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residenthughes · 4 months

Text

persuasion - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x fem reader

word count: 5.7k

tags/warnings: college/university au, fluff, slight angst?, fratboy! jack (he's sweet in this, dw), mentions of alcohol/drinking, no mention of y/n

summary: you get a bit more than you bargained for when paired up with all-american hockey star, jack hughes.

notes: hi. it's been a (long) while since i've posted on here. not to mention, i'm back writing about someone a bit different 😭 but i've recently gotten into the nhl and this fic is the result of me drunkenly coming across this photo a few days ago. despite the changes on this blog, i hope this post finds you well and that you enjoy this (poor) attempt of me getting back into writing. much love <3

The end of the semester couldn’t have come sooner. Swapped with what was possibly the busiest you’ve ever been, the sweet relief after submitting your last assignment was unparalleled and lulled you to a much deserved slumber, only to be awoken by a barrage of messages pinging from your bedside table. Disgruntled, your arm extends in search of your phone, groaning into your damp pillow as you blink away the tired film coating your eyes and read the messages from your best friend.

frat house party tonight, presence is mandatory!

all the girlies are onboard, your sexy ass better be ready by 9!

Another groan emits from you, exhaustion seeping through your bones at the mere mention of doing something else besides rotting in bed. You’re about to type some incoherent excuse, but your best friend beats you to it.

apparently, z and his guys are going.

chances are jack’s there too.

There’s a messy stutter in your chest upon reading the message and suddenly, you’re more awake than before as you gingerly sit yourself up in your bed. Of course, she’d mention he was going just to convince you further. You weren’t even aware she knew of your crush. Considering you hadn’t mentioned him much besides when asked, his name being referenced feels more intrusive than it should be. Then again, as perceptive as she is, there was no denying the fact.

Jack and yourself had worked on a group project earlier in the semester, which is how the two of you had crossed paths. Upon hearing of the task at hand, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh because you were never a fan of working with others you didn’t know, but considering none of your friends took your class, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get to know others and build your social circle. When your assigned group had got together towards the end of the lecture to discuss formalities and such, you hadn’t expected the whirlwind that was to come in the presence of a sandy brunette haired boy.

Jack is as easy-going as he is charming. Cracks a couple jokes and suddenly, all the ice isolating your group dissolves to water and there are constant hums of conversation bouncing off every member of your group. He’s nice too, considerate of everyone’s schedule and what tasks they felt confident in completing, never uttering a word of complaint unless warranted. It’s interesting, he’s interesting, you think to yourself. Perhaps due to the fact that since he’d revealed himself to be in a frat, you had some preconceived notions as to what his personality would be like and maybe at times, he’d fit that stereotype to a tee, there were other times he’d stray away from it completely and leave you curious as ever.

Peculiar is what you’d describe those few weeks to be, your interest gravitating towards any relation to Jack. Heart beating as you walked past your university’s ice arena, knowing he practically lived on the ice beyond his time in class. Eyes lighting up when he texted in the group chat, mental fuzziness plaguing you every time you sat across from one another as you completed your portion of work in the university’s library. You’d be a fool to dismiss the budding attraction you felt towards him, spinning your world round but also leaving you feeling so unsure of everything, yourself included. There’s no scarcity of girls who like him, it proved to be difficult resisting the All-American hockey star with looks to match. However, taking into account the sheer volume of attention directed his way everyday, your lingering glances didn’t seem to be much more significant. So, one-sided this crush remains to you, storing away the quiet memories of shared laughs and time spent together in a place close to your heart.

That was until he invited you to his game, shortly after your project had been submitted for assessment. You wanted to go, you wanted to go so badly that you agonised over the decision for longer than necessary, but ultimately, as you laid awake that night, eyes blazing red with fatigue, doom scrolling to further delay your dreams, the evidence for your answer surfaced. It was nothing but a silly Instagram post from one of his friends, Trevor Zegras, the boyfriend to one of your friends. A collection of typical photos: the boys, hockey and more of the antics they got to. It’s in the last slide where in the background of a recent football game is none other than Jack, in all his handsome glory, grinning ear to ear as a girl envelopes him in a hug that feels too intimate to be seen. Embarrassment runs your skin hot and jealousy leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, the thought of you entertaining anything more than platonic with Jack a pipedream at best. Naturally, there can be so many explanations for the photo, but what rings true is that you’ve made yourself vulnerable to heartbreak, which is nowhere to be found on your agenda. So, you call it a night, turning off your phone and hoping to put the crush behind you come tomorrow.

And, it works for a bit. Jack doesn’t text you further and you don’t run into him on campus. Summer soon approaches and the last few days before your break have you buzzing with excitement for all the plans you have lined up. Your world doesn’t hinge on every interaction you have with Jack and your mind is freed from the shackles of mulling over every detail in said interaction. It’s liberating and you’d like to keep it that way. A fleeting crush, you reason, all said and done with. A mantra you repeat to yourself as you respond back to your best friend, gleaming as you and your group chat discuss outfits options and pinterest inspired makeup looks.

There’s nothing better than being with your girls, you’re reminded, as the buzzing excitement never fizzles as the night stretches on. Controlled chaos dominates the night as you pack into one friend’s rooms to get ready together, helping each other with eyelash extensions and annoying back zippers. Someone makes the suggestion to drop by the campus bar for a drink or two, just to ease the nerves, and it turns out to be a great idea because by the time you stumble out of the bar and towards the frat house, the party’s in full swing.

Trashed lawn and red cup galore, the music somehow manages to reach outside the house with hoards of people dotted around and inside the house. With the merry buzz you’ve got from the bar, confidence details your movements as you lead your friends with clasped hands into the packed house, mumbling a thousand ‘sorry’s as you trample on through the crowded hallways to find yourselves in one (?) of the living rooms.

Hands suddenly grasp at yours and you’re thrown into a fit of giggles as your friends tangle themselves up in a messy but fun dance. You follow suit, fully relishing in the euphoria of the night and the found family you have in these girls as you dance and chatter until you have no choice to venture into the kitchen for a refreshment.

Surprisingly, the kitchen is vacant as you push through towards its door you were directed to, scanning the room amongst belongings to find some mixer for your helping of vodka stashed away in your purse. Despite your better judgement, you resort to apprehensively searching through cupboards on your tippy toes in search for mixer and as you’re about to open the last cupboard, the kitchen door opens.

“Looking for something?”

Goosebumps arise and your heart stills. You know that voice like the back of your hand, the same voice that echoes in the back of your mind and whispers sweet nothings in your ear when you dream. The fact that he’s so ingrained in your memory makes you curse at yourself, teeth gnawing on the plumpiness of your bottom lip as you attempt to recollect your racing thoughts. With a quiet breath, you sink back from your elevated posture and turn towards the source of the voice, blinking like a deer caught in the headlights.

It’s comical how such a simple sight renders you a loss for words. In the doorway of the large kitchen stands Jack, shoulder and head leaning against the doorframe as he looks at you with an expectant look and a cheeky grin to match. His legs are crossed at the ankles and he’s holding a beer, but he’s got this pearl white long sleeved polo on with washed out jeans and a black snapback to top it all off. The outfit in itself is so simple and yet, here you are, heart being sent into overdrive as the effortless combo drives you wild. Sets your skin alight and conjures up electricity that pulses through you like wildfire.

“Lemonade,” you gracefully croak out, gesturing towards your empty red cup. “I didn’t bring much to mix my drink with.”

“Here, I’ll help you with that,” he reassures you, bouncing off the door frame as he draws closer to you, your feet absently shifting a few steps backwards. “No need to back up. I don’t bite, you know?”

You huff at the comment, realising how foolish his mere presence makes you and will yourself to relax, shoulders easing down from your ears as you watch Jack search through the cupboards. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for, pulling out a large bottle of lemonade that coasts against the marble of the countertop.

“Feel free to use as much as you like, I never usually have this myself anyways.” insists Jack, turning himself around with his back against the countertop, arms crossed his chest with a peering eye directed to you.

“How thoughtful of you.” you jester as a brief chuckle is shared between the two of you, the loud thumps of heavy bass music sounding from beyond the kitchen door as silence settles between the two of you.

“It’s been a while, how’ve you been?” he asks, undivided attention focused on you as you pour the last of the lemonade. If not for the embarrassment of spilling your drink in front of him, the unsolicited awareness he’s currently given you would have resulted in exactly that, so you stop yourself and give him a convincing smile.

“I’ve been good, thanks. It’s the end of the academic year, I have no more complaints,” you muse, bringing the cup to your lips as you peer over the rim to look at Jack, his long lashes fluttering as his focus remains you. Your heartbeat picks up its pace. “What about you? Frozen four’s a big deal, but winning the championship is even bigger.”

Jack gives a lighthearted laugh, smugness adjusting his posture as his shoulders move back and his chest puffs out. Meanwhile, he gives this half shrug and grin that has heat gravitating towards the apples of your cheeks. It’s one of the things you like about Jack, how confident and sure of himself he is without it being overbearing and unappealing. It feels assuring, not having to dim your own light for the sake of his own comfort.

“Yeah, that was nuts, I can’t lie. We had a really good run and I think our efforts really showed for themselves in that case,” Jack responds, taking a swig of his beer. “Christ, I sound like I’m talking to the media or something.”

“Well, consider this practice for when you join Jersey in the future,” you simper, snickering as you take a sip of your own drink. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of fun speaking to the media.”

He gives an eyeroll, amusement prominent in the way his eyes twinkle and you can't help but laugh more. “So you say. How did you even know about Jersey?”

Your laugh is cut short, ice cold realisation washing over you like a bad hangover as his words hang in the air like a gauntlet waiting for its descent. Of course, this was nothing to be caught off-guard by considering how much your university boasts about how Jack, amongst other talented players, were drafted before committing to your university. However, the painful memory of you awake one late night doesn’t escape you, said night spent hesitantly typing his name into Google to come across all the info you knew to confirm how great of a hockey player he was. You feel shameful even looking him in the eyes right now.

So, your eyes stray from him, the somewhat sticky floor being the source of all your interest. “Who doesn’t know? Our uni does a good job of reminding us of everyone that’s been drafted.”

You decide to spare a glance at Jack, taking in how a pinkish hue decorates the surface of his cheeks as his lone hand goes to scratch the back of his neck. The timidity that clouds his movement evokes a simper out of you, one that you direct into your cup, its contents rapidly draining under the weight of your continued conversation.

“Oh, man. Maybe, I shouldn’t have asked that,” he jokes, smile all pearly white and heart fluttering. “Can’t blame a guy for being nervous, no?”

“Nerv-”

Suddenly, the kitchen door bursts open and a flood of drunken students come barrelling in, hollering as their drinks splash to the floor and chaos ensues. You’re just as confused at their unexpected appearance as you are at the comment Jack made, but before you have a chance to ponder further, a warm hand settles against the small of your back followed by the gentle waft of Jack’s aftershave, a mixture sea salt with a hint of lavender and spicy nutmeg. It takes everything in you for your knees not to buckle.

“Let’s head out back.” he whispers, breath fanning over your neck as his fingertips ignite fire against your skin.

Abruptly, you clear your throat, mindlessly nodding along as you blindly follow him out back, Jack’s larger build serving as a shield of sorts as he seamlessly navigates his way through the hordes of students. He does so with your hand in his and as much as your internal monologue unleashes panicked squeals at the contact, you revel in his touch - calloused hands that hold yours like porcelain, warm hands that match together like the universe and all its stars.

A cool breeze blankets your skin and your focus shifts from your inner thoughts, taking in the generous and lush green outdoor space with sparse camping chairs circling a bonfire and a large tree further up ahead draped in fairy lights. There’s some people here too, but the atmosphere is a 180 from the mayhem inside, hushed light-hearted conversations exchanged beside the lit bonfire with the faint smell of weed filtering through the crisp air. The dazzling fairy lights blind you into bumping into Jack’s back, apologising with a laugh before he collapses onto the daisy white hammock before you.

You follow suit with the carefree attitude Jack gives you, but you miscalculate horrendously because you don’t fall into the place beside your crush, but into his lap. Shock runs through your veins like ice as your bewilderment freezes you in place, mouth gaping open as you turn to face Jack in absolute horror. He seems to fare better with the unexpected contact, enlarged azure eyes showing his awe and yet his hands are in all the right places - supporting your waist as your weightless body struggles to hold its own.

“I’m-“ the hairs on your neck are standing and you’re close to crying, the heat of your mortification burning your body hot like a furnace. “-so sorry. I didn’t-I didn’t even-“

“Relax, you’re good,” the chill of his beer against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, the feeling intensifying by the thousands as Jack’s thumb gives your exposed skin the smallest caress. You’re sure you’re the personification of shock at how every inch of your features displays pure alarm. “Unless this was your plan?”

You’re shoving him before your brain is able to comprehend its commands, your flustered state leaping out of his lap and collapsing back alongside him this time, hands clasped over your eyes as you take the time to maybe calm down. “What frat house even has a hammock anyways?”

“Rachel - Z’s girl - thought it’d be a nice touch for the garden,” you hear Jack mumble, but you’re too busy nursing your ego to fully immerse in conversation. “You’re friends with her, right? You guys came in together.”

“Keeping an eye out for me, Hughes?”

Apparently, your ego isn’t as bruised to make such a comment, a smirk finding itself onto the surface of your face as you’ve yet to remove your hand from your vision.

“It’s hard to keep my eyes off you.”

You freeze in place, the heaviness in your stomach incomparable with the hammering of your heart against your chest as your brain picks apart Jack’s comment at the speed of light. None of the comments Jack has made throughout your entire conversation have gone over your head, the flirty undertones as clear as day. He wasn’t as up front with his compliments when you two first started working together, the furthest compliment he’d given denoting how nice you looked despite rolling out of bed twenty minutes beforehand. His directness makes your eyebrows furrow, or rather his intentions have you looking around as if you could find some answers. Perhaps this is how Jack is at parties - all pleasant with a careful flirtation that gradually pulls you inwards. Or maybe, this simply is the case of him showing his interest in you. The concept is not lost on you, but there is still apprehension that manifests within you, for reasons you are yet to discover.

You’re about to say something, your parted lips issuing a single incoherent syllable that dissolves on your tongue when the faint murmur of country music from a group of guys up ahead takes your notice, Jack’s nose scrunching with delight as he exclaims, “Ah, what a banger.”

Your eyebrow quirks upwards, merriment spreading against your features. “I never pegged you as the country type.”

“Well, I’m not a Drake guy, I’ll tell you that much.” Jack shifts in his seat, extending his arm out behind your back.

“So, a belieber then?” you jester, taunting eyebrows raised as you can’t keep your snicker to yourself when you watch Jack roll his eyes with the same grin.

“If that makes you happy, then yeah,” Jack reasons nonchalantly, whereas you make a pathetic attempt at stopping the stammer in your chest. “But no, that’s pretty much all that plays when my brothers and I wakesurf in the summer, unless Z is on the aux. Then, he and Quinn have a go at each other for it.”

Chuckles emit from your lips as you picture the image of a sunny summer day out on a boat, Jack’s older brother, Quinn, and Trevor becoming enemies of silence as they bicker over music choices. A warm fuzziness embraces you, the image placing you right beside Jack as laughter bubbles between the two of you whilst Luke wakesurfs in the background. It’s a honeyed depiction, all rose-tinted and for you to hold close to your heart along with other fantasies you allow yourself to entertain.

“We’re planning on going back to our summer house upstate where we do loads of other stuff,” Jack trails off, his fingers tapping against the glass of his bottle as you two share a look between each other. His eyes flicker downwards almost immediately, the top of his ears crimsoning. “You should stop by sometime. It’d be good to see you over the summer.”

For someone as confident as Jack, these rare glimpses of timidity demonstrate themselves as a pure anomaly. So, you can imagine your surprise at not only his incredibly generous offer but also his sheepish demeanour; gaze never aligning with yours as you feel his fingers fiddle with the material of the hammock behind your back. The sight enamours you, a rush of endearment washing over you as you lean into the feeling, not bothering to hide the wide smile growing across the expanse of your face.

If this is what awaits you at their summer house, you’re already packed and ready to go.

“I could be persuaded.” Jack’s already rolling his eyes and against his better judgement, he finds himself chuckling with you too.

When your amusement blends into the night sky, Jack's eyelids fall halfway, gaze steady as he mirrors your prior smirk that’s all but gone with the quiet wind. “And, what would that involve?”

A moment is shared between the two of you. Burning bright like a star and erupting fireworks in your fingertips as your eyes linger on one another longer than explanatory. The landscape of his dotted moles capture your attention first, your sight leading itself to the galaxy-like twinkle dazzling in the ocean blue of his eyes. It’s so precious, this point in time - so delicate and intimate that it feels like a secret, whispers of infatuation pulling you together by their invisible strings as Jack’s extended arm circles your shoulders. You lean in, the temptation of his lips calling your name. Earlier restlessness ceases to exist as your movements read as second nature, the bruising of your chest accompanying the fuzziness that dances in your stomach as Jack leans into too.

“Yo, Jack!”

The moment is all but gone, burst like a bubble as both your heads turn in the direction of the voice, spying one of Jack’s friends, Cole, standing on the porch with a hand clasped around his mouth.

