#this is worded awfully but you get the picture lol

[sunkissed-zegras]

✮ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, quinn hughes

you can hear it in the silence, silence, you you can feel it on the way home, way home, you you can see it with the lights out, lights out you are in love, true love you are in love

one step, not much but it said enough you kiss on sidewalks you fight and you talk one night he wakes strange look on his face pauses, then says you're my best friend and you knew what it was he is in love

you two are dancing in a snow globe, 'round and 'round and he keeps the picture of you in his office downtown and you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars

♡ ─ word count | 3.5k

♡ ─ summary | 3 times that quinn wanted to tell you he loved you, and the 1 time he finally did.

♡ ─ warnings | unedited (when are my works ever lol), mention of comparison between jack/quinn, exhaustion, slight angst??? but mostly tooth-rotting fluff, quinn overthinking, idk maybe there are more but nothing major LMAO

♡ ─ taglist | tbd!! check link in navigation if you are interested

♡ ─ ev's notes | this took WAY too long to write and lowkey not very proud of it, but i wanted to get it out before i start writing my fics for my 100 follower celly. i love quinny so much, he deserves the world and i hope this fic does him justice LMAO. ALSO THIS SONG MAKES ME FEEL SO FREAKING SICK, ITS SO GOOD. also now im noticing a theme on my page, only writing fics inspired by taylor songs, i need to switch it tf up. anyways, enjoy this slightly longer quinn fic & lmk your thoughts in the comments/reblogs. have a great day!

Quinn had never been the type to fawn over anyone ─ especially a girl.

In his 23 years of living, he can't remember a time where he was getting all excited and giddy over the mere thought of anyone. All he could ever remember was just focusing on family, hockey, friends.

Sure, there were flings ─ there were always flings but it would never end in anything more than that. It was just a fling. Sure, sometimes he would want something more but most of the times, the girls thought they were just getting themselves into a one-night stand. Two nights (never in a row) if they were lucky. But that was it.

Even if Quinn wanted a relationship (he doesn't, he would swear), he didn't have time for it. Family, hockey, friends ─ that was it. That's all he wanted.

Of course, that was all thrown out the window when he had met you.

Well, not initially. Quinn wasn't the 'love at first type' kinda guy and neither were you. Your first meeting was nothing out of the ordinary. Just a casual meeting at a friend's gathering, a few exchanged pleasantries, and nothing more.

Yet, something about you stuck with him. It was your sweet smile, maybe, or the way your eyes just looked kind and they would light up when you were asked about your job, or your family. Quinn couldn't pinpoint exactly when it happened, but at some point, he found himself thinking about you when he should have been focused on his next game or practice.

His friends noticed the change in him. His younger brothers had noticed the small change and would tease him. "Hey, Q, what's up with you? You've been awfully distracted lately," Quinn could just imagine the stupid grin etched on Jack's face as he spoke those words.

Quinn, normally quick with a witty retort, found himself at a loss for words. He knew he was in new territory; he had never, ever in his life been overthinking about a girl. For the first time, hockey or family or friends weren't the only thing on his mind.

As days turned into weeks, Quinn's feelings grew stronger. He'd catch himself daydreaming about you during team meetings or staring at his phone, waiting for your texts back. He would go look at your instagram multiple times a day, waiting for a new post to go up just so he could see that pretty smile of yours but somehow, he was never satisfied with just that. For once in his whole life, he had wanted to actually get to know a girl based on one meeting and a couple of texts. It was maddening, this feeling of being drawn towards someone in a way he had never experienced before.

He also couldn't ask any of his buddies for advice because all he'd get was teasing so he had to keep it to himself, which somehow made this entire situation so much worse.

Then finally, there was that one night. You were both at another gathering, the same friends, the same laughter, but this time something shifted. You shared a small inside joke, a quick glance, and Quinn felt his heart race in a way that no slapshot or overtime goal had ever made it race before. He felt a surge of contradictory emotions during that one-second moment, a mix of anxiety and excitement that overwhelmed him. It was a sensation so intense that he wanted to vomit, yet strangely, it was different from the kind of feelings he had experienced before ─ it was not because of hockey, it was a girl. No, you weren't just a girl to him anymore, he realized. You were much more than that to him now.

As he drove home that night, he couldn't deny it anymore. He was falling for you, and it terrified him. Love was a complicated thing, one he had always sworn to avoid, but now he was caught in it's tight grasp all because of you.

The following days were a whirlwind of emotions. Quinn, who had always been the composed defenseman on the ice, found himself stumbling over words and second-guessing every move he made when it came to you. He couldn't concentrate during practice, and his teammates couldn't understand what had gotten into him and if he was being honest, neither did he.

But one thing was clear - Quinn Hughes was in love, and he didn't know how to handle it. He realized that his carefully constructed world of family, hockey, and friends had been upended by the presence of one person ─ you.

And so, this journey begins - three times Quinn wanted to tell you he loved you, and the one time he finally did.

──

ONE

──

After what seemed like the longest practice of his entire life, Quinn trudged back to his apartment, exhaustion weighing down every step. The weight of expectations from his teammates and fans pressed on his shoulders. Today wasn't his day; his passes were off, shots missed the mark, and he stumbled more than once during drills. Even coach had given him some constructive criticism, which usually wouldn't have bothered him, but today it felt like salt in the wound.

As he entered his home, he was ready to collapse onto the couch and shut out the world. As he collapsed on his soft couch, he groaned out in pain, the soreness in his muscles somehow hurt more than usual. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, until he heard the familiar buzzing of his phone in the pocket of his shorts. He cursed under his breath and pulled it out but all the anger seemed to slowly dissipate as he saw your name and contact picture spayed out on the screen.

