few more moments, and we’ll reach smooth ground again."

Y/n sighed and leaned back, her fingers clutching at the fine upholstered material of the seat she occupied, thinking of the best way to ask him why he thought this was a good idea without offending him.

"My lord, I do not wish to be disrespectful, but-"

"Oh cut the formalities, my lady. Ask what you wish to."

Y/n blinked, wondering if he even realised he didn’t listen to his own words. But she proceeded nonetheless. "Why are we taking this route? Surely you do not enjoy being thrown against the hard walls of this carriage?"

He offered her a slight smile, settling back as the jostling carriage slowed to a smooth race.

"Lady Oak, you must know, I like you quite a lot. And you, I hope, like me too. I thought that while we are getting married soon, I should trust you with parts of me no one has seen before."

Y/n swallowed, unable to move her gaze from his even as the intensity in his eyes seemed to conquer her soul.

"As I have previously mentioned, I do not live with my family at the palace. I tend to travel the kingdom, and when I do not have anything to do, I stay at my home away from everyone. You see, I rather like the quiet comfort of my humble home than the extravagance of the palace."

Y/n blinked at him, taken aback. "I did not know that, my lord."

He smiled. "And neither does anyone except my parents, siblings and the carriage driver. Though I prefer to ride my horses when travelling, for it is better for speed when alone."

He paused, heaving a sigh before he continued speaking as the carriage came to a stop. "I wanted to… show you my home. I know it might be nothing compared to the palace, but it’s something I cherish a lot."

Disgusting tears. Stop pricking my eyes.

Y/n scooted forward, hesitantly touching the back of his hand. "I’m honoured, my lord."

His smile was radiant as he turned his palm and grasped hers tightly, bringing it to his lips. "I am glad you feel that way. And it’s Lucien. Would you like to take a look inside?"

Y/n nodded silently, watching him as he hopped out of the carriage and turned to help her down. The chaperone that had accompanied Y/n and Lucien on the insistence of their parents did not turn to look at the two, his spine straight, and Y/n knew that Lucien had probably bribed him to ignore their little adventure.

The house was not small by any means, a large front porch and stables accompanying the large structure. It of course was a child’s toy compared to the king’s palace, but it probably would have been more that half the size of the estate Y/n grew up in.

Lucien led her inside without a word, and he remained silent for as long as the two were there. He kept looking at Y/n, as if unsure what she would think of it, worried she would hate it.

Y/n was quite baffled he would think she would dislike what he called home but she was much too engrossed in staring at all the little trinkets, the little souvenirs and carpets scattered across the space that told of a home well loved to reassure him.

It was only when the two hurried back to the carriage and began moving to the palace did Y/n look at Lucien. He was already staring at her, his eyes searching her face.

"I love your home, my lo- Lucien."

Instantly, his lips split into a grin. "Really?"

Y/n nodded with a shy smile. "It is beautiful. I’d rather live in a smaller home than the palace too. And that home, I… I can see myself turning old there."

He looked down at his lap, his ears turning a shade darker. "Thank you."

Y/n turned her gaze downward to watch her fingers fiddling with each other, thanking the mother for giving her such an adorable husband. He was not the pompous ass she had thought he’d be, given he was the youngest prince. He had unknowingly forced Y/n into softening the shell around her heart to let him in. She still remembered the way she had behaved with him when they first met, how she’d tried her best to be uninterested in him.

It hadn’t really worked, somehow backfiring. But she was glad it had.

"That house… it was my old caretaker’s house which she left for me after her passing. It means a lot to me. I used to come here to hide away from my father when he turned violent, and with time, I made it my everything. It’s the first place I felt like I actually belonged.  My family knows I have my own home, but no one has ever been here."

She blinked. "So I am the first one to ever… visit?"

Y/n lips ticked up, warmth spreading through her chest at knowing the fact that she was the first one to see the home he cherished so much.

I am not worthy.

"Lady Oak-"

"It’s Y/n."

He ducked his head in a nod, cheeks dimpling. "Y/n, we’ve still got an hour to pass. You should get some sleep."

She groaned. "As much as I am happy that you thought me worthy of revealing such an important aspect of your life, I must say that I do not wish to forgive you for the anguish you’ve caused my bones."