“Get your ass in here, we’re playing Jenga!”

A string of unpleasantries filter through Jack’s mouth in the form of a murmur, remnants of your interrupted kiss lingering as Jack gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and gives you the most apologetic look you’ve ever seen. Puppy eyes and pouty lips, an image you lock away in your heart forever.

“Did you wanna head in?” He gives you the choice, head tilted to the side as he studies your expression whilst you ponder the inquiry.

The almost kiss is something to behold and if this has occurred weeks prior amidst the intensity of your crush, you would have begged and pleaded to stay, hinging on the hopes of whatever this is being fabricated once again to fulfil your fondness dreams. But, this feels different. It feels sold, as opposed to balancing upon shaky possibilities. This is undeniable, a point in time that is infinite and kissed upon by destiny. A junction you can return to time and time again.

“Yeah, I’m sure my friends are looking for me anyways,” you unravel yourself from Jack’s loose grip, hoisting yourself up before you turn to face him with a soft beam. His expression reads unsure, gaze scattered before he looks upwards before your sneakers knock against his impossibly white Air Forces. You nod towards the house, the giddiness building within you exceptional as your hand extends out to meet his. “Let’s head in together?”

It comes out more of a question than a statement, but you could care less when Jack gives you that soft smile that’s only reserved for you, grabbing a hold of your hand after he brings himself off the hammock before you proceed to return back to the party.

The bustling atmosphere appears to have maintained itself in your absence, hundreds of conversations mixing in with the booming sounds of some bass heavy hip hop song. You nod your head to the beat, grinning when you see familiar faces in the crowd as you trail behind Jack yet again, following him in promise of your friends who Cole had mentioned joined their group’s game of Jenga. You make do with getting down the stairs of the basement without tumbling due to their frigid nature, face instantly lighting up as you catch sight of your friends, collapsing into a fit of excited hugs and shared giggles as you all catch up on the events of the party.

Amidst all the dialogue, some of which you’re assuming Jack’s sorority brothers and friends make quick work of getting the bare room ready, arranging beers for everyone as the box of Jenga is brought out. The weight of concentrated eyes seers into your goosebump-riddled skin and by the time you volunteer to assemble the Jenga tower, you’re more than aware of Jack’s attention on you. Even with how overflowing the confidence you possessed was as you left the back garden, the heat of his gaze reduces you to a sheepish mess, antsy hands uncertain of their movements as you attempt to achieve some standard of normalcy, your eyes avoiding his. It’s when your hands accidentally touch that you cannot avoid it much longer, peering through clumpy eyelashes with a flush that feels as vivid as painted glass.

A lone corner of his lips inclines, his look of allurement tangled with blatant attraction enough to make you knock over some of the Jenga pieces. A deep chorus of disapproving sounds holler at your actions, your sheepishness fended off by the laughter amongst you and Jack as you continue to assemble the tower again, this serving as the last of your communication before the Jenga game commences.

Every Jenga piece taken out of the tower involves a dare that has laughter erupting from the pits of your stomach or mouth gaping open at the gull others possess whilst intoxicated. With the muffled sounds of the music upstairs and endless talk in the room, merriment captures your heart in a gentle squeeze as the dares carry on, the harmless fun quickly becoming one of your favourite memories in recent times.

It’s your turn to go and the frat guys are already teasing you with endearing nicknames, putting a smile on your face as your hands steady to pull out a tricky Jenga piece with ease. Wooden block in hand, your line of vision skims the chicken scratch of a dare with an effortless glee that’s swiftly replaced with plentiful surprise.

“What does it say?!’ exclaims Trevor, the anticipation in his voice evident as he squeals his words.

You’re reducing to your meek self again, not daring to look upwards as you enunciate your words to aid your own comprehension. “Spend seven minutes in heaven with the player across from you.”

You’re unsure whether the universe has some really good jokes up their sleeve or this is just fate to begin with because when you lift your head up, already knowing, Jack’s amused facial expression speaks for itself.

Hollers and cheers fill the room, enough pandemonium to make you crimson as you stumble to your feet, casting a peek at your best friend with a cross between disbelief and delight. Your best friend, the same one that texted you about Jack’s presence at the party tonight, bawls her hand into a tight fist, bringing it to her chest as a sign of victory with mischief painted all over her. The ridiculousness of this farce eliminates you from ruminating about what awaits you in the closet a mere metres away. The guy most pleased with the situation opens the closet door, a few brooms pushed back into the compact space that is surprisingly clean with no cobwebs or dust in sight.

“All clean and ready for you two lovebirds,” Trevor grins with the keenness of a kid in a candy store, pushing back his long locks of hair as he sends a wink your way. “Don’t get too carried away in there, you’ve only got seven minutes.”

Jack says something in reply to Trevor’s cheeky comment but you’re too preoccupied by your own thoughts, feet carrying you to the fate of your Jenga dare as the door closes and darkness shrouds you.

It’s silent for a minute, nothing but soft breaths and dulled whispers from outside the closet door. The closet is dangerously compact, your back up against the wall not sparing you from establishing your own personal space, the slightest shift of your shoes inevitably going to knock against Jack’s. Outside in the back garden feels so far away now, slipping through your hands as if sand with the daunting weight of unsaid expectations folding your arms and clearing a stubborn croak in your throat.

As the seconds tick on and no communication is shared, the everlasting laps you round around your mind exhaust you for the last time and you decide to face whatever this is head on, a start being making eye contact with the man that makes it the hardest thing in the world. However, with the tiniest sliver of dimmed light peaking through underneath the closet door, you can see him. Jack, in all his glory - soft and boyish, all charming in nature. The round pool blue of his eyes and the moles that dot his skin like constellations. It’s a rush of emotions, all raw and bare, to overwhelm and comfort you, with the easiness of his smile that directs your way and warms your heart like no other.

“We don’t have to do anything in here, I’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable,” Jack explains, his hand reaching to drag down one side of his face as his eyes cast away. “I hope you know that.”

This - you feel resolute in - establishing some sense of security in this room as you smile up at Jack. “The thought didn’t even cross my mind.”

There’s a double meaning in your words and you don’t bother to correct yourself, reading in between the lines cementing itself as your favourite pastime. But, Jack knows and so do you. Perhaps you knew all along that every nook and cranny in your heart was specially reserved for Jack and no other could do. Maybe, you spent so much time in your head because this unexplored territory felt like the birth of the universe, so big and beautiful that it had more questions than answers. A forbidden fruit of sorts - a sweet mirage that the more you pulled away, gravity pulled you right back. A place where you belonged - with him in this moment forever sealed between the two of you.

Jack offers a smile in the wake of your thoughts, timid yet teasing in nature and you can’t resist, in the almost dark of the closet, grin too because this was sealed from the very beginning. Alone with infamous fratboy Jack Hughes, under some sort of awkward pretence bringing you together because you let your fears get the best of you, a stark contrast to what they are now - engulfed in thoughts, feelings of your lips against his and how this charade will come to a close, the building tension boiling till it overflows

“Hey-” you both say at the same time, silencing as you chuckle at the unison you unite in.

“Ladies first.”

“I’m more interested in what you have to say.”

Because there’s no doubt in your mind he’ll steal the words right out of your mouth, the mere thought of those words escaping his lips the centre of all your desires.

He pauses, eyes searching yours for confirmation which presents itself in the toothy grin he struggles not to reflect, canine sinking into the corner of his lips before he responds, “If you insist.”

Jack doesn’t miss a beat as he reaches for your hand, absently tracing patterns into the skin with a thoughtful hum that proceeds his words.

“I think I’ve been a lot more straightforward with how I feel about you, but I’d like to chance to tell you right here that I’m interested in you, in being with you. To the point that the boys get sick of me yapping about it,” you chuckle at his comment, the humour of the joke distracting you from the flood of emotions that submerges you indefinitely. “I felt this way from the time we got assigned to work together. And, if maybe you had any reservations about us, I’d do whatever it takes so that they don’t exist because you’re what matters most and that will never change.”

No feeling can compare to this. It’s almost as if you’re experiencing the full spectrum of emotions for the first time, rejoicing in the sunshine Jack basks upon you in the wake of his confession. A mirage turned reality, the colours are bright and blinding and you’re so elated within yourself that you physically cannot do more than bring Jack’s hand to your cheek to kiss his palm. A confirmation that needs no words.

The warmth of his hand against your cheek melts you into his skin, eyelids falling shut as you revel in the tender caresses of his thumb, of his love and the unspoken words between you. A graze against your throat has your eyes fluttering open, lips parted as Jack secures his hand gently against the nape of your neck. A soft inhale escapes you as his thumb traces the corner of your mouth, dilated pupils flickering between your own and your lips.

“Can I-”

“Yes, please.”

A star is born at the centre of your lips as they fold over one another, blending seamlessly together as you move together in synchronised harmony. You taste the remnants of beer, inhale his musky cologne and send yourself flying into another universe as Jack holds you close for impact. All your brain knows to do is convey your sentiment tenfold, kissing him as if touch starved as your fingers thread through the curls of his hair. You commit this to memory - the slowness of the kiss, the scent of his apple shampoo and his curls around your fingers, the feathery feeling of your fluttering heart and the tenderness of your hearts beating as one. So sickeningly besotted with another that everything pales in comparison.

Reluctantly, you pull away from his soft lips when the shared oxygen between you two vanishes, eyes slow to open but ultimately capturing the part of Jack’s rouge lips that quiver in your wake, his gaze meeting yours moments later.

You kiss him again for good measure.

“Alright, horny bastards. Time’s up!” Cole’s voice thunders from beyond the door.

Lips still pressed against Jack’s, you both smile into one last kiss, just as sweet as the last. Jack savours it for what it’s worth, forehead pressed against yours as you two stand together, bruised chests aching with all the yearning that can fit into your palms.

“Consider me persuaded.”

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bwabys-scenarios · 7 months

Text

Anything for his mission

Camboy!Kurapika x Fem!Reader

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

warnings: consensually filming sex, handjob, mentions of pregnancy/breeding

A/N: Feel free to send camboy!Kurapika requests! Also, I posted this in my discord months ago. If you want to see more stuff like this, you should join! Here’s the link

taglist: @desiray562

if you would like to be added to the NSFW taglist, comment a ❤️!! make sure you have your AGE in your bio, and that you’re able to be tagged/mentioned!

Kurapika discovers that side of the internet one night when he’s researching a paper trail of some person different social media accounts.

He’s absolutely mortified at first. Immediately he’s shutting his laptop and glancing at a picture of you he keeps on his nightstand.

Kurapika hesitantly opens the laptop back up, sighing to himself. ‘I’ll just check out the information on that account then delete my search history.’

He doesn’t even know why he’s embarrassed and ashamed, it’s not like you and him are together. Why would you care if he’s visiting some adult website? He’s nearly 20 for gods sake!

He searches through the account, not finding anything to interesting… except that the person has a type.

Skinny blonde boys.

Kurapika blinks. The person he’d been researching had multiple pairs of the scarlet eyes, and so far he hadn’t been able to find any weaknesses in the persons defenses.

Maybe Kurapika would have to get creative…

You blink when Kurapika comes home with a box, not letting you look inside of. You become curious when he locks his door, leaving a “do not disturb” sign on the handle.

This curiosity peaks when you’re searching up some porn to get off to tonight. Despite your embarrassment, you look up people that look similar to your long term crush, Kurapika. He was just so pretty to you, after all, and you couldn’t get off if the person didn’t look like him :((

As you search one night, you come across an account with an awfully familiar username.

“Pika”

You stare at the name for a second, nearly laughing at yourself. “There’s no way, Kurapika would never-“

You click on the profile, and sure enough, from the lips down is YOUR Pika, sat shyly on his bed, jerking off.

He looked stiff, robotic almost. He couldn’t be enjoying himself, and you could see it in the uncomfortable grimace he was making.

The comments were telling him pretty much the same thing.

“Aww, come on pretty boy, give us a smile.”

“You look uncomfortable af”

You sigh, pulling your hands from your panties. Your poor, poor Pika. He had to be doing this for a reason, and it obviously wasn’t for his own pleasure.

You tiptoe to his room, thanking god that he had left his door unlocked. His back was turned from the door, and using In you were able to sneak up behind him.

“Pika, baby, let me help.”

He gasped when he felt your lips on his neck, the blondes face turning a dark shade of red. “(N-Name)!”

“I saw you were live. You know, if you asked I would have helped you out.”

He gasped when your hand wrapped around his length, thumb brushing against his tip. “Poor, poor Pika. Not used to jerking off, huh? Lemme help you feel good.”

The comments come pouring in, but neither of you cared. “Shh, just focus on how my hand feels, okay?”

He whimpered, and you kissed him, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth.

It didn’t take long for him to cum, painting his chest. You kissed his cheek, giggling at his spent expression.

You glanced at the comments, giggling.

“Oh god that was hot!”

“DOMINATE HIM!”

“I love blonde twinks”

“pretty cumshot 😩”

Kurapika cleared his throat, catching his breath. “Th-thank you all for coming.”

He ended the live stream, glancing back at you shyly. “I can explain.”

“You don’t have to, Pika. It’s none of my business what you do with your body.”

You kiss him again, this time the blonde realizes that you’re only wearing a pair on panties and a tanktop. His hands dip down to your waist. “I know, but I want to tell you.”

You sigh. “Sure, go ahead.”

As he shyly pulls down your panties, he continues. “Someone I’m trailing has… an interest in people that look like me.”

“Skinny, pale, blonde boys?”

Kurapika sighed at your words, pulling you into his lap. “Yes. And… I thought perhaps I could get closer to them through this… website.”

You hum, glancing back at his computer as you hover over his cock. “Why not livestream us having sex? That would get us a lot of views, possibly draw in the persons attention.”

He frowns. “I would prefer to keep love making with you intimate and in the bedroom…”

You cooed, kissing all over his face. “Aww, you’re such a cutie Pika. It’s just a suggestion, if you really don’t want to I understand.”

He held onto your hips, his cock twitching below you. “… if you think it’s a good idea, I won’t deny you.”

You laugh. “Alright. I’ll start the stream, okay?”

He nodded, barely holding himself back from pulling you onto his cock. The two of you had some sort of friends with benefits relationship that he wanted to take a step further, but was much too scared that you didn’t feel the same way he did.

“Hi everyone! As you can see, I’m about to get pounded by the lovely Pika!”

Kurapika turned red at your words, pulling you closer. “(Name)…”

He blinks, seeing the viewer count steadily rise. Kurapika does get a little pissed off at the comments, most of them talking about how much they wanted to fuck YOU.

“Ready, Pika?”

He growled, not giving you a second to think as he pushed your hips down. “Eep!”

Kurapika moved your hips up and down, moaning into your mouth. The chat was going WILD.

“YO don’t break her pussy bro 😭”

“twinks gone wild”

You gasp when you feel him pin you down onto the bed, glancing to the monitor to make sure you were still in view. Thankfully, Kurapika made sure neither of your faces would be visible, only your bodies.

“Love you… love you so so much…” he said as he pounded into your, occasionally dipping down to lock his lips with yours. You look up at him, face heating up.

“I-I love you too, Pika!”

Your words seem to affect him, making him go at an animalistic pace. Before long you can feel his cum filling you up, something he’d never done before. Kurapika had always pulled out, it was almost like he was telling you just how much he loved you by claiming your womb as his.

This continues for a while, Kurapika moving you into different positions, cooing soft praises into your ear and whispering ‘I love yous’.

Eventually the two of you collapse on the bed Kurapika reaching over to end the stream.

“Did… did you mean what you said earlier?”

He nods, pulling you into his chest. “Yes, every word.”

“Including the part where you were going to fuck me until I was pregnant?”

He stayed quiet, staring down at you with those pretty red eyes.

“Well… the thought of your stomach swelling with my seed, of you having my child…”

He kissed the top of your head. “It’s all I can think about.”

The two of you cuddle and fall asleep, forgetting about the whole reason you even started the stream earlier. Now, you were both ready to start a relationship, maybe even a family.

The next day, Kurapika is elated to see the person he’s tracking has followed his account.

“that livestream with the girl last night was hot! keep it up!”

‘It seems I’ll have to keep this up for a little while longer…’

If he kept streaming, maybe he could get closer to this person and get some valuable information…

He looks over to you, smiling as you make breakfast while he scrolls on his laptop.

“Angel, would you like to do another stream with me tonight?”

You turn, giving him a smile. “If it means I get to spend time with you, then yes!”

And he blushes, standing up to hug you from behind. “I love you…”

“I love you too!”

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aziraphales-library · 3 months

Note

I've been looking for some fics that are similar- or inspired by- it's a new craze by attheborder (on ao3), but haven't been able to find anything similar. do you have any recommendations? Thank you for running this amazing blog!

Similar in what way? We have a plentiful #social media tag you can browse. I found only a couple of fics featuring podcasts. Here they are along with a few more social media fics...

The Arrangement by apocryphalia (T)

After the failed apocalypse, Crowley convinces Aziraphale to start a historical podcast. Shenanigans ensue.