Then he remembered. Tonight was supposed to be date night for the both of you. He cursed again before answering the phone, sitting upright on the couch.

"Hey," he answered breathlessly, the exhaustion clear in his voice.

"Hey, Quinn I'm outside─you okay?" You say through the phone but before he could answer, you continued. "Shit, sorry Quinn is this a bad time? I know you just had practice and probably tired, I should've texted but you know, I was so excited─"

"No, no, no. Come up, I'm fine I'm not tired." He was lying and you both knew it, but you sighed through the speaker. "Please, come up. I want you here."

"Okay... promise?"

"Promise, Y/N." He said your name so softly, it made your heart flutter and you couldn't help but smile.

"Okay. I'll be up in two secs," You said. "Bye."

The phone call ended and Quinn exhaled. He was tired, sure ─ but he was excited to see you. Even the sound of your voice made him relax so it wasn't even that much of hassle having a date night. If anything, he was sure, you'd make him feel better.

He quickly changed his clothes and he heard the doorbell ring. Quinn opened the door with a tired smile ─ it slowly spread as he saw your pretty smile. He felt his heart speed up as you slowly examined him, and that smile slowly dropped.

"Quinn..." You whispered, a small frown on your face. His disheveled appearance made you slightly sad.

You both made eye contact for a few seconds before you sighed and walked in, your arms wide open. You embraced him warmly, putting your arms around his shoulders and squeezed him softly.

As your arms enveloped him in a warm, comforting embrace, Quinn felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Your presence had a way of soothing his mind. The subtle scent of your floral shampoo, the softness of your warm touch, it all wrapped around him pleasantly.

He closed his eyes, letting himself bask in the tenderness of the moment. Your fingers traced gentle circles on his back, and it was as if you were silently reassuring him that it was okay to have bad days because you'd be there to catch him.

You pulled away, your eyes met again, and he saw genuine concern in your gaze. That alone was enough to make his heart skip multiple beats. Quinn couldn't quite put it into words, being around you was like like returning to the warm embrace of home.

He wanted to utter those three special words as he met your gaze, your kind eyes but the words slowly died on his tongue as you continued talking, taking his hand in yours.

"Let's go eat some ice cream and watch Top Gun." You smiled, knowingly.

He laughed softly and nodded, squeezing your hand. "Sounds like a plan."

──

TWO

──

The moon cast a soft glow through the white curtains as you and Quinn sat together in his dimly lit living room in comfortable silence. The day had been long, filled with its usual chaos and pressures, but now, the world was still. The only sounds were the faint hum of the city outside and the occasional car passing by.

With a sigh, Quinn leaned back into the couch, his exhaustion evident in expression. You watched him closely, sensing the weight of the day on his shoulders. Your relationship had grown stronger over the span of a couple months and you had become his confidante, the one he turned to when he needed to escape from the demands of the team and fans.

Practice had been harder than usual and somehow, on top of all of that, the media had initiated a new trend of drawing comparisons between him and Jack, which made his mood worse.

You knew that; watching Quinn get slowly demotivated by the comments made by those nobodies, it hurt your heart. Breaking the silence, you softly asked, "Quinn, how are you really holding up?"

He looked at you, his gaze wavering at your soft eyes. There was something about the way you looked at him, a warmth and understanding that he had rarely found in anyone else. It was as if you could see right through him, past the tough exterior he often wore.

For a moment, he hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. He almost gave you the media-trained answer but then, he realized that with you. "Not sure, if I'm being honest."

"That's fine, Quinn." You answered softly, "you don't have to know. But what I do what you to know is that you're not Jack. You're not Luke, or Trevor, or anyone else. You're you and that's enough."

That simple answer made him halt all his thoughts. He felt his shoulders slowly drop, letting out a loud exhale. He felt a sense of relief wash over him, as if a heavy burden had been lifted.

With empathy in your eyes, you couldn't help but feel the toll it was taking on him. The Quinn you saw now, weary and vulnerable, was a side he rarely showed to anyone.

Quinn's voice wavered as he spoke about the comments that everyone had been making on the media. "It's just... they don't understand, Y/N. They don't see the hours of practice, the sacrifices, the love I have for this game. All they see is Jack's brother, or one of the Hughes brothers."

You reached out and gently placed a hand on his arm, comfortingly. "Quinn, I see you. I see the hard work, the dedication, and the love you have for hockey. And I believe in you. You might be just Jack's brother or just another Hughes to them, but that doesn't matter to me. I see Quinn and you know what, that's enough. And if it isn't enough for them, then fuck them."

His eyes met yours, and there was a vulnerability in that eyes that spoke volumes. In that moment, Quinn realized that he was sharing not just his struggles, but his true self with you. It was a level of trust and intimacy he hadn't experienced with any girl before.

The silence that followed was a comforting one, filled with unspoken understanding. It was as if you were his anchor in the storm, a source of encouragement and warmth. Quinn couldn't help but think that he was lucky to have you by his side, someone who saw him for who he truly was, beyond just hockey player or another Hughes brother, beyond the expectations.

As he held your kind gaze, Quinn couldn't help but think that he wanted to say something more, something that would convey the true depth of his feelings. But for now, he settled for a heartfelt confession: "You're my best friend."