He laughed, loud and hearty. "Forgive me for my sins, wife."

It was Y/n’s turn to blush now.

He only smirked.

"Sleep. I’ll wake you when we arrive."

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[befuddled-calico-whump]

Obsolete

cw: nsfw themes/implications, abuse, manipulation, fear, brief emeto mention, choking. (this chapter can be skipped without losing out on plot, it's a bit heavy)

previous // T$$ Masterlist

~ ~ ~

Sahota slouches on the bed, both feet planted firmly on the tile floor as if that’s enough to keep him tethered, keep his thoughts from drifting too far. He holds the gag in both hands, turning it over and over and over, watching the metal sections that make up most of its structure catch the light. 

He doesn't know long Harbor had been there when he arrived, already shaking from the stress on his body, tension to his shoulders and core brought on by the heavy leather cuffs that secured him to the foot of the bed.

He'd tried to pull away when Sahota knelt to remove the gag.

“F-fuck off.”

“This isn't what you want, Harbor.”

“It's what Vic wants.”

He'd cursed and insulted and tried to elicit a reaction that wasn't get out from him, but in the end he'd left.

“You're jealous,” he'd spat as Sahota closed the door behind him. There was something desperate in his tone, like he hoped if he said it with enough fervor he'd believe it, like he wished a rivalry was the only thing to worry about.

Like he was willing to thrust his hand into a fire just to feel the warmth. 

“You're just fucking jealous.”

He isn't. Is he? Jealous is too simple a way of putting it. He wants Vic's gaze to linger on him the way it does Harbor, he wants the idle touches as they pass in the hall, the I'm proud of you's and I know you can do it's.

He needs his attention as much as he loathes it.

Shouldn't he be grateful his master's lust is being directed elsewhere? 

Doesn't it mean he isn't enough anymore? What then? If Vic is finally tired of him, what does that mean? Will he be thrown out, abandoned? Or will he become another loose end that needs to be tied up?

It felt like that during their mock interrogation. It's been months since he's seen Vic that angry, much less at him, he's been far too careful for that. He never should've tried, never should've given the others the hope that they could take an alternate path. He's the reason they're trying to salvage control, he's the reason Vic’s tightening his fist around them.

If he hadn't gone behind his back with the challenge, would they have been allowed to to go after Manak?

Would Manak even be lost in the first place?

Sahota can't fight a grimace. He's learned this lesson a thousand times over already; he should know better. 

You can't say no to Vic.

He knows that, knows the consequences, and yet here he is. He can only hope it won't be Harbor that suffers for it.

The handle turns. Sahota half expects it to be the belligerent trainee, back with more choice words and arguments. When the door reveals Vic, a part of him wants to curl up and hide, reduced once again to a terrified kid who should fucking know better.

He wants to shrink under Vic’s gaze as they meet eyes, silence drawing out between them, but he doesn’t, instead stiffening his spine against the fear that curdles in his stomach, instead daring to open his mouth.

“How long would you have left him here?” A safe enough place to start. Not an accusation, He lets his hands fall into his lap, the gag still held between them. 

Vic leans against the doorframe, arms crossing his chest. “Would've been going on six hours now, if you hadn't cut him loose.”

“Six hours,” Sahota repeats flatly.

“I've kept you for thrice that.”

“He isn't me.”

“And you hate that, don't you?” He pushes himself up from the wall, moving into the room, closing in. “Why? I know you don't care for him.”

Because Vic always knows everything, because Sahota can never hide things from him. He doesn’t care for Harbor. He doesn’t let himself care for anyone these days. Still, under the envy and the fear there’s a stark horror at the thought that someone else will take his place, will suffer as Vic's plaything, will render him pointless.

“Am I not enough for you?” he says.

Vic clicks his tongue, cupping Sahota’s cheek with a warm hand. “Is that what you're afraid of, little spy? Being replaced?”

Yes. No. “Why do you want him?”

“He's a flashy thing. Caught my eye.” Vic chuckles. “So desperate for any human interaction he'd disembowel himself for a pat on the head.”