Paint a rainbow all around him by imaginary_glu (G)

Aziraphale takes up streaming. Crowley becomes "Mr. Teapot". They also really, really love each other, but that isn't new.

Read Between the Panels by comicgeekery (T)

Crowley is a big fan of Angel Reads, a niche podcast where a charming and snarky "Angel" gives his opinions on books he reads. Crowley's not a huge reader, but he likes the way Angel talks about the stories he loves. Meanwhile, Aziraphale isn't nearly as confident in real life as he seems on his show. It leaves him loved but still painfully lonely. One day a new Angel Reads episode comes out and Aziraphale insults books that Crowley actually really likes. It leaves Crowley mad enough that he actually writes in to complain...but it quickly turns into a playful, maybe even flirty, correspondence. It's not just heroes who have to be brave. Good thing these two have read enough stories to know how things go next!

Sin Pays But Botany Doesn’t by Anonymous (G)

After averting the apocalypse, Crowley is living in his car with a lot of free time on his hands. He posts a YouTube video talking about plants as a joke but finds internet famedom where a punchline should be. Being a YouTube botanist agrees with him, though. He likes talking about plants, and he usually doesn’t find many opportunities to do that outside of YouTube. So, Crowley adopts traveling the world in search of plants to film as a new hobby. Kept in the dark about this new hobby, Aziraphale, who is used to being Crowley’s sole object of attention and is unused to having to compete with anything for Crowley’s time, is curious about where Crowley goes when he’s not in London.

Press L in the Chat (for Love) by Phoenix_Soar (E)

Bickering fan-content creators Aziraphale and Crowley only have three things in common — they are both avid fans of a new revolutionary TV series about pirates, they are popular for their fantastic fanfiction and fanart… and they are members of the same discord server. Neither of them likes the other, but across the chaotic virtual world of a discord chatroom, who knows what can happen when these two unlikely fans are paired up for an exciting collaboration? Us. We know ;) Discord Server AU

And They Were Streamers by ghostrat (M) (WIP)

(Human) Twitch Streamer AU, as shared on Tumblr! Aziraphale and Crowley are two polar opposite Twitch streamers who are exceedingly popular in their own ways. Besides their moderators, no one watching would ever guess that they live together. Nor that their feelings run a whole lot deeper than friendship.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #social media #human au #mod d

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astraltrickster · 1 year

Text

What I love about the Goncharov meme is how willing most of us are to break kayfabe, because - on the surface level, it's kind, it gives people the opportunity to opt out if this just isn't good for them, and tells people - the secret is that there is no secret, that's the joke, hop right in with a "yes, and"; all are welcome. It's likely to confuse future media historians regardless.

But as someone who really enjoyed House of Leaves I also love it on a meta level because, we are essentially creating a spiritual adaptation of that book, blurring the line between meme and ARG...all based on a pair of shoes. It begs the question, then, what level of this layered narrative are we on, exactly?

I'm not the first person to compare Goncharov to The Navidson Record and I know I won't be the last. It's a very easy, obvious comparison to make - this legendary piece of lost media that everyone has an opinion on, but no one can confirm it's even real? Yeah, at this point in tumblr's collective consciousness, Goncharov is very much like that - the only difference being, we're on the same page and can agree that it's not real and never was.

Except we will place ourselves into a narrative such that it is real. It's an unspoken rule that even if you break kayfabe in other posts, even if you tag your Goncharov posts as "unreality" for accessibility (as you should, especially your original posts), you don't add to a Goncharov meta post, or fanfic, or fanart, in such a way as to even insinuate that Goncharov may not be a real movie. In this layer, that makes you the fool, the uncultured swine. Everyone's seen Goncharov! What do you mean you haven't even heard of it!? What do you mean you doubt it exists!? What rock have you been living under!? If someone earnestly asks what it is, it is to be answered elsewhere - in DMs, in an ask, over Discord, maybe in the replies, but not as an addition to the post that exists "in that reality".

There are a few things we tend to agree upon about Goncharov:

It is a work of fiction. The events of the movie did not occur in the universe - the narrative layer - where we discuss it as a real film.

As stated on the shoe label that created the meme, it is a film directed by Martin Scorsese, written by someone named Matteo JWHJ 0715 (sometimes also written as Matteo JWHJ0715 or Matteo jwhj0715), and it is a mafia movie - namely, it carries the lofty claim of being "The Greatest Mafia Movie Ever Made."

It is about the relationship between Russian and Italian mafia families, set in Naples.

This movie poster is the basis of the canon; the characters listed on it exist and are portrayed by the actors listed.

There is an additional character, Sofia, whose reasons for being omitted from the poster are unknown.

Katya and Goncharov are married; this likely at least started as merely a marriage of convenience, but the full nature of their relationship is hotly debated in a way that highlights many common views of tumblr shipping culture¹.

Katya eventually betrays Goncharov, leading to his death at the end of the film.

There is significant homoerotic subtext between Andrey/Goncharov and Katya/Sofia, much of which plays into the film's themes; however, contrary to the impressions often given by tumblr's fandom culture, it is all subtextual, and while the relationships between Andrey, Goncharov, Katya, and Sofia can be read as significant drivers of the plot, they are far from being the central focus of the story.

Clocks are a major recurring visual symbol.

There is a pivotal "boat scene".

Most other details, however, are left to whoever is currently "analyzing" it. For instance, while many on Archive Of Our Own agree that the character of "Ice Pick Joe" definitely died in the end, with "no beta we die like Ice Pick Joe" being a popular tag for Goncharov fanfiction, at least one early tumblr post implies that the character's fate is undetermined.

The Goncharov meme is simultaneously a love letter to tumblr's fan culture, and a scathing critique thereof², but one of the most underappreciated fascinating things about it is that it forms a nested narrative.

On the innermost layer, we have the unreachable - the film itself. No one has seen it. No one ever will. We're all just trying to imagine it from the shadows on the cave wall. Maybe one day we'll create it, but it will still never truly be the original 1973 film we're all writing about. Making it even harder to recreate and make "real", the mythology includes alternate cuts and regional edits to reconcile the plot points written by different users that undeniably contradict each other.

On the next layer outward, we have the posts about the film. The deep meta. The fanart. The fanfiction. The content "from another universe" where Goncharov is a real classic film that everyone has seen. The layer where we don't break kayfabe. This is a layer we can see the reality of, and contribute to, but never truly live in - it is an imaginary construct. Or is it? The film we're writing about may not exist, but the story we're weaving together from these roleplay writing exercises is somewhat coherent, and the thousands upon thousands of words of meta and fanfiction we write about it are real; one could make a compelling argument that even if Goncharov the film does not exist, the Goncharov fandom is a real fandom. This layer is one foot in the real world, and one foot in a fictional one.

On the next layer, we have the posts about the meme. This can be definitively stated to be real, with no caveats. Posts that discuss how the meme reflects on fan culture, about the self-referential nature of the meme, about the little aspects of online fandom culture it plays with. This is the first layer that can fully be said to be rooted exclusively in the real world.

But even on a layer beyond that, we have posts such as this one, discussing the discussion of the fandom for the fake film - and on yet another layer beyond that (or is it the same one?), we have the future speculation. We have guesses as to what future historians will think of this phenomenon. We have discussions of the precarious and transient nature of information online, questions about what parts of this meme will be archived and which ones will disappear. Will there be historians desperately searching for this alleged lost classic in 50 years? Will it be assumed that the shoes that started the meme were actually a piece of promotional merchandise for a real classic film?

You may notice, then, that the innermost layers are discrete, but once you get into the layers that exist in our reality, they become markedly less so.

This model gives us a structure that can be visualized somewhat like this:

[Image ID: a diagram of 5 concentric circles. The centermost circle is colored in dark red with a thick black outline and labeled "Goncharov (1973 film) - fictional, unreachable, unviewable". The next circle outward is colored in pink, with a thinner black outline, and is labeled "Goncharov fan discussion". The next circle is colored in light gold, with a black outline that blurs into the next circle, labeled "Discussion of the Goncharov fan discussion". The next layer is colored in light green, with a dark outline blurred so thoroughly that its only purpose is to provide some visual contrast for clarity of labeling, labeled "Discussion of all previous layers; note the blurring of the line between this layer and the previous". Finally, the outermost layer is colored in light blue, with a solid black outline, labeled "Speculation about the future's view of the Goncharov meme, including roleplay as lost media enthusiasts and media studies professors 50-100 years in the future". End ID.]

In fact, there are several rules the Goncharov meme has come to follow:

As stated above, any given post is constrained to its narrative layer, to the extent that those layers are discrete. Posts about Goncharov as a real film are not to have additions that break kayfabe. Similarly, posts about Goncharov as a meme are not to have anyone insist the film is real. This may be subject to change as the meme evolves, but it is the rule as of the time of this writing.

You may not add to a post to contradict a claim about the factual nature of what happened on screen, even if it directly contradicts a previous post of yours³. You are, however, encouraged to dispute its implications and get creative to try and reconcile the contradictions. The only exception is in the form of responding to a meme with another extant meme format (e.g., "I get what you're going for OP but x very much did y")

Posts about Goncharov the film are to be treated exactly the same way you would post about a real piece of media. Analysis is to be taken seriously, using real analytical frameworks and devices. Memes are to use real formats. Fanart and fanfiction are to have just as much effort put into their crafting as you would give any real piece of media.

Complaining about bad readings that do not exist, but you imagine someone might make, is encouraged.

You cannot break these rules. Not "you may not", but "you cannot". It is not possible. You can try. You will fail. Your posts breaking these rules will never gain traction, or if they do, they will do so only after being added to in order to make it fit them. The narrative is hungry. You cannot engage it without being absorbed into it. Your only escape is to walk away and not look back⁴.

In other words, the Goncharov meme is not just a meditation on fan culture, but a demonstration and discussion of the intricacy of the relationship between fiction and reality.

House of Leaves is beloved for its complex nested narrative, and again, the comparison is a common one. However, there is a subtle and potentially unsettling difference - House of Leaves did not include its author or its readers nearly as thoroughly as the Goncharov meme does. House of Leaves was written from outside the narrative; the legend of Goncharov is being written from within.

Every single person who blogs about Goncharov makes themself into a character in this story.

The narrative layers in House of Leaves bleed into each other to give a sense of mystery as to what is real and what is not in the universe(s) of the novel. The narrative layers in the Goncharov mythos bleed into each other because we traverse them freely - from the fictional reviews and retellings and analysis, to the semi-fictional drawing of comparisons to real media and the use of this nonexistent movie as a low-stakes vehicle to lightheartedly air one's real complaints with fan culture, to the fully-grounded discussion of Goncharov's impact as a meme, to the philosophical discussion of its multi-layered nature, to the once-again-fictional speculation of how it will be viewed in the future - the same person can visit any of these layers.

But their impact will always be bound by each layer's internal rules, because building a legend - a narrative - will not allow for anything else.

Goncharov does not exist. Goncharov is a narrative labyrinth that contains us all. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE ITS NARRATIVE.

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

1. Tumblr shipping culture is as much of a microcosm of queer studies as it is of media analysis. It, like the Goncharov meme, operates on a minimum of two levels: the level of analyzing a story for potential queer readings, namely in the form of romantic relationships, and opportunities for transformative work; and the level of sociopolitical discussion of queer issues and stereotypes, and how they are reflected in media and the discussion thereof; the latter, particularly, in the form of intracommunity disputes and lateral aggression. For example, the dispute over the nature of Goncharov and Katya's marriage and its level of sincerity is implied in some posts to occasionally cross the line into bisexual erasure. While at the time of the Goncharov meme's emergence in 2022, the discourse within this subculture is much more civil than it once was, it is still very much an environment that stands as a constant reminder that there is no such thing as a truly apolitical space.

Of course, most everyone on this website knows that by now, right?

2. This meme comes at a time when a lot of us are terrified of going back to the way things used to be in tumblr fan discourse. We all joke about the Hamilton HIV fanfic catfish, or The JohnLock Conspiracy, or any number of other major scandals now that they're over; they are hilarious in hindsight, but it's all too easy to lose track of the fact that the human toll at the time was real. DashCon is a joke to most, but I've personally met more than one well-meaning volunteer who ended up with PTSD from dealing with attendees who thought even the volunteers were in on an intentional scam. We laugh at the absurdity of the incident known as Boneghazi, but it doesn't take away the fact that there are still people in Louisiana wondering if their relatives were the ones whose bones were stolen and offered up for sale online - though that one was only tangentially related to fandom, it's from the same broad sitewide culture. People have been stalked, harassed, doxxed, psychologically abused to the point of hospitalization and even suicide, there are even rumors of assaults over disagreements about which show is better, or which fictional characters have the best relationships. It's all petty, all funny in hindsight - but the human toll is real.

I got caught in an incident myself once*, before the porn ban. There was one guy, they and some real life friends of theirs got into my circle of friends in a roleplay community in the ■■■■■■■ fandom. They seemed nice enough. Normal enough. We had a few good chats. They played the same character I did, among a few others. Had a fun little concept we were throwing back and forth to start a thread with the doubled character. Accidental cloning due to a computer error, it was going to be.

Everything fell apart when a new ■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■ dropped. It gave us a nice scene of the most popular "ship" in the fandom - one that had been teased since day 1, and of course when it got attention the company wanted to milk it for all it was worth. This guy originally seemed cool with the ship, even though they didn't like it much; they preferred to pair one of the characters off with their self-insert OC. It was all a peaceful difference of opinion for a while, but after this ■■■■■■ dropped and people were excited about the scene, they went berserk. My then-boyfriend's ex started getting anonymous messages imitating him. My inbox started filling up with threats. Some of my more casual acquaintances started confronting me over threats they thought I sent. Meanwhile, this guy was melting down on main about how everyone had "betrayed" them. I found myself blocked by our mutual friends who this guy knew in real life - it turned out, because they were telling them that I was sending them hate and threats. "Someone" tried to convince my then-boyfriend to doxx someone adjacent to the circle for "abuse". I started getting hate messages that hit some of my deepest insecurities and almost ■■■ ■■ ■■ ■■■■■■ - the only reason I ended up okay was because I figured it out, because I realized this guy was the one doing all of it, and they were mining for ammo from our mutual friends.

All of this because a bunch of people, mostly strangers, were happy about the ■■■■■■. Because of a fictional relationship. Their fixation on me was just because we played the same character but liked different ships, and I was a little more known in the fandom. This wasn't even on a website where people could see follower counts, it was right here on tumblr, so they had to be pretty obsessive to figure that out in the first place.

Eventually the friends they lied about me to caught on and left them, but not before they stole a bunch of said friends' stuff. Last I checked on them, it was 2 years since the incident, and they were still melting down on main about how anyone who liked that ship was evil. By that point they had convinced themself that the entire fandom for that ship was a campaign to harass and persecute them personally; that there was no other reason to like it.

The last thing I head about them was that they had stabbed a family member over this and some other personal drama and gotten banned from Twitter and a few conventions for making violent threats toward artists and cosplayers. I don't dare look back anymore.

*Editors' note: Some details have been altered or redacted to protect the ignorant.

3. Ironically, this is one of the few tells that Goncharov is not an extant piece of media. In fandoms for real media, it is fairly common for details to be misremembered and corrections to be made.

4. "Don't look back", of course, is easier said than done. We must recall the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. Orpheus, despondent at the loss of his love, arranged to be allowed into the underworld to bring her back to life, but there was one condition; one tiny, seemingly simple condition - he must not look at her until they were both back in the light. If he did, she would be dragged back and lost forever; he would not get a second chance.

Like many myths, the details vary from telling to retelling. Some say that she was never made aware of the rule and cried out in terror as her husband refused to look at her, and almost instinctively he turned to comfort her. Some say that he fell victim to almost a form of muscle memory in mid-ascent when he turned to make sure she was okay. Some say that his desire to see her again sooner rather than later was just too strong and outweighed his resolve and common sense screaming for him to hold to the condition. Some say that he turned as soon as he was in the light, blissfully unaware until it was too late that she was still in the dark.

Whatever the reason, Orpheus looked back.

There is no version of the story where he succeeded in not looking back. The narrative will not let him not look back. The myth has no room for an Orpheus who is successful.

He cannot escape the myth.

He cannot escape the narrative.

Orpheus will always look back.

#goncharov #unreality #heavier unreality warning than your typical goncharov post #i freaked myself out with this #so if you like horror about the nature of narrative please read this and make it worth it!#house of leaves #memeology #internet culture #astral originals

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accio-victuuri · 6 months

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AIRPORT CLUES. 🕵️‍♀️ ( i’m labeling it as this instead of actual cpn cause most of these are speculation & imagination. lol. but some of these may be relevant at some point. who knows. )

I personally think these bits don’t hold that much weight, but who am I to judge? I’ve been here for years and there are things that I ignored but turned into big cpns— days, months or years later. so i will just archive it here for safe keeping. lol.

What XZ is doing in Shanghai is still not known. It’s still melons that he will go to film overseas or will he stay in SH to do work cause most of his days are him shooting LOCH. Whatever it is, XZ and his team wants people to know that he is in Shanghai. We know that XZ can go incognito if he wants too, so the fact that he goes out dressed in Tod’s ( coat, shows and bag ) says something. He wants to be seen. He even shared a selfie.