──

THREE

──

The frenetic buzz of the post-game celebrations following a thrilling overtime victory against the Toronto Maple Leafs, Quinn found himself into another arena, one of bright lights and microphones. His heart still raced from the intensity of the game, but now, he had to face the media. The sweat dripped from his forehead, his heart was still beating from the intensity of the adrenaline in his system.

The victory had been hard-fought, Quinn playing a pivotal role in securing it. The puck on his stick, he executed great moves, the slide of the ice beneath his skates, the thud of the puck hitting the net, the eruption of cheers all merging into a thrilling crescendo of sensations made his head buzz with excitement.

The reporters, with cameras flashing and microphones thrust forward, surrounded him like a hungry vultures. They fired questions, one after another, probing for insights into the game-changing play that had secured the win for the Vancouver Canucks.

"Quinn, that last-minute save in overtime was incredible! Can you walk us through what was going on in your mind?"

"Quinn, there's been a lot of buzz with your brother, Jack Hughes. How does it feel to outshine him tonight?"

"You've been compared to some of the greats tonight. How do you handle the pressure of those comparisons?"

"Quinn, your family's here tonight, right? How does their support affect your game?"

"Quinn, fans are calling this one of the best games of your career. Do you think this win is the turning point for the Canucks this season?"

The questions all blurred in his head, the bright lights straining his eyes. Quinn, used to these post-game interviews, felt a distinct unease tonight even after such a big win. The questions were sharp and the scrutiny was intense. In the midst of this media frenzy, he sought solace in the one thing that always brought him strength: you.

He remembers seeing you in the stands before the game and his mind kept replaying those few seconds where you shared a big grin as you both made eye contact.

Amidst the crowd of reporters, he spotted you, your presence radiating pride and warmth. Your eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you in the arena. You gave him a big thumbs up with a big grin, knowing how anxiety inducing those post-game interviews could be. Quinn longed to speak the words that danced at the tip of his tongue but he knew he had to navigate this sea of questions first.

──

This week had to be the longest of Quinn's life. The 3 hour, 5 am pre-season practices had been so tiring, he felt the life get sucked out of him after every exhausting practice. There was one thing he had been looking forward to and that was your date night. Even though he knew that he would have do this week over again practically the next week, he was okay with it knowing that he would be able to spend some time with you over the weekends.

As Friday night finally arrived, Quinn couldn't help but feel a sense of relief and excitement. The thought of spending time with you, of being himself without the pressures of anyone else, filled him with a sense of comfort.

He had suggested a new restaurant downtown, a place neither of you had been before. As you both entered the restaurant, the soft piano ambience and the chatter created the perfect atmosphere. Quinn couldn't help but steal a few glances at you, admiring your beauty and the easy way you fit into his world.

You had worn your hair back in a low bun, showing off your sweet collarbone, a pretty necklace that Quinn had bought for you on a trip hanging off it. It was a silver color and the jewel a beautiful deep blue color that brought out your angelic eyes. Quinn couldn't help but stare and you felt your face burn with heat as you caught his loving gaze.

"What, is there something on my face?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "No, no. You just look beautiful, like always. I like that necklace, wonder who bought it for you."

You giggled in response, feeling slightly giddy. You couldn't even lie, Quinn had you in a trance. You were head over heels. "Yeah, I wonder who."

The rest of the night was spent like this ─ sweet and teasing, it all felt right. Everything just felt right, it was if the last week hadn't happened. Every problem just slowly faded every time either of you spent time together, no matter how big or small it was.

After dinner, you decided to take a walk out in town. The summer air was unusually cool, the lights of the city perfectly setting the atmosphere for the night.

Quinn held your hand, your softer and smaller hand fitting his like a glove. You both walked through the town, talking and laughing like you two were the only people in the world.

As you both passed a bar, your ears filled with the familiar tune of your favorite song. You immediately stopped and looked at Quinn knowingly. "Oh my gosh, I can't believe it's playing!"

Quinn let out a soft chuckle, nodding. "Wanna go in?"

You ignored his question and started lip syncing the lyrics to him, playfully. He started laughing even louder, letting his head fall back. You had started laughing, too ─ then, you took his hand in yours and started dancing.

If it this was anyone else, Quinn would've been slightly embarrassed but as he saw your eyes sparkling and your wide small, he truly couldn't feel anything but love. He had a smile on his face as he grabbed you and pulled you closer, dancing happily with you.

As the song ended, another started playing. 'You are in love' by Taylor Swift had started playing and Quinn almost let out a laugh at the coincidence. You looked back at him, a deep blush gracing on your face. He took your hand again and pulled you closer, and you put you put arms around his broad shoulders.

You both looked into each other's eyes and he took account of how beautiful you looked in this moment ─ you always looked beautiful, no matter when or where or to who, it was just a fact. But you looked more than just physically beautiful, everything about you was perfect, your flaws, your smile, just everything.

And that was when Quinn really knew, in his bones that you were the one for him.

"What?" You whispered, as you saw Quinn's expression changed slowly. He loved that too ─ how empathetic you were, how in sync you both were. You always knew what he was feeling.

You asked, but you knew what the answer was.

"I think ─ no..." His words died on his tongue as your expression changed too. "I know it. I love you."

It didn't feel like a big confession. It didn't feel how everyone described it to be, it just felt like a normal statement. You both had thought it before, multiple times ─ so saying it out loud wasn't a big confession to either of you.

He loved that, he was so used to everything being so big and grand, he wanted it simple. He loved that and he loved you.