Is that what it comes down to? Another person for Vic to hurt, another body in his control. He shakes his head. “Vic—”

He's silenced with a kiss. There's something foreign in it. A new excitement, amusement that he cares about this, that he's scared.

“He won't replace you. He'd make a good dog though, don't you think?” He nuzzles into Sahota's neck. “Once you warm up to the idea, maybe I'll even let you play with him.”

Sahota jerks away, a breath lodging in his throat. He couldn't, he couldn’t. The idea of Vic dragging Harbor into this stings enough. The thought of playing along—of holding the younger man down, hurting him, controlling him—is too much to hold. He wants to throw up.

“Is that a no?”

“Whatever you want to do to him, you know I can take,” Sahota says, his voice low and insistent. He’s nearly pleading. He doesn’t know why he’s pleading for this.

It should feel good, shouldn't it? To know he may never again take the brunt of Vic's affections, to be elevated to a place of control.

It doesn't. It burns like bile.

“I know.” Vic’s hand strokes his cheek, thumb coming to rest on his lower lip. “When's the last time you cried for me?” It seems more a musing than a question he wants answered, but even if it were, Sahota doesn’t think he can speak to it.

He can’t remember the last time himself.

No, that's not true. Just days ago, he was crying, but not for Vic. It feels like such a potent secret he’s nearly purged it from his mind, and now he's afraid his master will see it on his face, the weakness he dared to show to these outsiders.

Ander, my name is Ander.

His own words echo back to him in a way that makes him shudder. By some stroke of luck, Vic doesn't notice, his eyes on the gag in Sahota's lap.

His hand falls away from his face, and he fixes him with a searching gaze. “Are you afraid he makes you obsolete?”

Sahota drops his eyes. “I… Yes.” It seems too simple an answer, but it’s the easiest explanation. One that might satisfy Vic.

“And you’d prefer it if I left him alone?” He tips his chin up with a finger. “If it stays just you and me?”

“Yes.” His answer is quieter this time. Vic hmms, and the silence seems to stretch for a long moment, every wordless breath drawing more fear into Sahota, pulling tension into his body. Then, Vic suddenly pushes him back onto the mattress, one hand curling in his hair, the other cupping his chin as he kisses him, hot and fierce. Sahota returns the kiss until he’s breathless.

“Hands behind your back.”

He obeys without much thought. It’s been a while since Vic’s tied him up for this. Months, at least. Silky rope winds around his wrists, and then he’s rolled onto his back, heart hammering with anticipation. There’s fear there too, but he tries to shove it down. Isn’t this what he wants? Isn’t this what he just begged for?

He opens his mouth to say something, but Vic’s hands shoot out, locking around his throat, squeezing, cutting off air. Panic floods through him, but he has Vic's touch memorized. His body knows not to respond, to take it, no matter how much his mind wants to rebel.

“What if I did want to replace you, Ander?”

Sahota’s eyes widen at the words, barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears. His body spasms from the lack of air, heels digging into the mattress, but Vic doesn't let up.

“What if I am tired of you, hm? What can you do about it?”

His wrists burn, the rope digging into them as his arms shake involuntarily, reaching to remove the pressure. No… No, he can’t mean it, Vic can’t mean it, he’s his. He’s been his for twelve years, he can’t just be replaced, he can’t just let the fucking cycle start all over again. Tears sting his eyes but refuse to shed, his mouth opening wide, making soundless pleas.

It can’t end this way, it can’t end this way, Vic, sir, Shepard, please—

“You are everything I made you. Without me, you'd be nothing. If I want someone new, you'd better just be fucking grateful you still have a seat at the table.”

His lungs burn, body shuddering, vision blackening at the corners, closing in—

—And then Vic’s hands relax, slipping away from his throat. The spy gasps for breath, rolling onto his side and curling his knees in, unsure whether he’s shaking from the lack of air or the sheer fear, the knowledge that Vic could’ve done it, would've done it. He would’ve done it and not even batted an eye.

He's not allowed to hold the thought for long before Vic seizes him by the hair, jerking him into a half-sitting position, his face stony and empty when the spy looks up at him through blurring vision.

Something almost like satisfaction crosses his master’s face.

“There's the tears.”

~

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