So anyway… let’s start with his jeans…

The way he is wearing wide legged pants, similar to what WYB did during IQIYI scream night. That’s actually the first thing I noticed. 👀👀👀

( a compilation of some of their matching clothes // source )

I read somewhere that this is apparently something trendy nowadays so maybe it’s not just them. But it is nice seeing them wearing something of the same style days from each other. Tho XZ also wore something kinda similar in his GUCCI horseshoe campaign ; maybe it could be inspired from that too?

I see some folks says that some 🍤🍤🍤 were apparently bashing WYB for wearing that kind of jeans @ IQIYI but then XZ shows up in public with the same style. I also don’t see any wardrobe account tagging the jeans. why tho. does no one really know? What if it’s Chanel? LOL! I doubt it.

There is conversation about the difference between their clothes going to the airport. WYB was wearing very light clothing and XZ was bundled up. It’s like him following WYB’s reminder that the weather is cooling down and YBo saying to wear more clothes.

He was also holding a new phone, iphone 15 pro but he is still using a phone case with a card pocket ( this is a very famous cpn. I feel like at this point, most bxgs should know what the cpn is around this phone case ). And this too, idk what is the significance but in case. He’s such an apple fanboy 😂😂😂

Now let’s talk about the selfie.

I didn’t expect him to share it lol. You can say that maybe—

1. He wants to share a selfie to fans cause his airport video and him going to SH went on weibo hot search.

2. Some sort of celebration that he is off filming LOCH for now and he is free ( not really tho cause he still got to work )

A key thing here is it was taken much earlier than it was posted. Which is not really suspicious if you think about it. Not everyone posts selfies in real time. However, it’s a common CPN among turtles that most of the time what we get are leftovers. Meaning they take it for personal use or send it to each other. So this was allegedly taken along with other selfies to report to WYB. This is kinda believable knowing that they were both in BJ together but now XZ has to leave.

My favorite tho is how this selfie kinda echoes WYB’s. You can’t see his face. Thank you for letting us see his eyes tho 🥹🥹🥹

Are you learning from your gremlin boyfriend? 🤣🤣

That’s all for now. I know this post is crossing the line into “making everything into CPN” and I am very aware of that. We will see how relevant these can be in the future. 💛

-END.

#bjyx #yizhan #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

Text

Pink Scarf - PART 16 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Rough SEXXX. Restraints. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: Woo, boy, y'all. Get yourselves ready, cuz the snowball is rollin' and the shit storm is comin'. This part is a little bit of everything--a little sweet, a little salty, a little smutty. It's what y'all deserve!

For the flashback, I had E's 1960 It Feels So Right playing in my head on repeat, so if you are one who likes music to set the mood, then you might give it a listen before/during/after you read that part!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

Graceland, Christmas 1960

The mansion is finally quiet, or at least you’ve managed to find a quiet part of it in the midst of all the holiday revelry. Elvis loves Christmas, and this is his first one home in two years. And the first one without Gladys.

You had thought that maybe his grief would make the holiday a more solemn affair, but he’s gone in the opposite direction. It’s as though his loss has fueled him to make Christmas as joyful as humanly possible. Even though he’s been away filming for most of the month, he still directed the mansion should be decked out in all the Christmas finery for his return. And so it is.

You wish you were more in the spirit to enjoy it. Usually, you would be—Christmas is one of your favorite times of the year—but this year it sits heavy for you. Heavy because if all had gone well, you’d be sharing it with your newborn baby.

The thought brings you to tears again.

You’ve been hiding your grief as much as possible, sliding on a quaint smile, singing carols, and making cookies with the rest of them, but in these solitary moments, you grieve. You cannot help it. You know it’s futile and silly. How can you grieve someone who barely even existed, someone who was never born? And yet, here you are, alone, sitting in a quiet corner of the house at the piano, a couple of glasses too many of champagne in, being sad over what could have been.

So you begin to play. You know practically every carol and hymn by heart, so you just close your eyes and let the music take you away. It doesn’t erase your grief, but it does help you let it out in some way. You barely notice the tears rolling down your cheeks as you play Away In A Manger and What Child Is This?. You let the dramatic chords of O Holy Night linger in the air at the push of the pedals.

And after a bit of playing, that image of a baby in your arms feels fuzzy and faraway. Or maybe that’s the champagne. Maybe it’s both.

The air shifts. You notice it but play on anyway. You’re not sure how, but you are able to sense him, his presence, his essence, as it pushes in around you. But he remains quiet, and your eyes remain closed as your hands continue to fly over the keys.

Elvis does not interrupt, he only watches. You’re not sure why. You feel as though he barely speaks to you anymore. Yes, he is away and busy and all the usual excuses. But he used to seek you out when he returned. He’d bring you silly little trinkets and sing to you and tell you stupid, off-color jokes.

Now, since that horrible day in March, it’s as though an invisible wall has come between you two, and you don’t understand why. It’s nothing overt—he treats you kindly in the group and doesn’t outwardly ignore you. But something significant has changed, you swear it. Perhaps it is your ultimate failure as a woman that has turned him away. Or maybe with the explosion of his stardom since returning from Germany, he just doesn’t have time for you anymore. Maybe it has nothing to do with you at all; maybe he’s just a different man now.

Your tears of grief now include the loss of him, too. Losing your friend is heartbreaking in its own right, much less coupled with the loss of your child, of your fertility. It doesn’t help that Jack has been gone with Elvis on his travels and feels distant, too. You’d initially thought the space would be good for you two, but instead you just feel achingly lonely.

God, you wish you’d never been pregnant at all, as all it seemed to bring you is heartache.

You stop playing and open your eyes. The room is dim, lit only by one of the many Christmas trees in the house, but when you turn towards the door, Elvis is still there, his blue eyes shining with emotion as he leans in the doorway. The man looks ready to weep, which takes you by surprise, as he’s only shown enthusiasm and excitement since being home. You recognize the look though: it’s grief and melancholy, similar to your own.

Then Elvis looks at you unabashedly for a moment, almost like he is really, truly seeing you for the first time in months. The air sits heavy and silent. You don’t bother wiping the tears off your cheeks, though your heart races a bit. Must be the champagne, you think. It certainly isn’t the way he is looking at you now, how you are being laid bare and vulnerable by his intense gaze.

Something builds between you, though you are not exactly sure what, and he suddenly straightens and crosses the room to you. He towers over you now at the end of the piano bench and an overwhelming need to be near him comes over you. It’s as though you are both magnetized to each other, so when he holds out his hand, you cannot help but take it. The warmth of his hand surrounds yours as he pulls you up and into his waiting arms.

You fold into him, your arms tucked into your chest and your head buried into his collarbone as he wraps his arms around you. His spicy, distinct scent surrounds you and his warmth engulfs you and you cannot help the sob that escapes you at the comfort of it.

Elvis holds you close and lets you cry, and you feel his chest shudder and his breath hitch as though he is as emotional as you are. His mother, you think; he’s been hiding his grief as you’ve been hiding yours. You can feel the wetness of his tears against your temple as they run down his face and onto yours, and this prompts you to unfold your arms and wrap them around his torso, comforting him as he is comforting you.

He sways you, moving to the unheard music you assume is always playing in his mind, and pressed against him like this, you can feel the quick and steady beat of his heart pounding in his chest. You don’t remember the last time you were this close to him. He feels bigger, broader than the boy who went to Germany, but is no less Elvis. His sensitive spirit is the same after all.

You are not sure how long you sway there, crying in each other’s arms at your respective losses. But you know it’s more than just that. You know because as your tears start to ebb and you move back the slightest bit, he grabs your hand and pulls you in close, unwilling to part with you. He dances with you now, slowly pulling you back into his silent rhythm.

And you let him. You let his hand clasp yours and he draws it over his heart, holding it there. His heart beats quicker, you think. It’s too intimate now, the way his warm, damp cheek presses to yours, the saltiness of your tears mixing and binding your grief together. The air shifts again, still heavy and thick, but with a million unsaid words hanging there in the silence.

Your heart skips, flutters, and your breath catches. You’re not exactly sure what is happening. But you still let him hold you and sway you in slow circles. His hand splays hot on your lower back, burning through you, setting your body aflame in a way you don’t understand.

But you are a few glasses in and on a roller coaster of emotion and right now the feel of his strong, lean body pressed against yours makes you feel alive in a certain kind of way. You’ve been lonely and you’ve missed him more than you thought. It’s almost as if this is a silent plea for forgiveness from him.

Yes, that’s all it is.

You feel hyperaware of him and his closeness, so when Elvis nuzzles his head against the side of yours, you feel breathless. Your mouth pops open with a puff which, considering his proximity, he must feel, but he does not stop, and you cannot help the way you return the gesture in kind.

His breath is warm in your ear, and you can feel the softness of his lips brush against it, sending a decidedly inappropriate cascade of shivers dancing through you.

Oh, god.

Involuntarily, your hand contracts in his, your nails scraping lightly at his button-down shirt. Elvis presses your palm down onto his heart in response. You feel out of control, completely at his mercy, knowing this is too much, too close, too intimate but you can’t seem to stop, intoxicated by his strength, his affection, his essence.

Elvis’ still-damp cheek lingers against your own, and he presses his forehead gently to yours with a soft sigh. Then he pulls back slowly, just far enough to look at you, and you feel knocked over by his pure beauty. Honestly, you feel absolutely heady as you threaten to tip over and lose yourself in those churning, deep blue eyes of his. And, boy, they are churning, with things you can’t quite grasp. You watch as they search your face, his impossibly long lashes punctuating their every slow move. Holding your breath, your heart speeds up ever faster, and you wonder what it is he seeks in you.

Your sadness and grief feel far away now as he plunders your soul, his gaze so alluring that you cannot even begin to piece through what is going on in any sort of logical way. You don’t understand any of it. All you know is you want more, and that feels forbidden in every way.

As if reading your thoughts somehow, his lips part. His eyes flutter down your face and land at your mouth. A shock runs through you as you think Elvis just might kiss you, and that terrifies you, not just because it would be crossing a line but because in this moment you want him to.

You want to feel his lips soft and sweet against you, then crushing into you. You want his body passionately pressed into yours as you cling to each other in the sparkling light of the Christmas tree. You want his large hands roaming your curves. You want to feel the strands of his dark hair between your fingers as you tug him closer. You want him to make you forget everything but the taste and feel of him.

These wants flash through you in an instant, shocking your system because he is so close that you almost can taste him and panic shoots through you. Never have you let your thoughts truly drift to that place with him, and opening that door feels very dangerous. Suddenly, with a wave of absolute certainty, an intuition you cannot explain at all exclaims that Elvis wants you more than anything in this world.

And that makes you gasp and pull away.

That cannot possibly be true. Nothing about the way he’s acted this past year supports that but something inside you screams that it’s real. It makes no sense. None of it makes any sense.

Elvis blinks and shakes his head as though snapping himself out of a daze. His hand falls from your waist, the spell broken. The soulful look in his eyes flashes with what almost seems like hurt, then apology, then regret. Without a single word, he turns and leaves.

Your heart plummets for reasons you don’t understand.

You must be confused. You are drunk. You are emotional. You couldn’t possibly have read the situation correctly. And yet the feelings awakened in your body surprise you and the look in his eyes haunts you as you sink back onto the piano bench, left alone in the silence.

Your eyes pop open at the memory. You had been very drunk that night and hadn’t remembered that moment until this very minute, yet another hidden facet of your long and suddenly complex relationship with your friend making itself known. Elvis had continued to keep his distance from you after that Christmas and had never even alluded to such an intimate moment happening, so you’d had no reason to think anything strange had happened at all. In hindsight, it seems awfully significant and feels like yet another thing he’s keeping from you.

Running it through your mind again, you swear he’d almost kissed you that night or at least had wanted to, which is shocking to you because 1960 was a long time ago. Still more shocking was that certainty you’d had about him wanting you more than anything, which couldn’t possibly be true.

Could it?

You shake off the thought. Emotions were high for both of you that night, and he obviously had thought better of it, but still…that prickle at the back of your mind keeps gnawing at you, those pieces of the puzzle attempting to slot into place. Maybe if you weren’t so damn tired and emotionally spent, you’d be able to figure out what your mind is trying to tell you. Maybe if your body wasn’t still aching with the memory of losing your child and almost dying, you’d be able to think clearly.

And your conversation with Sandy also sits uneasily in your mind. Running away ain’t gonna solve anything, her voice echoes in your head. You wish you had the strength she hoped you did, the strength to tell Jack to fuck off, to tell Elvis how you really feel, but it all feels so overwhelmingly insurmountable that you can barely even entertain the thought.

Heart pounding and wheels turning, you know sleep is out of the question and sit up in the bed. You get up and busy yourself instead. You feel as though you are racing the clock. It doesn’t take long to pack your bag, and while you are not frantic, you are determined. Mentally, you are ready to go. You have to go.

Unfortunately, things are not working out as you hoped they would. When the concierge calls you back with your fight arrangements, he informs you that there are no flights out of Vegas until 7:30am tomorrow morning. It being a Sunday night and with such short notice, there were no seats headed back east to be had. You thank him and reply that of course the morning flight would be acceptable before you set the receiver back on the hook and let out an aggravated scream.

You need out now. You are half inclined to rent a car and drive back to Memphis, but you know that is a terrible idea for a variety of reasons, namely being that you had no idea how to get to Memphis from here and being alone on the road for so long with no preparation sounded dangerous.

Fine, you think, I can make it through the night. I should tell Elvis in person anyway.

The thought makes your stomach churn because you know he will not be happy with this development. You’d rather not see the look on his face, but you also know it is the right thing to do. You just need to steel yourself to see your decision through and not be swayed by his charms.

Easier said than done.

And it doesn’t help that you are running on fumes and adrenaline. With everything that happened last night, the only sleep you’ve had was on the roof and that was short-lived and filled with nightmares. You took a shower after getting back to the room, but your mind is spinning too much to sleep, plagued with returning memories and creeping doubt.

You decide to get ready for the show as originally planned. It’ll be easier to gain access to Elvis between shows to talk if you do so. You dress accordingly, carefully putting on your makeup and doing your hair up nicely to give yourself as much confidence as possible. After repacking your toiletries, you grab your clutch and see the silky pink scarf folded neatly inside.

It takes only a moment for you to decide to put it around your neck. It’ll guarantee that Elvis will make time to see you, and you try not to shiver at the fact that the last time you wore this scarf, it led to a decidedly different outcome than it will tonight. The thought sends both warmth to your core and dread into your heart. You don’t want to leave him.

But I have to.

You shift your thoughts instead to Red, wondering and fearing whatever he might have planned. You don’t know if he is planning to sit on the information he gleaned from your leaving Elvis’ suite this morning, or if he is looking to cause mayhem immediately, though considering Jack has not burst in angrily, you don’t think anything has been said yet.

Either way, you have to warn E, and you have to get the hell out before the shit hits the fan.

The afternoon quickly turns to evening, and you pump yourself up on the way downstairs, despite the nausea in your stomach, the exhaustion in your body, and the ache in your heart. Now that you are somewhat a part of the show, it is easy to get backstage, and while you’re not sure how you are going to be able to wait the few hours the show will take, you continually remind yourself that this is what you must do. You have no choice.

But I do, I do have a choice, a pesky little voice chimes in. Stay.

Shut up.

By the time Elvis makes his way backstage, you feel like you’re about to jump out of your skin. The way his bright eyes light up when he sees you and then how they flash heat when he sees the pink silk knotted around your neck fills you with both desire and anxiety. Being near him weakens your resolve because his charismatic energy rolls over you even from this distance, and he just looks so damn good in that white suit of his, but you knew that this would test you. You force what you hope is a normal a smile, but you see a look of confusion flash over his pretty face before his usual pre-show nerves take over. But he does not come over to you, for which you are grateful.

The show begins with the usual fanfare, and you are surprised that even with everything going on in your head (or perhaps because of it), you still get swept up in the music, still sing the parts quietly that you have so diligently practiced. Regret hits you from another angle, one you did not anticipate. In leaving Vegas, you’ll also be leaving this—the show, the music.

Doubt creeps in in earnest throughout the show, putting your nerves even more on edge. You don’t really want to leave this opportunity, but the problem is you don’t think you have the fortitude to stay and to be able to resist Elvis.

The curtain closes and Elvis is surrounded, soaked with sweat, riding that post-show high that makes him nearly glow from the inside out. He wipes his face with the towel someone has draped over him, and you watch as he pulls Jerry aside with a glint in his eye, presumably to arrange your meet with him. But Jerry leans back and whispers something into E’s ear and that handsome face clouds with dark emotion. Then Elvis finds you past the crowd and his eyes lock on and you know. You know he knows by the hurt and angry look in his piercing blue eyes.

Sandy.

Goddammit.

As Elvis stalks over to you, pushing through musicians and instruments, it’s evident that Sandy has betrayed you. She told Jerry. And whether she meant for him to tell Elvis, you do not know, but your heart speeds up as Elvis crosses the backstage area in long, quick strides, with a wounded and feral look in his eyes that frightens you. It is not at all the same as the jealousy from the night prior; no, this is damage done on another scale.