You could see it in his eyes, too. His eyes were softened as he gazed at you, like he always looked at you. But this time, you acknowledged it more. He loved you. Quinn loved you. As you gazed into his brown eyes, your heart swelled with a deep sense of connection. You had known, just like he did, that this feeling existed between you. It wasn't born out of big gestures or dramatic confessions; instead, it had quietly grown, nourished by the everyday moments you shared.

As the song ended softly, you let out a breath you didn't know you were even holding. "Yeah. I know I love you, too."

His smile got impossibly bigger and then, he leaned in and gave you the biggest of kisses ─ the dramatic ones, too. He had your face in his hand, the other one holding on your waist and you pulled him closer with your hands.

You felt his mouth smirk as you both sloppily made out. You laughed into the kiss but neither of you pulled away. Neither of you liked PDA but this time, it felt right.

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thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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[thewritermj]

cameras flashes, that's how we crashed

battinson!bruce wayne X reader

part 1

summary: on a press conference, bruce finds a journalist who's up to his standards

warnings: usual gotham violence, quick discrimination of a serial killer, not actually smut in this, but in the future so NSFW MDNI

a/n: forgive any grammatical mistakes, english is not my first language!!! Bruce lives in the manor instead of the Wayne Towers cuz I like the manor vibe more, also I kinda picture Jim Gordon from the Gotham Tv show, cuz I love that version but it doesn't really matters lol. (nothing said above is useful for this reading but I just thought you should know) also, this takes place one year after the movie

Bruce sat quietly on the car, the ride was awfully short. He wished he had more time to mentally prepare to his first press conference. He was a recluse for most part of his life, but after the scandal about The Gotham Renewal Program, people deserved to know the truth. And the idea of continuing his family legacy of charity and philanthropy wasn’t all bad and kept Alfred out of his nerves for a while.

And even tough Bruce Wayne could crack a fake smile to the cameras, throw charity galas and events, the true help came at night. The only possible salivation Gotham could have, the real way he could help the city was as Vengeance. The Batman. He didn’t think of himself as a hero, or a vigilante, more of a necessary evil; all the violence and anger, the rage and the darkness of his work, his project; people would be outraged if they found out they were the same man.

“We’re here, Mr. Wayne” The driver announced.

Alfred, who as sitting across from Bruce on the limo closed the papers he was reading and smiles softly.

“Ready, master Bruce?”

Bruce sighs.

“Not really”

The car parked inside the underground garage of the Wayne Enterprises, Bruce and Alfred made their way to the elevator, not a word was said.

Bruce stole a glance at his reflection on the mirror. A black suit Alfred picked for him, a W embroidery on its lapel, his hair was short now, shorter than he liked, all slicked back by hair gel, but nothing could hide the dark circles under his eyes or the lack of sun colour on his skin. Sometimes, just sometimes, Bruce wishes he didn’t have to wear normal clothes, to comb his hair, ties his bottoms; he wishes he could live inside the Batsuit. He felt like the suit was his own skin, her armour, him and Batman were on, there was no Bruce Wayne without Vengeance, they were bonded forever and could never be separated from each other. He wish they could, he wish he could be Batman alone; no press conferences, no reports, paparazzi, no “Bruce Wayne crowned prince of Gotham.”

The elevator stops and the door open. Alfred goes our first and greet some people outside, telling them where to go.

“You have 10 minutes, Bruce.” He warns, “I’ll get them stared and you wait here till I call you”

Bruce nods.

He sits down on a leather couch and waits, starring at the glass doors. All the reports and journalists waiting for him, men and women, from Gotham and other places of the world.

He’s nervous. Not nervous like he is before a fight, nervous he will be put on a corner, that he’ll be catch on a lie, nervous someone knows. It’s like someone in the next room it’s just waiting for him to appears, to stand up from their chair and ask ‘Are you the Batman?’

“Ladies and gentleman, Bruce Wayne” Alfred announces from the stage and glances at him.

Bruce works on his better smile he can put on and enters the stage; he’s received with thunderous applauses and blinding cameras flashes. He waves and sit on a chair, in a wooden desk in front of him is a glass of water and a microphone.

“Let’s get, started then” Alfred said, pointing to a woman in a grey dress standing with a microphone in her hand.

“Mr. Wayne, why did you decided to throw a press conference after years of reclusiveness?”

Bruce leans into her direction a bit.

“Well, I think all the events of the past year made me realize how much the Wayne Foundation means to Gotham and I’ve been a little reckless with that matter”

It was a good answer, he thought.

The following questions were easy too, “Mr. Wayne, how do you plan on taking care of the raised money? To prevent anything to happen again”, “What’s the difference between the Wayne Foundation and the Gotham Renewal Program?”, “What projects do you have in mind?”, and of course, some shallow questions, “What brand is your suit?”, “What car do you drive?”, question he almost laughed at. Did people actually wanted to know that?

Bruce was thinking how the conference was going well, easy, almost, not as he had pictured it before. Until…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

He flinched for half a second, he opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Another woman asked something he didn’t quite hear with all that was going on inside his head, but the word Batman was also there. And then another, and another…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

The room turned into a complete circus. Grown adults talking over each other, fighting for a turn on the microphone.

You rolled your eyes. This happens every time, someone thinks about the name Batman and suddenly everyone has something to say. What does it matter Bruce Wayne’s thought of the Batman? There were so much important questions to be asked, so much more to discover about that man’s life and projects than a simple opinion.

You were begging to regret the moment you accepted the offer to come to this conference. You weren’t a regular journalist, you didn’t know how to write an article about the weather, fashion trends, social events, you wrote about thing most journalist didn’t want to, thing that most people were scare to read. People scared of the truth. You weren’t. You would dig and dig until the raw verity came to surface, it didn’t matter where or who you had to dig.