You cannot help but back up as he approaches, nearly falling back over your chair, but he is on you in an instant, grabbing your arm firmly with one hand and your waist with the other, seemingly uncaring of the confused looks of his entourage that has been left behind so uncharacteristically. Luckily, Jack is nowhere to been seen, but you catch Red’s smirk before Elvis manhandles you into the hallway.

He doesn’t speak, not yet, though you see his brewing temper play over his face. Your heart drops because it is so obvious how you’ve truly hurt him, and he practically carries you back to the dressing room so quickly that you barely have time to register what that means. Once inside, he releases you and you tumble forward before he slams the door with too much force and flicks the lock.

As you straighten, you attempt to brace yourself for what you think you know is coming. Your nerves are on pins and needles, and you can’t help the lightheaded feeling that comes over you as you watch him fume. His chest heaves with both the exertion from his performance and his building fury, which makes for a dangerous combination.

You realize too late that perhaps you didn’t think this through.

“Is it true?” Elvis growls, rounding on you. “Are you trying to leave?” The pain is palpable in his stormy eyes and is layered with indignation.

The words catch in your throat. You finally force yourself to nod, attempting to find your voice in the meantime.

“What the fuck, y/n? What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” his voice raises, as he paces the room like a caged animal. His eyes are icy now, glaring at you in such a way that you feel it to your toes. His white suit clings to him with the moisture of his sweat, which gleams off his tan skin, distracting you.

You finally find your voice. “I’m leaving, Elvis. For my sake and for yours,” you breathe out. Your heart threatens to shatter at the words.

“The fuck you are,” he flips back at you.

“Excuse me?” you huff.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, honey,” he points at you sternly.

“That’s not up to you,” you sputter, blinking rapidly.

“The hell it ain’t,” he glares.

Elvis’ eyes flash and he advances towards you. Your heart thunders in your ears and you counter backwards until he has your back against the wall. He grabs your chin with his hand, his rings cutting into you.

“I thought I fucked some sense into you last night, but it seems I fucked it out of you instead,” he purrs dark and low, but it is laced with threat.

You hold back a groan at his words. The sound of his voice and the look on his gorgeous face as he rakes his eyes over you sends both dread and heat through you all at once. You should have known he’d put up a fight. This is why you’d wanted to leave right away. Resisting him feels insane and futile.

“E, Red knows. He caught me coming out of your room this morning, and I just know he’s gonna make trouble,” you ramble out, trying to skirt around him. He boxes you in with his arms.

“Fuck Red. I’ll take care of him,” Elvis spits, eyes flashing but barely giving it a second thought because his sole focus is you. Then you see him eyeing his scarf around your neck. Wordlessly, slowly, he unties it, his calloused fingers brushing the skin of your neck and making you shiver. “Now tell me why you’re really leavin’, honey,” he commands, but the lilt in pitch betrays his sensitivity to those who know him well enough. And you do.

Oh, god, the way his smokey eyes bore into you, intoxicate you, has you frozen and your mouth dry. All the words you prepared to say are gone in an instant. You can’t tell him everything (you can’t), but his hurt and his need to dominate you because of it drives his actions, and you know he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.

“Hmm,” he shakes his head, a darkness overcoming him. “Guess I gotta find another way to get it out of you. Give me your hands,” he orders. You are caught in his gaze and feel powerless to deny him. Begrudgingly, you obey, holding out your hands.

You watch as he ties one end of the silky scarf to your left wrist. It’s tight, but not uncomfortable. Your brow furrows in confusion as he pulls your arms up, and it is then that you notice the bar, which must be used as a clothing rack, attached to the wall above your head.

Your eyes widen and your heart thunders in your chest. “Elvis, what’re you doing?” you squeak out as he wraps the scarf over the bar and attaches it tightly to your other wrist. Your arms are loose and your feet remain planted on the floor, as the bar is not that high up, but you are effectively trapped.

“Well, honey, you keep tryin’ to run away from me and I need answers,” he glowers, amusement playing under his anger.

“Goddammit, this isn’t funny, let me go!” you say shrilly, yanking your arms but only succeeding in making the scarf tighter around your wrists.

“No, you’re right, it ain’t funny at all. Were you just gonna steal away in the dead of night without talkin’ to me?” he asks, the hurt back in his voice.

“No, I…no, that’s not what I wanted…” But it is almost what you did, and he seems to know it.

His eyes flash with realization at your unspoken words, then narrow as he moves closer. You look away, shamed. He grabs your chin again, his rings cold against your skin, and forces you to look at him.

“You are all I’ve been able to concentrate on, ya know that? You’re all I fuckin’ think about. I want you. I want you to be with me. Be with me.” He says it like a pleading promise and a stark demand all at once.

Oh, Jesus, it makes you ache for him in every way. You can feel your resolve crumbling around you, all your reasons for leaving melting into a puddle at your feet.

“We can’t Elvis. We can’t keep doing this. I’m losing my mind,” you say but Elvis has his head buried in your neck now, his lips and tongue dragging across your skin and setting your entire body aflame. Resisting him is like resisting gravity—an impossible feat.

“Why would you do this to me, lil’ mama?” he whispers in your ear, his hand brushing away your hair so his breath tickles against you. The sensation immediately has your body at attention, like a switch has been flipped. Your nerves tingle, your nipples stand at attention with just the temptation of that raspy baritone.

Despite yourself, despite the angel on your shoulder screaming at you, once again, that this is a bad idea, your mouth pops open with a sigh. His other hand cups your cheek as his lips travel over your face, so close that those long, dark lashes brush against you in their wake. This sends another thrill of sensation through you.

It’s agonizing that you can’t touch him, which you know is exactly the point.

Elvis presses you against the wall, and his thumb is dragging slowly over your bottom lip. It takes everything you have to not disintegrate right there and then. The way he makes you feel—it’s like you have no sense of reality when around him like this. He is your drug of choice. And you keep coming back to him again and again.

“Tell me why you don’t want me,” he asks in a boyish whisper, his bedroom eyes deadly serious, filled with anger and hurt and need and lust. All for you. Only Elvis could look so entirely innocent and completely sinful all at once.

His words cut you, as you think he intended. You wish you could make him understand, but your breathing is fast, too fast. You are dizzy from the scent of him, all sweat and musk. He’s dripping with it. Your eyes roll back.

“Dammit, E, of course I want you,” you breathe, “but when we get caught, which we are seconds away from, I’m the one who’s life blows up. I’m the one who’ll have to face the consequences. It all comes back on me, and…I don’t have anything without Jack.” You can’t let yourself forget it.

The way Elvis looks at you now is fierce. He grabs both of your cheeks roughly, his hands like fire against them.

“Baby, you have me, you’ll always have me. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens.”

The sentiment hits you sideways, flooring you. He’s staring at you so intensely you feel completely gone, weak. There is nothing else but him.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathes seductively, nuzzling your nose. “Let me be your everything.”

Oh, sweet lord…

“Elvis…” His name escapes you like a hushed prayer. You are defenseless against him, your heart fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird, stealing your breath away completely.

The temptation of what he is saying is so strong that you want to give in to him immediately. It’s almost everything you want to hear, which is the problem. You think he’ll say anything to get what he wants. You love him, but you know he’s a master at manipulation—it’s how he’s so damn good at his craft. It’s how he so effectively hypnotizes the masses. You think half the time he doesn’t even realize what’s he’s doing, but knowing him as you do, you know he is too shrewd for ignorance.

But part of you refuses to believe him, what he’s saying, even now. Part of you is still reeling from the pain and the fear of your recently uncovered memories. And the fact is, he is still hiding things from you, and you are still married to Jack.

Elvis bows his head, his soft lips now mere millimeters from yours, his hot breath mingling with the heat of your own. But he does not close the gap. He’s waiting, waiting for you to decide. He’s impatient, nearly shaking with anticipation.

You came here to end it, you did (didn’t I?), but he’s like the sun, pulling you into his orbit. Desperate, you find your voice, doing your best to be strong.

“Elvis, I am still married. You know as well as I do how complicated it is with Jack, and he’s not going to take kindly to this when he finds out. And he will. We both know he will. He’s your friend. You can’t have it both ways, and neither can I. But I can’t be near you without wanting you, so something’s gotta give. That’s why I have to go. That, and all the secrets, the lies…It’s tearing me apart inside,” you plead with him. And I know you’re keeping something from me, but those words don’t make it out of your mouth.

His brow furrows and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head. Then something significant shifts, that dark look clouding his eyes once more.

“Jack ain’t shit. Fuck him. And, baby, I’ll tear your marriage to shreds and throw it in the trash, just like that,” Elvis snarls, snapping his fingers in your face, his endless eyes burning into yours. His vehemence has you shaking, your eyes going big. “I don’t care what I have to do or who I have to pay off. I thought I told you, honey—I always get what I want, and I think I’ve made it quite fuckin’ clear who I want.”

Holy shit.

A shocked beat, your breath held in a pause before it quickens again. Elvis is choosing you over Jack. Elvis wants you to end your marriage for him (or more accurately, wants to end it for you). This means that he is much more serious about this, about you, than you thought. Your heart plummets into your stomach and warmth blossoms over your body. You are both elated and terrified by what he is asking of you. All words escape you.

“Still need a little more convincing, huh?” His lip curls into a smirk, sending a coil of desire into your belly. Pushing you up against the wall, he grinds his hips into you, your arms straining against their bonds. You know now that this is his way, his way of proving to you the truth of his words. A whimper escapes your lips, causing him to grin even more. He has you right where he wants you, which is infuriating and exhilarating.

Elvis gets close, his full lips so tantalizingly near that you can almost taste their pillowy sweetness, but he still does not kiss you, only tempts you as his breath blends with yours. As much as you want to, you do not submit, you do not close the gap, your stubbornness and lingering doubt dampening your near-consuming desire.

All your churning emotions of the past few days keep you silent. Confusion, fear, anger, shock, love—all of it only fuels your passion for him, a love so consuming it eats you alive. But you also don’t want him to have the satisfaction of you giving into him. He’s right: he does usually get what he wants, but that doesn’t mean you have to make it easy on him.

Elvis watches your reaction carefully as he yanks your dress up over your hips. Then he groans, a deep, carnal sound as he grinds into you once more, his arousal evident and the metal of his ornate belt biting against your pelvis. You bite your lip to keep from making the noises that threaten to escape you, but your breathing is starting to become even more labored. There is an element of calculated control in his flaming eyes, combined with power and need. He doesn’t let you look away.

Elvis grabs the back of one of your thighs, pulling it up to his hip, running his hand over your bare flesh from your knee up to your panties, his fingers dancing just under the elastic. You hold back the hiss that wants to escape you. God, you want to touch him, to claw at his bare chest, but the scarf holds you fast and you grip its strong silk for dear life.

When he lets go just long enough to pull the zipper of his fly, pulling out his cock, your eyes widen, then fall closed. You feel as he tugs your underwear to the side, his fingers swiping through your folds. You bite your lip at the feel of his fingers prodding at you so roughly. But with your churning emotions desperately trying to keep your desire at bay, you are not nearly wet enough to take him yet.

“Look at me,” he demands, and you do. You are powerless not to.

Reaching his hand up, he looks you right in the eye as he spits in it, then reaches down to cover his cock, lubricating it fully. You gulp. A shiver of anticipation races down your spine. Taking a long moment to gather more saliva, he spits in his hand again before snaking it between your thighs to smear your pussy with it, watching your reaction carefully. You can’t help but moan at the sensation of the warm slick.

True to his word, nothing stops him from taking what he wants as he brusquely lifts your legs around his waist and enters you with a quick, hard thrust and a deep grunt.

You gasp loudly at how Elvis fills you so completely, both with surprise and with pain of the pleasurable sort. You are so tight, too tight, and while your arousal pools, it has not yet coated your walls, making his saliva the only lubrication to ease the friction. You claw at the silk scarf, trying to push back against the wall in retreat, but he chases you, pausing for only a moment as you attempt to adjust to him. He starts rocking into you, but his thrusts are not gentle—they are powerful, claiming. You continue to hold back the noises that want to escape your mouth, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing your pleasure.

“Why ya gotta be so fuckin’ stubborn, baby? You really makin’ me take you this damn hard to remind ya just who ya belong to?” he growls seductively into your ear as he drives into you harder. Your head falls back onto the wall and your eyes flutter. This shouldn’t be so satisfying, but you can’t deny how it makes you feel, how he makes you feel. Your arousal pools around him at his words, at his audacity, and it gives you away as he slides more easily in and out of you. Then that damn lip of his dares to curl up again into a knowing smile.

His baritone rumbles in your ear as he fucks you more vigorously, each thrust punctuating his words, as if driving them deeply into your body and mind. “I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight after this little stunt of yours, honey, not for one damn minute. In fact,” he chuckles darkly, “you’re going on stage with me for the rest of my shows, starting tonight. Your debut performance.”

You can’t hold back your choked gasp at that.

“You’re all mine now.” Elvis’ hand comes up and wraps around your throat, just tight enough to let you know he means it. “Now, be a good girl and say it for me.”

Your brain fights against him—possession is not love! Sex is not love! it screams at you—and you don’t want to give him this, but you know the truth of it: you are his. You’ve been his for a while now. And you relish in it. You want so desperately for it to be more than that, but you are too weary of denying yourself of the obvious.

“I’m…y-yours,” you gasp out. He fucks it out of you.

The corner of his mouth briefly lifts in satisfaction before returning to his relentless railing of you and his ongoing, heated diatribe: “You’ll stay in my room, my bed, and we’ll fuck whenever we damn please, honey. I don’t care who fuckin’ knows. Let Jack try and come for you…see what happens,” he threatens, grunting as his thrusts become more erratic.

You don’t even recognize the moan that comes from you at that. The fact that he will take Jack head on for you sends an inexplicable rush through your system. The coil in your belly tightens rapidly now, but Elvis is too far ahead of you, too consumed with his lust and his need to claim you as his own.

“Tell me you’ll stay,” he says in your ear. It comes out more needy, breathless, pleading, than you think he intended, which tugs at your heart, telling you what you need to know, at least for now.

You have no choice, not anymore. Neither your heart nor Elvis’ will allow it.

“I’ll stay,” you whisper, finally conceding.

“There’s my girl,” he groans, then plunges in so deep and fast that the wind is knocked out of you. You both cry out as he pulses again and again, filling and coating you with his need, his teeth digging into your shoulder as he climaxes.

You both gasp for breath, him from his release, you from the shock of his words as they settle within you. After a moment of recovery, he unceremoniously pulls out of you, sets you gently back on the ground, and unties your hands. Your legs feel wobbly and your hands tingle with a burning sensation, rubbed a little raw at the wrists. Elvis kisses each wrist softly, making that unrelieved coil in your belly cinch even tighter as he wraps the scarf around your neck. You wince at the pins and needles in your arms as you shake them to regain circulation.

You wait to see what he has in store for you next, but he just looks a little jaded, uncharacteristically making no effort to alleviate your need. He turns and walks all the way back into the bathroom, and you follow silently.

You look at him questioningly in the mirror as he cleans off, that coil in your belly poised and ready, but unfed. He’s never left you unsatisfied before. But you also don’t want to push him right now. Things still feel too tenuous.

He finally acknowledges you in the mirror, looking over your mussed and flustered state and immediately gleaning the reason for your hovering. “Honey…I’ll deal with you later,” Elvis tuts in a reprimanding tone, his left eyebrow raising, his blues still chilly towards you.

He’s being petty, but you suppose you deserve that to an extent. You resist the urge to pout, instead choosing to wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pressing against the sweaty heat of his back. You want him to forgive you, want to be in his warmth, want him to love you as you love him. But for now, you’ll accept the relief of not having to leave him.

Let me take care of you…Let me be your everything.

The memory of his words sends warmth radiating through your chest, even if he just said it to get you to stay. Even if he didn’t really mean it.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. And you are.

Elvis doesn’t move for a moment, just letting you cling to him. Then he turns, bringing you close, and he finally kisses you, his pliant lips pressing hard and fierce and wanting against yours.

“Don’t ever try to leave me like that again, baby,” he says, pulling away, looking deeply into your eyes. He is trying, you think, to be as possessive and demanding as before, but the edge of his anger has been tempered, quelled, and has turned into something more imploring. Then, with that quintessentially Elvispuppy-dog look on his face, he blinks slowly and quietly adds, “I need you,” as though just realizing it himself.

And, with that, you realize for the first time that despite all your doubts, despite what he is hiding from you, despite every obstacle that wants to pile against you, the shitstorm that is coming is still going to hit hard, but it will hit you two together.

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211 @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy @amiets2 @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch @tattywood

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23 @ab4eva

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w0nnielov3 · 2 years

Text

enha - reacting to their idol crush/friend getting hate !!

| requested!!: By anon :0 |

layla’s note

Im not the best when it comes to writing hate or angst stuff or writing about bullying so I tried my best with this …I’m more of a fluff gal :p but since this was requested I did my best ,, this is fully out of my imagination im sure the boys wouldn’t admit having a crush on a close Friend !! ,, anyways please enjoy :)

#pairing!!: idol!enha x idol!reader | reader is under YG ent ! | for this I made a random group name and its “starlight” | engenes are behaving bad in this ...smh thought i raised them better :(

warning!!: lowercase intended ,, mention of hate ,, maybe grammar mistakes !!