The man who had introduced Mr. Wayne appeared again and announced the press conference. No fucking way, no without the answers you wanted, you didn’t take this job to watch other people ruin it.

Slowly, you got up from your sit and walked towards the person who as holding the microphone and gently pull it away from his hands.

“Mr. Wayne…” but the voices around you were too loud.

You gave the head of the mic a flick, the loud keen sound made the room come silent.

“Sorry.” You apologized. “Mr. Wayne, why did you felt the urge to re-open the school project at the marginalized neighbourhoods of Gotham after your father failed attempted?”   

The men was halfway leaving, but he turned around reluctant, staring right at you. Those piercing blue eyes roaming your face.

“Well, I believe the project needs a second chance. Children and teenagers should be given a chance to have a good education, it helps getting them out of the streets.” He answered, without the microphone his voice was low, but the silence of the room let you hear him loud and clear. “Who do you write for?”

“The Gotham Gazette” You answered proudly.

Mr. Wayne whispered something to the other man and sat back at the chair.

“Do you have any more questions, Miss…?”

You smile politely and told him your name.

“Would you say that the Wayne Foundation has an impact outside of Gotham?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on the man’s lips. You shook the urge to smile back at him.

You could tell he was a bit nervous, but he had answered the questions with manners and the right words, maybe he didn’t notice, but he’s quite good at it.

“Yes. I think the work we do on the Foundation inspires people to do the same. If it works out, we can show the world that if there was hope for Gotham there’s hope for them too”

“Do you think there’s hope for Gotham?” You asked, out of spite, because you didn’t write it down before the press.

His lips contracted to a thin line and he thought of it for a few seconds before answering:

“Yes. As long as people like me and you care about what happens here, there’s still hope for the city”

You smiles.

“People like me?”

“You seem to know a lot about the charity work, and you care enough to show it to the world”

Your smile grew bigger and you felt a hint of warm rushing through your cheeks.

Mr. Wayne answered a few more of your questions before the press conference was over.

You were, oh, so proud of yourself. The information you gathered was perfect for what you had in mind and for sure, you could make it a good article. An admiring of the Wayne legacy, that’s what you called yourself. It has always called out to you what that wealth family did; they had no obligation to do it, to donate not just money, but time and resources to help those who couldn’t have what they did, to make Gotham something to be proud of. It’s a shame they never lived long enough to cure it, to heal it. However, you hoped that, maybe, Bruce did. At least he sound determined to.  

You gathered your things and your purse, but as you made your way to the elevator, a woman dresses on formal clothes approached you with a clean, sharp smile that made her look like a dental paste commercial.

“Excuse me, miss. Would you mind, following me?”

You frowned.

“Ahn…What for?”

“Mr. Wayne wishes to speak to you” She explained and her smile somehow grew wider.

Standing there for a few seconds, all you could do was nod as you followed her through a long corridor. What was happening right now? He wants to speak to you? Bruce Wayne wishes to speak to a journalist in private? And more important, to you.

She opened a door to a breath-taking office.

Right in front of you was a full wall window, a panoramic view of Gotham in all its “glory”, skyscrapers, apartment buildings, the clock tower, the bridge of the river, the field behind the road, you could see everything from up there. There was a wooden desk in front of the window, quite empty, and a chair that looked more comforting than any other you had ever sat.

When the woman closed the door behind you, your attention changed to the man standing on your left. Bruce Wayne was staring at you dead in the eyes with a facial expression of someone who just saw a ghost.

This guy seriously need some sunbathing. You shook that thought out of your head.

“Mr. Wayne. You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes” His raspy voice responded. “Sit, please”

You took a seat on one of the chairs in front of the chair and he sat opposite of you, behind the desk, diving completely into the velvet chair. He crosses his fingers and stares at you again. It made you a little uncomfortable, he did that a lot, like a hunter watching its prey.

“So…”

“I’ve searched your work. You’re really good.”

“Thank you, sir”

“You won a Pulitzer, am I right?”

“Yes, a few years ago”

When did he get the time to read all this information? It’s not like you’re super famous, even the Pulitzer wasn’t a very known prize if you didn’t know the industry.

“For a book about a serial killer in Detroit” He said, a voice that verged into an interrogation tone. “The Divine Move?”

You blinked a few times.

“I…Yes. Nathan Walters.”

He lifted his eyebrows just an inch, telling you to continue the story.

You cleared your throat.

“He uh, he used to be the altar boy of the neighbourhood church and he chose his victims based on the sins he supposed they’ve committed.” You’ve shorten it, you couldn’t understand why a billionaire was asking you about the modus operandi of a criminal who was thousands of miles away.  “Why are you asking me this, if I may ask, Mr. Wayne?”

“You’re an investigative journalist. Why are you attending press conferences of a random billionaire?”

You supressed a laugh. Random.

“I grew up here, sir. I’ve always admired your family work, I took the opportunity when it was offered to me.”

“You seem to know a lot about my family history.”

“Like I said, I’m just an admiring. Although, I once thought of writing a book about the Wayne Legacy. Your legacy, sir.”

“Your legacy, sir”.

Bruce looked down at his cufflinks, the W prominent on a silvery material.

His legacy.

He once thought the Wayne Foundation was his legacy. But now he knew, his true legacy came in a bat shaped suit and sleepless nights; it came on purple coloured bruises and blood stained clothes.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well…it’s very hard to write about something when you only get superficial information.”

You were nervous, he could tell. You kept staring at the view behind him, or at your shoes, tanking a little too long to answer his questions. He wondered how could a journalist gets nervous, almost shy.

He gave you a puzzled look, not using any words to express his question. But you understood it.

“Using material that was wrote by someone else. All the records and stories about your parents have already been wrote by someone else before me, so I couldn’t say it was my work, could I?”

He hummed.

Bruce took a sigh. Maybe. Maybe this was a good idea, it could keep him in a good status with the press, plus, he’d be able to hide even further down his secret identity, having a journalist with him every day? No one would suspect his the Batman.

“There are stories and details that haven’t been told.”

You bit your lower lip.

He stared at you.

“What are you implying, sir?”

“If I tell you the stories, would you write it?”

“If I tell you the stories, would you write it?”

You almost passed out.

Would you?

Who could say they had a proposal like that? Dig into the secrets of the Wayne family?

“Yes”.

___________________

a/n2: aaaah this is actually so boring I'm so sorry, also I think I made bruce a little more talkative than I would've but anyways I may change it yet.

a special thank you to @preciouslandmermaid for inspiring me to finally write this!! <3

#bruce wayne #robert pattinson #battinson!bruce wayne x reader #battinson #the batman #the bat family #bruce #bruce wayne smut #dc comics #dc universe #fic writing #fanfic #batman #gotham #gotham city #first chapter #superhero #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #batman x reader #batman x you #batman smut #batfamily

[pieroulette]

untitled project, corpse bride (teaser)

author's note. a jungwon 7k oneshot corpse bride inspired with him as a 'psycho serial killer butchering everyone in the train' i did since a year ago, but im not satisfied with it yet but here's a teaser! i haven't written in awhile so it might be crusty rusty lol but yep it will be out this month, hopefully ♡ trying to get back into my momentum.

warning. subtle graphic description of murder, gore. / excessive tagging wouldn't be used but a tagging system of playing card symbols i've created so please read at your own discretion when the full fic is out.

Horrendous. Awful.

Not quite like the picture perfect image he had been fantasising about whenever he'd like to.

But he likes it, more than he would like to.

Awfully likes it.

He just needs to fix it a little more. Just a bit would do.

A bride on her merry way down the aisle of promised vows of happily ever after, a sweetened pursed up glossed lips and irises, couldn't she grow any more sweeter than this? Perhaps, it could. But to him, your shattered delicate state was much more sweet than he could taste, he could even sniff it into his soul—dark, dark, terribly dark soul.

Your bouquet, strip to nothingness where restorations could no longer be made was evident with madness. Or was he, the madness in itself? Perhaps, it is. What is there to deny?

Now the question is, what happened? Was it an arranged marriage on the foundation of a million bucks or perhaps even better, a mine of gold? Or was it actually true love at first sight? A runaway bride with her lover but was unfortunately shot to his death, or maybe, maybe fell to his death down the cliff? Or was it betrayal?

Which one is it?

Which one did actually happen that it has this tremendous effect in making this sweet of a delicate bride stranded somewhere in the city, boarding a train in all her fleeting gloriousness that was all for her cherished husband-to-be to relished on?

How amusing.

Where did your smile go? Your pitch black mascara smeared, tainted with pearl tears. Glossed lips now chapped and dry. The overall makeover he was sure took a horrendous amount of preparation was replaced with an image of a decomposing corpse bride.

But he likes it.

Of course it would, why wouldn't he?

He wouldn't need to go through the tremendous hassle of butchering another one when you're all here, all ready to be his next corpse bride in collection.

It just needs a little more, a little more — effort.

To make you his perfect corpse bride.

Silence.

Nothing came.

Only a deafening silence in constant rhythm of beats, accompanied by (Name)'s rampant heart as the main vocal. The train's intercom and the sound of the train tracks was what served as the instruments, side vocals by the distant screaming ahead the carriage.

All of it, the entire piece of orchestration of all led by the conductor with his baton. However, the conductor was eerily silent. Weirdly, horrifyingly silent.

"Whose bride do we got here?"

A hiccup escape from the bride's throat as soon as those words reverberated from the conductors lips.

Amused by the unusual sight you don't often see everyday especially while boarding a train, the man let's put a satisfying groan as he sat down facing the bride, comfying himself for another break session.

He's sitting down? Are you fucking serious right now?!That particular sentence echoes beneath everyone's mind in varying volumes and expressions. No one knows how long will it take. But everyone was sure as hell didn't want him to sit that long.

Get lost. Just get fucking lost!

But one should know that one single wrong step is only a foolish's mistake.

Therefore, it was a silent agreement of all;

To stay still.

Do not anger the lion.

Or perhaps, the conductor if we were being classy here.

"Since you didn't hear it, I'll repeat my question," Jungwon grins behind the cat mask, "Where's your husband?"

An orchestration of a bloodbath; scream once, your head gone. Try to run, don't bother, just crawl. But Jungwon wouldn't mind a bit letting your head stay intact a little more, he just thought you would look a lot sweeter with your delicate face and piece of dress splattered with the perfect ingredient.

© pieroulette (previously ateliertale)

#enhypen scenarios #enhypen oneshots #enha scenarios #enha oneshots #enha x reader #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon #jungwon oneshots #enha imagines #yang jungwon x reader

[sublimecatgalaxy]

me again :) i’ve been thinking a lot about javier peña and how i want him to be mine so bad thanks to tiktok💘 the idea i mentioned to you was reader and javi in a long distance relationship and just the phone conversation between the two of them. it could be fluffy or lean on the side of phone sex but literally anything where he’s speaking to the reader is perfect! can you tell i’m really into pedro’s voice? lol🤭

UHHHHH BESTTIE!!!! My first Javi request😌 TUMBLR THERE IS NO SMUT IN THIS, IT'S JUST FLIRTING AND FLUFFY PLEASE DON'T PUT A WARNING ON THIS.