𖥻 ⠇heeseung ♡·˚ ༘

Heeseung has never been open about his crush on the yg artist for this reason exactly …he didn’t want his own fans attacking you ,, as well as he would hate to have to stop being friends with you. Heeseung never expected you to text him at 4am telling him to open Twitter and look at the most trending hashtags; “#y/nstayawayfromheeseung” was all his attention could be focused on as he cursed to himself. Heeseung was too scared to open the tag scared of what awful things could lie in there ,, all he could really think of was apologizing to you for his fans behavior even if you told him It’s fine. Will likely waddle his way towards Jungwons’ room and vent to him about how he feels and asking him for advice as Jungwon just nods at him and gives him a hug reassuring him that the company would do something.

𖥻 ⠇jay ♡·˚ ༘

Jay found out from his manger ,, he was in the middle of practice when his manger pulled him out to the hallway for a minute. He explained to Jay about the rumors going around and how starlights manager had called and said that engenes have been harassing their idol and would like Jay would speak up. Quickly nodded made His way back into the dance room and grabbed his phone out of his bag ,, he made sure to Apologize to you for his fans behavior and let you know that he will speak to them. And that he did man went live and had a whole vent on how he raised engenes better and there should be no reason for them to bully one of his close friend. Will not shut up till engenes apologized to you ,, #disappointedfather :(

𖥻 ⠇jake ♡·˚ ༘

Jake knew he messed up when he slipped out how he's been very close with his celeb crush which everyone knew was the one and only yg’s ace y/n. He turned towards the door tryna figured out if his problems would leave if he just walked away. He faced his camera once again and tried to play it cool …keyword TRIED ,, he decided to read the comments to only realize they were flooded with a bunch of mean things about you. Jake could only frown at such mean words about such a nice person. “guys that's not nice …y/n is a very nice person to be shown such disrespect ,, please be nice and respectful.” Will bribe engenes to stop the hate from spreading …which surprisingly worked well :)

𖥻 ⠇sunghoon ♡·˚ ༘

No one was surprised when sunghoon confidently said you were his ideal type/crush ,, you guys basically grew up together and you were his girl version ,, same goals and skills. He didn't see anything wrong with his actions so when you called him asking him if he's gone insane he just shrugged it off ,, thinking you haven’t eaten and that you're extremely cranky so he will order you food and call it a day. Realizes its a problem when he opens Twitter to see engenes bashing you left and right ,, will post something on weverse telling engenes to calm down as you've bro-zoned sunghoon more than 10000x …which only made it worst because who bro-zones THE Sunghoon?? Will give up on trying to calm his fans down and instead just tells you that bashing you is how they show love :p

𖥻 ⠇sunoo ♡·˚ ༘

Sunoo was in the middle of recording ,, the boys and him had a day off and he decided to go shopping. Their manager told them to film for engenes ,, as he was in the middle of picking colognes for his members his eyes landed on a perfume/colognes. He quickly made his way toward it ,, “would y/n like this?” He asked himself as he sprayed a little on his wrist to smell it. Honestly he didn't even realize that was caught on camera and he just expected the editing team to take it out …but they didn't. Sunoo felt horrible when he saw how mean engenes were being toward you ,, so during one of his vlive’s he made sure to tell engenes that people have feelings and they need to be nicer.

𖥻 ⠇Jungwon ♡·˚ ༘

You and Jungwon have been invited to be on knowing brothers ,, despite already knowing each other you both agreed this could better your friendship. You guys were currently scribbling on the board ,, you were in the middle of drawing a random character from one of your favorite animes before your attention was stolen by heechul as be pointing out what Jungwon had wrote on the board ,, “they're very pretty :p” was written with an arrow next to it pointing towards you. You were shocked at what Jungwon had written but whispered a small thank you as you kept doodling. Once the cameras stopped rolling your manager came up to you and showed you his phone to be faced with engenes bashing you for your lack of reaction to Jungwons message and also because he wrote it to begin with. You could hear someone running towards you and you were met with a bowing Jungwon who was apologizing on engenes behavior before he ran back to where he came from. Was Dry towards engenes for a week on weverse for their horrible behavior ,, #disappointedfatherpt2

𖥻 ⠇niki ♡·˚ ༘

Everyone knew you and niki for being a playful mc duo ,, you guys were very close as you guys shared a lot in common especially a love for dancing. During a vlive with sunoo engenes asked niki who was his ideal type/crush to which your name slipped out his mouth as he smiled at the camera before looking back down at the tablet in front of him. A lot of people were very nice and respectful to nikis choice but of course there was that other half who couldn’t let the kid get a break. When niki started reading a bunch of harsh and rude comments made about you he shook his head and lifted his head to look at the camera again “bad ,, please be respectful towards y/n :( ,, or I will not hesitate-“ he cut himself off with a small smirk and looked back down at the tablet …will probably never tell engenes what he meant but hey at least he got them to stop :D

#enha #enhypen #enhypen headcanon #enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #enhypen x reader #enhypen x yn #enhypen x you #heeseung #Jay #Jake #sunghoon #sunoo #Jungwon #niki #layla tired her best :p

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minleeeknow · 5 months

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track one - 'greedy' ft. lee know

‘pairing’ - 이민호 (lee minho) x fem!makeup artist

‘genre’ - fluff, angst, frenemies to lovers??

‘tw’ - angst, breakup, 14+, pet names, kissing, cheating

‘word count’ - 0.5 k

‘to get tagged’ - pls reply to the taglist post, this post or just ask me

‘lee’s notes’ - lowercase intended, not proofread, yn is korean (its easier for me to write)

pls note, reblog, anything <3

‘previous track’ > ‘next track’

‘masterlist’

“we shouldn’t be doing this–” lee minho presses a finger to your lips, closing them. “shush kitten,” minho whispers, his dark eyes gazing deep into yours. you drag a hand through his soft black hair as he hums softly.

“don’t you shush me,” you retort before he makes your lips connect. a creak of the door makes you freeze and you throw yourself off of minho’s chest. “ugh.” you can’t help it, it escapes you. minho shoots you a look. “oh you like it, huh?” is written all over lee know’s face and you can’t help but flush.

“hey yn, you done with minho yet?” felix asks, unaware of the scene he had just interrupted. you wipe your lips, hoping “i’ve been kissing lee minho!” isn’t obvious by your expression.

“or is he yours forever?” seungmin says playfully, earning a sharp glare from both lee know and you.

“he’s not mine,” you say sharply, “anyway, i already have a boyfriend.” you catch minho roll his eyes and the statement doesn’t feel very true anymore. you felt like jun and you were growing apart; jun didn’t feel interested on what you had to say about work.

“so you say,” seungmin says under his breath. you shoot daggers at him and he holds his hands up. “just kidding!”

“get out,” you sigh, exasperated, “it’s my break time now, too.” felix drags seungmin and minho away, and minho flashes one last subtle smirk before disappearing behind the door frame.

“do i even have a boyfriend anymore?” you scoff to yourself as you pack up all the makeup supplies back into their cabinets. “i guess we haven’t broken up yet.”

a small treacherous part of your mind that sounds awfully like lee know whispers, “maybe you should break up so minho can have you, he’s so much better.” you ignore the thought and continue to clean up.

once done, you head out to see stray kids filming another dance practice. lee know changed into his grey sweatpants and you feel heat rise up to your cheeks. you must’ve been staring too long because he meets your eyes and throws his head back, showing his neck.

you bite your lip to keep you from smiling and give them a small wave as you leave to your break. felix acknowledges you and the corner of his mouth quirks up. he’s like your brother, so sweet and sunshine-y.

you quickly exit before minho takes up your thoughts and walk to your favorite and the closest boba shop. suddenly your phone vibrates in your pocket.

minho? but– your eyes widen as you read the name on your screen. jun.

“hello?” you try to hide the shakiness of your voice.

“yn.” jun’s voice sounds different, harder, sterner. what happened to your soft, sweet boyfriend?

“junnie?” you say quietly, not sure what to say. jun takes a deep breath before saying, “i’m breaking up with you.”

‘perm taglist’

@goldenjupiterz @adestayskz @piercidh34rts @imsiriuslyreal networks ! -

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blainesebastian · 2 years

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something new

words: 1,040 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (request from anon): Could you write Austin with an S/O with short hair?? Like reader just cut it and is feeling a little self conscious but Austin loves it? notes: this came to me quick when I got home from work so I just figured I’d post it. Two fics in one day from me haha warning: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell,

It’s not that you have anything against short hair, you’ve just had long locks for…well, pretty much your entire life. You remember distinctly when you were younger that your mother told you that boys were more attracted to longer hairstyles and that it made you more feminine. While you know your mother was never attempting to imply anything malicious, it definitely worked its way into your self-esteem of how you look at yourself in the mirror. On the other hand, you’re just used to it, one big bun on the top of your head, pigtail braids that brushed against the swell of your breasts, researching the best scrunchy and claw clip to buy off Amazon.

Your longer hair is a staple of your look, how you decide to fashion it with clothes, what you think about when it comes to ‘representing your best self’. Just like skincare, there’s a lot that can go into hair treatment too, and you’re dedicated to that because it’s just how it’s been for so long.

Which is why you can’t quite believe you’ve taken scissors to your strands approximately six minutes ago.

You’re just kinda…staring at yourself in the mirror, unsure that you’ve made the right decision because this is not what you meant to do when thinking you needed a change. Obviously your hands made that choice, grabbing a shower, brushing your locks out, measuring and then snipping. But—you’ve been feeling overwhelmed at work, things with your family have been tumultuous at best and you miss your boyfriend. Though, you suppose you can’t blame Austin for being busy, he is filming a movie so many hours of the day.

All of that combined ickiness though has pushed you towards needing to make a decision, make a change, disrupt your feng shui for the better. Which…could have come from a number of things, like reorganizing your living room, or getting rid of some of the clutter in your life, getting new plants for your aquarium or maybe even another fish?

It was not this.

You stare at your reflection for a long moment and slowly put the scissors down, your hair that was down pass your breasts now a bob. A short one at that, the strands kissing the tops of your shoulders.

“Fuck.” You mumble, running your hands through it and it feels so light? It definitely compliments you in a way you hadn’t expected, it’s just different. And suddenly you’re feeling incredibly self-conscious about if it actually works for you, what people will think, what Austin will think.

Running a hand over your face, you make sure you clean up the bathroom sink and put the scissors away, deciding to blow dry your hair and go through your entire haircare routine as if you were preparing for the day. At the end of the sequence though? You kinda just feel like you’re fidgeting.

A groan slips out of your lips as you look at the time—Austin should be over to your apartment any minute for the night. There’s this squirmy sensation building up in your chest, as if a snake is slipping through the gaps in your ribcage and resting in your stomach. You can’t sit still; you can’t wait for him to come up to the apartment and see you.

Letting out a breath, you grab a jacket and slip on a pair of booties, making sure you have your keys and phone as you leave your place. Taking the elevator down and exiting the apartment complex, you sit on the large stone steps right outside. It’s a typical spot for you—the steps are wide enough that you don’t disrupt moving traffic of residents coming and going but also that places to sit for New York real estate are hard to come by. These steps are perfect for a good book and a coffee on nice days.

Your leg jackhammers on the step, taking in a deep breath as a sleek black SUV pulls up outside the apartment, a soft smile tugging the corners of your mouth as you see Austin exit. You’re still getting used to the jet-black hair, though he��s just one of those people who pretty much look good in any way you throw at him. Dark hair, his natural blonde curls, long strands tied into a low bun…just unfair really.

Standing on one of the steps, your fingers fiddle in front of you as you wait for him to notice you’re sitting outside. Looking up, he walks towards the steps, smiling as he sees you,

“Waitin’ for me outside? Now you’re just spoilin’ me.” He teases, standing right in front of you.

The height difference between you two is swapped given that you’re lingering on a higher step, so he tilts his head back to talk to you. He’s about to say something when his eyebrows arch, his fingers moving to play with the strands of your short hair against your shoulders. Your hair is learning how to behave in this style, so some of it is flaring out just slightly…but you think you like that.

Chewing on your lower lip, you wait for his reaction, but he’s quiet—just taking you in. His eyes are open, warm, affectionate but…that’s not giving anything away, he always looks at you like that. And suddenly you’re nervous because he’s not saying anything—

“Do you hate it?”

A soft laugh rumbles in his chest, “What? Of course not—just surprised, that’s all. Every picture I’ve ever seen of you has had long hair.”

You hum lightly, nodding, “That’s part of the idea. I just—I think I just needed a change?”

Austin smiles, licking his lips. He cups both sides of your head, fingers running through the short locks, “You’re beautiful, I love it. And I love you.”

You smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, drawing him close. You kind of like it like this, being able to look down at him for once. His blue eyes are brightened by the darkness of his hair, “You’re not the only one who can change their look you know?” You tease, running your fingers through his hair now.

Austin laughs softly, “Noted.” And draws you into a kiss.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler drabble #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things

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abluehappyface · 23 days

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I'm going to post what is I guess a story relating to my personal experiences being on this earth. This is mostly for my benefit. Look if you want I guess, but just know that there will be some potentially triggering stuff, but I don't know what it is, so I can't tag it right now

My Life as a Monster

You stare at me like I'm some sort of beast, a thing merely meant to be caged. Something you feel the need to be protected from. You watch, knowing that I can't get you from your bedroom window, at the spectacle you think I am. You aim your camera at me, the flash reflecting off the glass I sit behind, as you film and photograph me for no other reason except that I'm here. When I'm among you, you stare at me with mocking gazes, your eyes becoming yet another set in an endless number of pairs that make their way to dig into mine. No matter how well I think I'm camouflaged, you always sniff me out, and then you let me know how I'm unwelcome here.

I'm especially afraid of women. All humans my same age startle me, but women more so. Women have always been more scornful to me. They told me how unwanted I was for me to hear. They shunned me from their groups, leaving me an outcast as a child. Women do not like me, I know this as fact.

Their actions are always deliberate. Humans make it a point to leave me out, to the point I feel I'm not one. I may have lost my humanity, turned into a beast, or maybe both at once, but I know for certain that there are times where human is something I'm not. I may be the monster stuck inside a human husk that I think I am, or perhaps I'm an outcast being overdramatic, but I know that humans do not like me. I do not fit in. I am but a beast.

As if being ostracized as a child wasn't enough, you continue to gawk at me. What have I done to receive your judgement? Why must you hunt us beasts? Mother doesn't understand why I don't leave the cave, as if I ever could. If I leave the cave, the humans will stand watch, waiting to scout me out.

My existence is a worldly secret, and a secret I shall stay. If I seek out a place amongst the humans they will reject me. No human will want me as a partner or friend. I am a beast in a world where existence is a joke. To avoid their mocking eyes, the cave is where I stay.

I know humans are resilient beings, that they can choose to change, that acceptance of us monsters is not unheard of, but I do not depend on it. When you've lived the life of a beast, you prepare yourself for scorn. Your hopes mustn't be up too high, else you'll fall and break your horns. I wish I was the fuzzy, colorful beast that humans love, but I am not. I am a dark, shaggy beast, with curled, antler-like horns, fangs, claws, and eyes that glow white in darkness. I am not a friend to them, I am something to be hunted.

As much as I love being my beastly self, I fear being myself is what's causing my downfall. I don't want to change to make myself palatable to the humans. They do not deserve it after what has happened to me. Even so, a monster like me still wonders what connection can feel like. To think some humans tolerate me, like me even, but they live too far away... I wish I could be with them.

However, this is no longer the case. Past human friends have betrayed me, apart from one. I have no true desires to befriend humans. As my grandmother once told me, I'm "too monstrous and hostile" for friends. I'm to monstrous for everyone. I'm too monstrous for myself. The human body I reside in is just a defense from the humans around me. I feel no true, meaningful attachment to this body.

I am the metaphorical version of a kitten that wasn't socialized. I cannot connect with others. I do not connect with others. I'm not meant to. I am designed for solitude.

I'm just a creature who's strange. I know I should care not of what others think, and yet I still do. I care because I am afraid. I am still afraid of humans my own age, especially women. If I could get everything I needed without leaving this house, the world would never see me again.

I am such an irrational thing. Here I am, a potential gynephobe who's a lesbian being encroached upon by a beast. Here I am, knowing most people don't care about me, yet I still care enough in case they press record again. Humans could be nice, but I must distrust them for my safety. They'll never know me well enough to know this. I must make sure of it.

I feel it has gotten so hopeless that my younger sister feels that she needs to intervene. She does a lot of talking for me. She pulls at my arms to try and get me to speak with humans. Even if it was a joke, it made me realize how hopelessly helpless I am. She feels I speak to no one, and she is right.

Worst of all, I know that I must change. Eventually I'm going to have to provide for myself. I don't wish to tell mother of my beastly affliction, though I have no reason not to. I suppose I am a cautious beast. How cautious is too cautious I wonder?