"I did my nails today." I sigh, looking at the red tinge on my fingers and toes with a fond smile, knowing how much Javi loves when I get myself all pretty for him.

"Yeah?" Javier asks softly, his voice sending shivers down my spine, especially after not hearing from him for nearly three days. "What color?" He asks but I can hear the smile in his tone, knowing he already knows what color I chose.

"Your favorite." I hum with a smirk, twirling the cord on the phone while I curl up on his side of the bed, heart aching at the fact that I can no longer smell his cologne on his pillow.

"Red?"

"Yes."

"You should send me some polaroids." He offers with a sense of mischief in his voice and I giggle, eyes rolling at his pervy thoughts.

"Should I?" He laughs through the line and my whole body warms at the noise, a sense of adoration and appreciation consuming me as I desperately wish to be right there beside him in his Colombian home.

"I miss you." He whispers, a tinge of sadness to his voice.

"I miss you too. It's been awfully boring here. Just the cat and me." I reach down to pet my calico beauty Riley in my lap and she purrs happily, nudging her face against my hand just like she does to Javi when he's home. "I need my man here to spice up my life in more ways than one."

"I'm working on it, sweetheart." Though my words were meant to be teasing, there's an honest frustration to his own words and I realize how tired he must be and how much he must want to be home with me. "What else did you do today other than paint your nails and miss me?"

"Bought some groceries, bought a ticket to Columbia, got a new litterbox-"

"Wait what?" He cuts me off and I can hear the line rustle on his end, almost as if he's moving to catch up with the huge bomb I just dropped on him. Playing dumb, I roll my eyes teasingly and give him the best show I can give.

"What?" I ask dumbly, hearing him scoff loudly and impatiently on the other end of the line.

"You're coming to Columbia?" He asks breathlessly and I can picture the tears lining his lash line and the way his cheeks blush gently when he's excited.

"I get on a plane bright and early tomorrow morning." I giggle, boucing excitedly up and down on the bed, spooking Riley out of her slumber as she rushes off the bed and under it.

"You're kidding."

"You sound disappointed?" Nerves swirl in my tummy for a moment until he mutters a quiet 'no, no, no' under his breath and I feel the anxiety of my secret disappear.

"I'm shocked." He scoffs and if I close my eyes hard enough, I can picture him fisting his hair, looking around the room thinking something along the lines of 'how am I going to clean this apartment in time'. "I'm so fucking happy." He hums and the tears lining my own eyes are now dripping down my cheeks, my heart pounding excitedly. "I can't believe you're real."

"I'll show you how real I am in exactly twelve hours from now." He laughs at my flirting and gives me a quiet 'yes dear' and I begin to feel the anticipatory excitement just knowing I'll see him and be in his arms this time tomorrow.

"Promises, promises."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the heart @vampviolets@haylee-e @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife

@officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @witxhy-lexx @minjix @luvroseee @tee-swizzle @savageneversaw @admiringlove @hysteriahall @piceous21 @starlightandfairies @igotmajordaddyissues @drewstarkey-wife1 @manyfandomsfanvergent @revesephemeres @rafesbae01

#javier #javier pena #javier x reader #javier pena x reader #narcos #narcos fic #pedro pascal

[ellie-24]

USS Randall Ramblers Part 4

Okay so, I don't even know if anyone is still interested in this series. Anyway, here we go lol. Just let me know if you don't want to be tagged!

Also, I used the writing prompt: Why are you doing this?

Thank you to @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @thatbanditqueen @from-memphis-with-love @powerofelvis @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll Talking to you guys is the best part of my day and really keeps me going.

Another special thanks to @whositmcwhatsit who not only made this thing way more enjoyable to read by fixing everything wrong with it but also encouraged me to actually post it.

Word count: 5.7 k

Warnings: tiny bit of smut at the end so 18+

Previous part. Next part

Bad Nauheim, December 21st 1958

Mary carefully inspected the delicate silver bracelet dangling from her wrist and tried to look as busy as possible while she leaned against the piano in the lounge. With one look towards the chandelier above her she was instantly reminded of her first visit a few weeks ago.

To her, it felt like an eternity ago, but also like was yesterday. Everything looked the same at Hotel Grunewald, except that it was a lot more crowded than the last time she was here. Her fingers kept tapping against the cold glass of Prosecco in her hand as she carefully observed the people around her.

As well as fretting about being completely overdressed, she also felt awfully out of place, not really knowing anyone in the room. Elvis and the rest of the 23rd Armoured Division had returned from maneuvers in Grafenwöhr, and were now back at the base in Friedberg. To celebrate, he had invited some of his friends and fans to Hotel Grunewald for a ‘small party’.

Mary raised a sceptical eyebrow after looking around, this isn't really what she'd consider a small party. She briefly wondered if Elvis might get in trouble with Herr Otto Schmidt for this, especially when she heard someone dropping a glass in the next room. She cringed at the thought of him getting into trouble, but she knew it was inevitable.

As sweet as caring as Elvis could be, she knew he could be reckless as well. She smiled as she took a small sip from her prosecco and thought back to earlier in the day when she saw her life flash before her eyes multiple times. But even then, deep down, she felt like nothing could happen to her as long as she was with him.