The beastly affliction is affecting major parts of my life. I remain in the cave all day. I speak to no outsiders. I rely on my little sister too much. My mother says she feels she has failed me. I do not wish to be a defective child. I do not wish to be a beast. I wish I could cry beastly golden tears until I'm washed clean of my beastly essences.

I am a pathetic beast. I am not strong. I am a lowly creature. I am a strange thing that cannot be understood. I shall forever remain a beast, and society shall forever hate me.

I feel I am stuck in place. I don't often think about my beastliness, but when I do it feels paralyzing. I don't know what to make of it. I don't know if it will change. I turn 20 in three days and I'm still the beast from when I was 16. I'm still the monster, I feel I forever will be. I feel the world has gone one without me, but I'm fine with that. I know nothing else at this point.

#pov you're a beast expressing how you feel after being ostracized and excluded from society‚ especially as a child #but irl im AM this beast and have been for nearly four years #all because my grandmother told me that I would be hostile and monstrous in tone for the rest of my life #and she's right because my autistic beastly ass could never sound like a pleasant human ever #and ive never talked about the possible gynephobia because ill likely be labeled a sexist #and I don't need any more reasons for humans to hate me #no i don't look like the beast i am on the outside‚ but there are days where I sure as hell feel it #most of the time I feel like im just some person‚ but other days‚ im a beast (and a father pathetic one at that)#so yeah‚ this is about me #im the beast in this 'letter'#bluey's miscellaneous posts #bluey's nonsense #bluey's beastly hours #bluey's vents #bluey's long posts #bluey's life #bluey's serious stuff #bluey's actual life #bluey's rambling #abluehappyface

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the-writer-nerd-ro · 2 years

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Jacob and Julia asked for fanart and fanfiction of these two and I don't draw so here's my first (of hopefully many) Sara Pena and Hunter Richardson fics. It's a meet-cute.

Two Losers At A Party

Sara wasn't stupid. Okay, well, she was kind of stupid, but she certainly wasn't blind. She had seen the cute girl staring at her and filming.

After a few minutes of dancing for her new personal filmographies, she decided to approach the girl and commence flirting. Or hustling. One of the two.

"Hey. You should tag me in that. Tag my business page. SaraPenaPartyForHire. All one word. The S and the P and the other P and the F and the H are capitalized. That's Sara without an H, too. Did you get all that?"

"Uh. Yes. I'll add that to my post." Hunter was already getting comments about clearly filming without permission, but this felt like permission.

"I'm Sara Pena, by the way. Of SaraPenaPartyForHire."

"Hunter. Hunter Richardson. Of… Nothing. What exactly do you do at SaraPenaPartyForHire?"

"Well, it's a freelance kind of thing. I get paid to come to parties and throw down my sick dance moves so that other people feel more comfortable doing the same themselves."

"Sounds lucrative," Hunter said.

"It's not," Sara Pena said with a laugh, "but I enjoy it."

"You must go to a lot of parties, then."

"Yep! Maybe I'll see you at the next one?" Sara batted her eyelashes.

"I mainly go to funerals, actually. Maybe I'll see you at the next one?"

Sara laughed, "You must be a lot of fun at funerals."

Hunter laughed then too, a genuine laugh. The first time she'd laughed all evening.

"Yeah, Sara, I put the fun in funerals."

"I've never worked a funeral before but I'd be willing to give it a go."

"I'll be sure to let my clients know about your business."

"Your clients?" Sara leaned in then, her intense eyes wide, "Do you work for ghosts?"

"Huh. I guess I kind of do. I'm a funeral director."

Hunter leaned in conspiratorially, "You'll never guess where I got this dress."

Sara's eyes sparkled like freshly lit candles, "Where?"

"Right off a dead person."

Sara gasped in delight, "It looks so good on you!"

"Thank you! I thought so too. Sometimes the families of the deceased don't get it but the corpses don't need clothes. I, on the other hand, do. Anything to save money, right?"

"Tell me about it. My life isn't one big party. I have bills to pay, too."

"You get it. You just gotta do what you've gotta do."

"Hey, Sara, get back on the dance floor! We didn't pay you to stand around!" Some guy snapped.

Without changing her morose expression Hunter whipped around and doused the guy with her drink.

"Don't talk to her like that!" Hunter snapped.

"Hey! No one invited you! Get out of here! Both of you!"

Sara grabbed Hunter's hand and they fled, both of them unable to keep from laughing when they got past the front door.

Hunter sobered up the fastest. "I'm sorry I got you kicked out of the party."

"That's okay, they already paid me. And if they leave a bad review on my page I'll just delete it."

"Would you like to help me vandalize their house?" Hunter asked, offering Sara a marker. Sara hadn't let go of her hand yet.

"How about we just go for a walk?" Sara suggested. "I would really, really like to get to know you better, Hunter Richardson."

"And I, you, Sara without an H."

"Well," Sara giggled, clumsily twirling Hunter, "I have one now."

Hunter blushed almost imperceptibly and put away her markers. The only vandalism that would be committed that night was the marks Sara and Hunter were leaving on each other's hearts.

#sara pena #hunter richardson #sara x hunter #hunter x sara #drawfee #drawfee fanfic #ro writes fic

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theinfinitedivides · 6 months

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Hi!! I literally just saw the snippet you wrote for Vigilante and I’m already rabid for it! Out of curiosity, would you be interested in writing more/longer fics for this fandom in the future?

see this is what happens when you post sh*t that you wrote at ungodly hours of the morning (unfinished sh*t, i should add) bc of a show that drove you feral during the last two eps, drop it in the fandom tag half coherent and expect it to be seen by two mutuals max. obviously that did not happen, hence it's been less than 24 hours and you are already in my inbox anon sksksksk (and for the uninitiated, the snippet in question)

now. will i finish that sh*t? i want to say yes bc it keeps getting longer so there's a better chance of that happening than, let's say, it languishing in my drafts (at least i f*cking hope so. the RyangHyun fic for My Dearest is past 2500 words and it's still unfinished, writer's block is kicking my ass rip). will i write longer sh*t? maybe? depends on if i finish the first fic, tbh, bc then i can gauge and see how far the brainrot has its roots in me and whether writing a single one-shot and calling it a day will fix it. (knowing my history for queer coded k-dramas/films/international cinema in general, i doubt it will fix it)

if i do end up posting anything, though, i'll link it here too as well bc yk. i'm not that cruel to leave people hanging like that when i've actually finished the fic in question tyvm. i hope all of that made sense somehow i'm still not coherent anyway

#inbox #q: anon #tv: vigilante #vigilante #vigilante kdrama #nam joo hyuk #yoo ji tae #kim so jin #lee joon hyuk #kdrama #local gay watches Vigilante.txt #local gay watches k-dramas.txt #local gay writes fanfic.txt #good to see we all agree this show is 1. gay af and 2. needs proper fic. there's hope for us yet #Ji Yong/Kang Ok fic might also be in the pipeline bc everyone on here is like 'oh they're definitely f*cking dating' and then there's a #fic for them on ao3 that's like 'this is severely one-sided and they probably won't get together'#respectfully beloveds were we watching the same f*cking show or?????

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bucketofbugz · 1 year

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Ruins introduction post

(Both drawings are old, I'll update them laterr)

Welcome to Ruins! Previously known as Green Painted Ruins, as you can see.

Tag: Green painted ruins au

I haven't updated the introductory post in a while!! Wow!! I have so many followers now that don't even know what Ruins is so y'know what better time to rewrite the entire introductory post?

Ruins was the first ever iteration I made for the TMNT fandom, and the second au I made overall. It was initially created as a weird mesh between the Bayverse tmnt films, rottmnt, and 2012 tmnt. As expected, I could not stick to that and it went wayy farther than it was supposed to go. I'm planning on picking up on posting about Ruins pretty soon! I haven't talked about them in a while (I think I haven't actually talked about them much since the iteration comps, which makes sense because I talked about them a *lot* during that time) and I think it's about time they start being seen again.

I'm not gonna include a 5 hour long rant like in the original post, so instead you're getting the basics about the au. :

The turtles were experiments and intentionally mutated. Not for the purpose of mutating animals or having turtle soldiers or anything like that. No, they were tests of mutagen.

Mutagen, which is essentially modified Kraang decomposition! Kinda gross, right? Well, there was a goal behind its creation. Dimension X, the home of the Kraang, has a weird ability that nothing there can truly die. Your body can die, your heart can stop, but your brain keeps running and as long as your limbs are still connected to your body your brain will keep piloting them. So why not try to harvest that ability? Why not try to give humans the ability to pilot themselves long after they should be in the ground?

Making animals that are formed like humans and that have the brain activity of humans is just one of the various tests that the Foot Clan have conducted to further mutagen experiments.

But when a few of their experiments escape they run into a bit of a problem..

Leo. The first mutated, oldest at 16. Olive Ridley Sea Turtle. Was the first test of retro-mutagen, a failsafe designed to reverse the effects of mutagen. They learned that once mutagen is in something's system it can never truly leave. Is a bit less human than the other turtles. Will get severely dehydrated if he's out of water for too long.

Dannie. Second mutated, second oldest at 15. North American Wood Turtle. Is the most similar to a human as far as appearance goes, but has more turtle-like instincts than the rest of them. If a turtle cannot digest something she cannot digest something.

Michael. Third mutated, tied for youngest at 13. Bog Turtle. Because of the more accidental nature of his mutation, he wasn't mutated as thoroughly. He is still ectothermic and isn't very good at regulating his body temperature. It's quite uncomfortable for him. He's often found clinging to Raphael because of this.

Raphael. Last mutated, tied for youngest at 13. Bog Turtle. Because of the more accidental nature of his mutation, he wasn't mutated as thoroughly. His bones are weird and he's significantly more flexible than the rest of them, able to fit into his shell rather easily. Also has terrible eyesight but refuses to wear glasses because the braces are bad enough, okay?

The experiments were conducted by the Foot Clan (led by Oroku Karai) with assistance from the O'Neil company.

For this iteration I have talked about

The Everything is Fine (it's not) arc The Foot Clan arc The Dimension X/Venus arc The Maybe Everything COULD be Fine arc The Everything is Fine (it is this time) arc

These are not the ONLY arcs, but they're the biggest ones

I was planning on making refs when I first made this introductory post but I never ended up getting past Michael and Raphael. So. Just take them at the beginning of the story (pre foot clan arc).

#tmnt #tmnt iteration #tmnt au #green painted ruins au #Wiks rants #au concepts #death mention #death tw #ask to tag #kinda gross

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flutishly · 9 months

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At a family-adjacent event, someone from the other side of the family (who I know fairly well at this point) asked me "Have you ever read Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall?" She knows that I love reading and like talking about books, so it wasn't completely out of left field, but given how much I adore Wolf Hall, it caught me off guard for a moment. Yes, I replied, it's actually genuinely one of my favorite books.

She then started talking about the reasons she mostly hated it. And it wasn't from a perspective of dismissing my love or tearing it down. She talked about how much she admired the writing and about how much she disliked the characters. "He's such a difficult main character," she mused. Yes! I cried, he is!

The whole time, we had this conversation while explicitly coming from different places in terms of engaging with this piece of art, coming from different generations (classic Boomer versus Millennial), and seeking different satisfaction from the art itself. She had just finished the book and I read it years ago, when it came out. But even though we had fundamentally different experiences reading the book, we forged a fascinating conversation. We argued over the literary merits of having such a flawed, difficult protagonist, about what it means to like that (as I do), and more.

And it's these sorts of conversations that I think are sorely missing from fandom. This debate wasn't an argument and it wasn't passive acceptance of someone else's other opinion with no pushback. There were aspects that were obviously just down to taste, but other things were interpretative or contextual. When I compared Wolf Hall as a contrast to the film "A Man For All Seasons", she brought up "Anne of the Thousand Days". Our interpretations were different. Our experiences were different. But that didn't prevent us from finding the contact points.

I love being able to engage with art (as should be pretty obvious by this entire blog). I love watching or reading something and going "ah yes, here is something I liked" and then discussing it. I also often like saying "ah yes, here is something I deeply disliked". My dislike usually doesn't negate my like (if I have it) or even someone else's like (if I don't). Today, gifmakers will often bristle at the idea of tags that don't fully embrace the characters or scenes depicted in the gifs. But for me, part of sharing something is having that discussion. If I'm sharing a gifset, it's because I like it and I want to be able to address something particular in that gifset. Sometimes, I find a relationship compelling without necessarily shipping them; does that mean I can't/shouldn't share something that comes from a place of viewing them romantically, while elaborating on that thought? Maybe, maybe not.

"Make your own post" is the common refrain, but that's exactly what I find missing. Smaller fandoms sometimes manage to have these conversations, but there's a sense that it's always the exception. Fandom revolves around the love of a thing, often leaving little room for truly nuanced discussions of what does or doesn't work for others. Ultimately, I'm surprised and gratified to have found exactly what I was looking for at a child's birthday party, discussing a book I really loved between the salad and the cake. I just wish I could have it within my other fandom communities as well.

#longer thoughts #tumblr culture #fandom #media #media analyses

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succubusphan · 9 months

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Two Man Team - Chapter 10

Summary: This is the story of two struggling friends who after many trials and tribulations find their way back to each other and build the life they've always dreamed of.

Or how Phil changed his life by talking to random strangers on the internet.

Rating: E

Tags/warnings: Friends to lovers, Friends with benefits, mental health issues (mainly anxiety), Slow burn, Dan is a psych student. Canon divergence (the timeline is altered and some things never happened), Slutty Phil, Angst with a happy ending. The fic spans many years.

Author's Note: Written for the OSPBB 2023 @oldschoolpbb. Thank you @effingmeteors for being my life saviour and beta as usual and to my artist Lin @anironsidh.

Edits and the art will be added at some point, we are busy bees.

POSTING EVERY DAY UNTIL IT'S COMPLETED.

Total Word Count: 75k ish

Read on Ao3

CHAPTER 10: Wild Horses

The following morning, Noah and Mark made him breakfast and hugged him before leaving for work. Phil smiled at the thought that Mark and Noah sometimes acted like his stand-in parents; he was glad that they never made him feel like a third wheel and that Noah was so wonderful, just accepting their friendship and joining instead of trying to break them apart.

Taking a deep breath, Phil thought about the day ahead. He was not going to check his phone for any sign of Dan because he knew that it would probably take a few days for him to reach out. If he put it into his head that today was the day Dan would text, he would only get anxious. Instead, he went for a morning walk after breakfast, bought lunch and came back home to work on his next video. He considered it for a moment. If Dan really wanted to go on with the project he’d mentioned, it would bring his own sexuality into question, so why not take the opportunity to make a coming out video of his own?

To be fair, Phil wasn’t really in the closet, everyone knew. Or most people knew anyway, he just didn’t announce it. Maybe it was time for a change.

He grabbed a notebook and started the script titled “Coming Out To You.” It was a bit sassy but it was the truth; Phil wasn’t coming out in general, this was just for his viewers, for them to know a bit more about him, to feel loved and accepted, and to open the door to that conversation. This would come with the added bonus of finally being able to make gay jokes on his channel and it would also probably cost him some sponsors, but if he couldn’t afford to come out with so many subscribers and after 10 years on the platform, what was the point?

He made this script his lifeline, a mental escape from his reality and the imminent wrecking ball to his mental stability that Dan’s text could potentially be. He paused briefly to consider what he would do if Dan backed out of his own project or on wanting to name Phil. He decided that he had made himself to focus on the video so much that he was going to work on it anyway.

It took 3 more days for Dan to contact him. By Sunday, Phil was starting to worry, despite his attempt to avoid thinking about Dan. Maybe the problem was that the script was ready and he had even chosen an outfit to film in. Luckily, just as he was finishing his lunch, Dan texted through Messenger.

“Hey, can we talk?”

“Alright,” Phil replied.

“Really? Just like that?”

“That’s what we agreed on when we last spoke and my friends think that I should talk to you.”

“Mark?” Dan asked and Phil could hear the jealous tone even in written form.

Phil rolled his eyes. “Partially. His boyfriend said that we should talk. Mark didn’t comment on it but said that he would break your legs if you hurt me.”

“I see,” Dan replied. “Where would you like to meet?”

“You can come to my flat.”

“Does Mark still live with you? I need my legs.”

“Planning on hurting me?”

“Technically I already have so I am looking out for myself.”

“I like how you used technically right there.”

“I feel like if we continue this conversation in writing it will not end well for me, so please give me your address and let me know when I can come over.”

Phil sent his address and paused for a moment. “You can come over today, any time that works for you.”

“Thank you. I will take a shower and take a taxi.”

Phil reacted to the message with crazy eyes.

“Don’t react me,” Dan said, making him laugh.

An hour and a half later, the doorbell rang and Phil checked himself in the mirror before opening the door. “Hi,” he said, sounding almost shy.

Dan smiled at him, probably relieved to see that Phil was not immediately angry at him. “Hi,” he said and handed him a Caramel Macchiato from Starbucks.

Phil looked at his cup and thought back to the endless hours they had shared at Starbucks back in Manchester. “Thank you.”

“I just figured this would make it so you don’t have to keep making us drinks that we forget to drink,” Dan said and stepped inside, looking around already. “This is nice.”

Phil resisted the urge to remind Dan that this was supposed to be their shared flat. He had never sent Dan the link to the ad because he was already distant towards him. “Yeah.”

“I’m glad that YouTube has been good to you.”

He smiled and didn’t comment.

“What?” Dan asked.

“Nothing.”

Dan raised one eyebrow at him. “Really, Lester?”

Phil sighed. “I moved into this apartment in 2013 to take the job at the BBC and paid one year of rent upfront in cash with my savings.”

“Oh, this is the one… I didn’t know. You don’t really show your flat a lot in videos.”

Phil’s lips formed a tiny O as he caught onto that tidbit of information. “So you still watch my videos.”

Dan blushed. “I’ve always been your fan,” he said, and for once, he wasn’t being sarcastic or trying to sound edgy. “Are we going to sit somewhere or are we just going to stand here by the door?”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Come on. Let’s sit on the sofa and drink these before they go cold.” He took a few sips as they walked for good measure. Phil let Dan sit and joined him on the sofa, taking a spot near him, but leaning back against the armrest to avoid any awkward touching. Besides, from this spot, he could really look at Dan without it being so obvious. His eyes followed the outline of Dan’s nose, his dry lips, his rosy patch and all the way down to his black sequin jacket that was catching the afternoon sun and projecting rainbows around the room.

“So…” Dan said.

Phil stayed silent and just gave him a look, indicating that he should start.

Dan swallowed and gave a small nod. “I gave your analysis of everything a lot of thought and I couldn’t untangle it alone, so I called my therapist and booked an emergency session, which turned into almost 3 and then I continued on my own,” he said. “I believe you were right. I thought that I had everything fairly processed so this caught me off guard. I was so mad at myself for not seeing it sooner.”

“I’m glad that you agree.”

“This whole situation, meeting you in a random street in London… it brought so many memories and, honestly, so many issues back.” He took a sip of his drink and continued, his eyes looking around the room, avoiding Phil’s eyes. “I thought that I had it together and I liked the life I was living, but then I saw you and - I’m not over you.” He finally looked into Phil’s eyes with an openness that made Phil shiver. “It was so easy to see when I was not focusing on helping other people, when you were no longer just part of my past, so I had a mental breakdown.”

Phil tried not to smile but failed miserably. Even if it amounted to nothing, and even though he might not have wanted to admit it to himself the first time he heard it, he was happy to know that Dan still had feelings for him. It almost sounded too good to be true.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Dan asked, frowning.

“I am saying many things - inside my head.” He sipped on his coffee and set it back on the coffee table.

“Care to share with the class?”

“Fine,” Phil huffed. “I thought that I was over you because I’ve tried my best to not even think about you, but Noah said that it’s obvious that I have not moved on and other things I am not going to repeat. And I realised that he’s right.” He paused, doubting on whether he should really say it but seeing Dan in front of him, nearly holding his breath, made him take that leap of faith. “I had managed to convince myself that everything was fine, but no. Happy?”

“Very,” Dan said with a gorgeous smile. “Do you think we can try again? I would like to see where this goes and if it doesn’t work out, I would still like to stay friends.” He reached out once again, just like he had a few days ago, waiting for Phil’s reaction.

Phil looked at him, hesitating briefly and nodded, taking Dan’s hand and lacing their fingers together before setting their joined hands on his leg. Then, a thought crossed his mind. “What about Sebastian?” he asked. “Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

“Not anymore. I thought I was happy with him, but there was never a chance that I would choose him over you and he knew that even before me,” Dan said, chewing on his lip for a moment. “He actually broke up with me before I could even think about it.”

“Oh,” Phil said, trying to not sound happy about it.

“He was right to break up with me,” Dan said, downing the rest of his coffee and setting the cup down. “It’s ok. When I came home from the play and he had moved out I felt relief. That’s a horrible thing to say, Phil. But it’s the truth.”

“How long had you been together?”

“Almost a year.”

“Never made it that long with anyone,” Phil blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Really?” Dan frowned.

“They weren’t you,” Phil said, watching Dan’s gleeful smile appear at the comment. “I stopped going out, I stopped hooking up with random guys. At this point, I could almost qualify as a virgin again.”

Dan smirked and his eyes darkened. “I doubt that.”

Phil knew that look well. “Behave,” he said, squeezing Dan’s hand. “We can’t just pick up where we left off. Things don’t work that way. Last time we rushed into it and it got complicated.”

“That’s true but -” Dan pouted.

“No buts. Let’s just hang out and see how we feel about it. See where it goes, if it goes anywhere.”

“Alright,” Dan said, but the air around them was still charged. “Let’s play some games.”

Phil smiled and let out a sigh of relief, he was hanging onto the will to resist Dan’s lustful eyes from a thread. He wanted it too, but not just for a day. He wasn’t going to repeat that mistake. There was still a chance that Dan would freak out again. He reluctantly let go of Dan’s hand. “Mario Kart?”

“Always,” Dan smiled.

Phil turned the console on and reached for his coffee, downing the last third of it.

“You still haven’t finished it?”

“No, you know I forget I’m drinking something and I finish it when I remember it.” He grabbed a cup containing half of his morning coffee and finished it as well just to prove a point. “This was my breakfast.”

“Come on, man!” Dan said. “Get it together!”

Phil winked at him with both eyes, sending Dan into a fit of laughter. Fuck, Phil had missed that sound. The hyena laugh.

To the surprise of no one, Dan won most of the races until Phil decided to slide closer to him and lay partially against him. Slowly but surely, Dan started to shift his attention from the game towards Phil, giving him little touches, playing with his hair and eventually, just pulling him to sit on his lap. That was the moment they dropped the controllers and just put on a random Studio Ghibli movie.

Dan was fully enjoying messing with Phil’s hair, giving him odd hairdos. He ran his fingers through it, pushing it into a quiff. “I like your hair pushed back.”

“Did you just quote Regina George to me?”

Dan barked out a laugh. “I think I did.”

“I know you did,” Phil said, poking Dan’s tummy. It was so soft. Phil wanted to lift his T-shirt and look at it.

“You look so gorgeous, Phil,” Dan mumbled. “I hope you don’t mind me saying it. You were always hot but right now you’re just stunning. I can’t cope with that.”

“Me?” Phil said and paused. If he told Dan what he was thinking about his body, things were going to get out of hand, so he reformulated. “Your curly hair suits you so well and your back looks so good too. You look so strong now.”

“Thanks, I think I finally hit puberty,” Dan laughed. “Do you really like my hair like this?”

Phil nodded. “It’s perfect. So pretty,” he said looking at Dan over his shoulder.

Dan wrapped his arms around Phil’s frame and dropped a small kiss to the tip of his nose.

Phil pressed his back to Dan’s chest and dropped his head back just so, their breaths mixing together as they got lost in each other’s eyes, the moment held them captive. Phil swallowed and cleared his throat, giving him a wide smile before looking away. It was not time yet. “How is your video idea coming along?” he asked instead.

“I paused it until we could discuss it again.”

“I like it a lot. I started a script of my own.”

“Oh?”

Phil finally got up from Dan’s lap and went in search of his notebook. He found it laying on his bed, uncapped pen at its side and everything. No, there was not a blue dot on his sheets, thank you for asking. “Here,” he said, handing it over to Dan.

Dan’s eyes widened when he read the title but he kept going, laughing here and there until he reached the end and looked up at Phil. “I love it. It’s much more detailed than your usual draft. Or - more detailed than what you used to write long ago.”

“I still draft the same way, it’s just for this project. I want to say the right thing and keep it brief, you know?”

Dan nodded. “I was thinking about hiring an editor, some are not as expensive as I’d thought. And for visuals… Do you remember Hector from Shittywatercolour? The one who made illustrations of us back in the day? I contacted him and can you believe that he agreed to do some illustrations for it?” He let out a deep sigh and shook his head, twirling a paper napkin between his fingers. “There are almost no people following me anymore, I’m below a million, so this is just for me. I need this video, or a part of me will always feel inside the closet no matter what I do.”

“ I understand,” Phil said. “Are you scared of your family’s reaction?”

Dan shook his head. “I emailed them last week.”

“What?”

“I kept backing out so one day I just sent them all an email. Everyone was cool except for my dad, so I cut him out of my life. No surprise there. Nana and Popsie said that it’s ok as long as I’m happy but I think they don’t get it. Hopefully they will soon so that I can flaunt you at family gatherings and vacations.”

“Really?” Phil asked. He could almost picture that, but Dan was getting a bit ahead of himself.

“Yeah,” Dan said. “For now, I would like to flaunt you in a few weeks, if you’d like to go see my play. It’s called ‘Family Disaster’ and it’s about a family crumbling as one of its members spirals. The narrator is the person spiralling so things get a bit crazy and abstract at times.”

“Sounds interesting,” Phil said. “Of course I’ll be there.”

“Thank you, Philly,” Dan said, kissing his cheek quickly.

Phil felt his heart grow twice its size inside his chest just from hearing Dan calling him Philly again.

----

Phil both loved and hated the fact that he and Dan were so compatible, now maybe even more so than before. Having grown as individuals had given them a sort of new perspective on life, yet their opinions, their humour and even their flirting had followed the same path. It was almost as if they were soulmates, just as Dan had said in the past, despite insisting that he didn't believe in any of that.

In the following weeks, proofreading and reworking Dan’s script for his “June Video” was easily overtaking his life. Dan’s passion was just that infectious and it seeped into Phil’s soul, making him even more excited over his own coming out video. At first, he didn’t want to show Dan his work because they were very different videos but Dan was so eager to see it that Phil just couldn’t deny him.

“So you’re filming it literally inside the closet,” Dan snorted.

“I thought the old-time viewers would appreciate the irony,” Phil said with a smirk.

Dan leaned in for a quick peck on the cheek. “I do appreciate it, thank you for thinking about my preferences.”

“Dork.” Phil felt himself blush and couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. It was all so new yet so familiar. They were officially doing a take two on their friendship but after some debating, they decided that certain things were allowed, such as hugging, cuddling and oftentimes, hand-holding, although not in public. “I was thinking, do you think it’s still alright for me to go see your play? I mean, if we are trying to be low-key about it.”

“I doubt that anyone we know will go see it and actually notice you in the crowd,” Dan said. “But if you feel unsure about it you don’t have to go. We can totally skip that and I can come over after, if you let me have a shower though; I’ll be a sweaty boy.”

“No, it’s not that I’m unsure about it,” Phil rushed to reassure Dan. “It’s just that-” he stopped himself, not wanting to plant the seed in Dan’s mind.

“What? You can tell me,” Dan said softly.

Phil knew he would confess all his secrets to Dan if he asked in that tone. He sounded calm, open, honest, ready to discuss things maturely and willing to listen carefully. “I am a bit hesitant because… I fear that you will freak out if someone realises I’m there, and I don’t want that to happen. I want to avoid any setbacks.”

Dan nodded. “I understand, but I don’t think I will. I know that the chance always exists but I know the chance exists, but even if it were to happen, I’m ready.”

Phil pulled him into a tight hug and smiled widely, slowly swaying from side to side, taking his time to let Dan know how proud of him he was without a single word. He pressed a kiss to Dan’s shoulder. “Look for me in the audience.”

“I never stopped looking,” Dan whispered.

---

When the day for Dan’s last show came, and with the support of his friends, Phil was ready to watch the play. He, along with Mark and Noah, sneaked almost last to a decent sized theatre and took their seats in the gallery, waiting for Dan to make an appearance.

Phil was in awe, his eyes fixated on Dan as he did such an amazing job of fleshing out his character's emotions, putting his entire body into it and not only relying on the dialogue. It was a sad play but it had a hopeful ending as ‘Tom’ underwent treatment for his mental disorder, which had gone unnamed the entire play and the family sat down to eat in a much calmer way, the lighting brighter, reminiscing of a summer afternoon in contrast to the dark and moody ambient from before.

The lights were on and the entire cast came out to bow for their audience. Phil stood and joined the crowd in the final applause. Only then did he tear his eyes away from Dan and saw Noah and Mark at his side, clapping and giving him a knowing look.

Looking back to the stage, Phil made eye contact with Dan, who winked at him and made a head incline. Phil smiled, feeling as if the butterflies in his stomach were going to fly out of his mouth at any given moment.

Noah leaned closer. “I liked the idea of going out to dinner and finally meeting Dan but it looks like you might want some privacy.”

Phil raised one eyebrow at him and blushed but didn’t address the comment. “We can go out to dinner as we agreed.”

“Please, he has managed to sneak looks your way the entire time,” Mark said. “We can go out some other time, I’m sure he’ll stick around.”

“Really?” Phil asked. “I thought I was imagining it.”

“No, it was obvious if you knew what to look for. He was smart about it,” Noah said. “He’s a good actor.”

Phil nodded proudly. “He was a theatre kid.”

“That makes sense,” Noah said. “Well, we’ll see you another time. Keep us updated.”

Mark wrapped his arms around Noah, setting his chin on his shoulder happily. “Remind him what I said. He better be good to you.”

“Shush,” Phil said, rolling his eyes. He looked down at the stage and found Dan still staring at him with a huge smile.

----

Phil stayed in his seat until most people had left the theatre and only then went in search of Dan at the back entrance. He whispered a brief hello and grabbed Phil’s hand, catching him by surprise, and led him to a taxi. Once they were sitting inside, Dan just blurted Phil’s address and turned to look at him with wide eyes. “Is that alright? Sorry, I’m just tired and since your friends left I figured we could stay in.”

“Of course. Pizza and Mario Kart sound good?”

Dan let out a breathy laugh. “You know me so well,” he said, wrapping one arm around Phil’s frame.

Letting his head rest on Dan’s shoulder, Phil relaxed and kept thinking about what he’d seen on stage. Dan was born to be in the spotlight, it’s where he looked more comfortable and at peace.

“What did you think of it?” Dan asked.

“You were amazing and the play was very interesting. It was very creative.”

“Hmm, Is that a good thing?”

“It is. I could tell that you put some of your psych knowledge into it. It was a nice metaphor on mental health and the impact it has on the person and their family.”

Dan nodded happily and stared straight ahead. “Can I still take that shower?”

“Sure,” Phil said, begging his mind to stop in its tracks. He looked at a droplet of sweat, or perhaps it was water, that fell from Dan’s hair and ran down his neck, disappearing under his white shirt.

Dan pinched Phil’s leg when he tried to pay the taxi, paying it himself instead and helping Phil out of the car. Once they were in the flat, Dan pulled him into a tight hug and stared into his soul for a moment before pressing their lips together. The fireworks igniting in Phil’s body were threatening with setting him on fire. They moved slowly, tentatively, but Phil could feel Dan’s love for him in every touch of their lips, in every sigh, in the way Dan’s hand rested on his neck softly.

Dan was relentless and it was starting to affect Phil, the heat rising within him by the second. It was too soon for that. Phil stepped away and smiled when he caught Dan’s lips chasing after him. “You can use anything from my closet, the shower is down the hall.”

“Sorry,” Dan mumbled, blushing slightly and running upstairs, presumably to Phil’s bedroom in search of clothes.

Phil pulled his phone out and called Domino’s ordering what used to be their usual. He then went to the living room to set the console and the plates before sitting on the couch for a bit. He was startled by a hand on his shoulder but relaxed when he opened his eyes and saw Dan, his hair still dripping from the shower, wearing his cookie monster pyjama pants and his York hoodie. That pulled at his heartstrings; Dan had always loved to wear that hoodie. “Did I fall asleep?”

“You did,” Dan laughed and pointed at the pizza on the coffee table.

“Fuck, I missed the doorbell?” Phil mumbled.

“It’s fine, it was a funny interaction with the delivery guy. I came out in a towel.”

“You went all the way down in a towel?” Phil asked with wide eyes.

“No! Oh my god!” Dan snorted. “I buzzed him in and got the door here. Still an unsettling view for the poor guy though.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Unsettling, right.” He paused. “Have you considered being a model?”

“Are you serious? I could never! I look like a potato.”

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous!”

“I don’t see it,” said Dan and Phil was sad to look into his eyes and realise that he still believed that. “Don’t give me that face,” he said.

“I just think you’re so beautiful and I wish you could see it. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes,” Phil said, still trying to find the right words.

“I’m working on it... Baby steps,” Dan said and shoved him to the side unceremoniously to fit at his side.

“What’s wrong?” Dan asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

Phil poked his side and smiled at Dan’s childishness. As the night progressed, they melted deeper and deeper into the couch until Phil checked his phone and his stomach dropped at the amount of Twitter notifications. He hadn’t posted anything for a few days, this couldn’t be good news.

“Is this 2012? My 13 year old self is crying tears of joy! My ship is sailing! @amazingphil @danielhowell” Attached to the tweet were three pictures. One taken from Phil’s back as he watched Dan on stage, one zoomed in from across the street as Dan guided him to the taxi and another at the first stoplight where Dan had already settled his arm on Phil’s shoulder.

#succubusphan fics #phanfic #phanfiction #phan #phan au #dan and phil #ospbb 2023

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