Elvis had called her two days ago, informing her that he'd be in Frankfurt because he wanted to buy a new car from a local dealership. He promised to pick her up himself at her family’s apartment in Frankfurt. Not only did he want to show off his purchase, but he also wanted to properly introduce himself to her father. Although they played together aboard the USS Randall and had a few phone calls, Elvis wanted to do it right, ‘handshake and all’, as he said.

When Mary greeted him at her door he wasted no time picking her up and hugging her tightly.

"Oh Mary Cherry, I've missed ya so much! Been countin' the days until I could see your sweet face again."

She giggled when he set her down again and quickly kissed his cheek before inviting him inside.

"I've missed you too."

He seemed a bit agitated as she lead him down the corridor, his eyes darting around anxiously. Before they could reach the living room where her parents and her brother were waiting, they passed an old wooden shelf displaying some family portraits. Elvis halted in his tracks and pointed to a picture from her on her 10th birthday.

"Is that itty bitty Cherry?" He smiled fondly as he picked up the portrait, his fingers trailing over the cool glass.

"Oh god. Yes." Mary cringed with a small smile, hoping he'd set the awkward photo aside and forget he's ever seen it.

His grin widened and he faced her. "Ya look so cute. Gotta get me a copy of this, I wanna have it." He said, pointing his finger at it.

"Really?"

He hummed and gently placed it back on the shelf, before throwing an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close to bury his face into her hair. She leaned into him for a moment and he took a deep breath, prompting her to squeeze his arm comfortingly before pulling him along into the living room.

Greeting her family was, thankfully, less awkward than she initially expected and Elvis quickly managed to strike up a conversation with her father. Mary and her mother watched as the two men reminisced about their time as a band abroad the USS Randall, with Elvis putting on his southern charm, polite and charming as ever, despite being visibly nervous. He even expressed interest in the tattered, used guitar her father had bought and which sat in the corner of the living room, earning him an approving nod.

Mary and her mother kept exchanging glances every now and then, glad to see the two of them getting along so well. Eventually her father agreed to let her stay with Elvis in Bad Nauheim over the weekend. On the condition that she had her own room of course. Elvis promised once again to take good care of her.

When they stepped outside, she let out a sigh of relief, before realising it was pouring rain. Elvis quickly grabbed her, the feeling of his leather gloves against her skin making her feel funny, and dragged her along with him. They almost ran towards his car, a white BMW Isetta parked on the other side of the street. He swiftly opened the car door for her and ushered her inside before getting in himself. For a few seconds they just sat there, wet and out of breath, before bursting out laughing.

The windows fogged up slightly from their damp hair and clothes, as he quickly started the engine. He raced through the streets, way faster than the speed limit allowed and running multiple red lights on his way. Mary desperately clutched her seatbelt and braced herself when he floored the gas pedal right before a very sharp corner. He just chuckled when her body slammed hard against his.

"Elvis, we're not trying to win a race!" She gasped and let out a nervous laugh while rubbing her shoulder that bumped against his.

He threw an arm around her and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Baby, I shouldn't tell ya how I had to drive to your place to shake off all these damn reporters. Also, it's a former racing car, this is fun!"

"It's certainly exciting." She agreed with raised eyebrows. "And scary."

He slightly tilted his head. "Are ya really criticizing my driving?"

She snorted. "I'm sure it gets you to where you need to be in time."

His hand found its way onto her thigh, squeezing and rubbing her soothingly. "Ya don't gotta worry. I'm in the Army, operating tanks and whatnot, baby, I know what I'm doing."

"I'm not sure they're teaching you this in the Army." She argued and pointedly gestured towards the steering wheel which he turned rapidly from left to right at the moment, making them drive a zigzag course.

He sharply turned it around one more time, her body pressing into his again. With a hum he looked at her, smirking. "That's right you're not sure. Just let me do the thinking, Cherry."

"That might get us killed." She almost shrieked when he almost drove into oncoming traffic, angry car horns blaring around them.

"These people here have no sense of humour, I'll tell ya. Making a big thing outta nothing. You know, earlier when I went to pick up the car the owner called the police because of some fans trying to get close to me."

"I think he was probably just concerned about your safety."

He squeezed her thigh. “The fans, they mean no harm. They just get real excited and all that. They're happy to see me a-and I'm happy to see them."

Mary smiled understandingly and gave his hand a little squeeze. He seemed to be lost in his own head again, thinking about the fans. The car slowed down and they settled into a comfortable silence, his hand continuing to stroke her leg. She felt a smile tugging at her lips when she noticed him staring at her, seemingly only occasionally facing the road ahead.

"Aren't you supposed to be looking at the street?"

"Honey, after being in the woods for days for maneuvers I got my eyes everywhere, believe me."

She snorted again. "Alright, but if you crash your brand new car, don't say I didn't tell you."

He chose to ignore her comment. "How do you like it?"

"The car? Oh it's very nice. I... uh, guess it has everything a car needs."

He gave her a look.

Mary laughed apologetically and held up her hands. "Sorry, I have no idea about cars. But it looks really nice."  She gave the elegant black and white interior a once over before nodding approvingly.

He chuckled and squeezed her leg again.

"So ya like the colour? The car dealer said I might have to paint it red with all the fans trying to kiss it."

"That might save you a lot of time."

Later when they arrived at the hotel, Elvis almost immediately dragged her up to his room, barely giving her time to greet the hotelier or get properly settled into her room.

After arriving at room number 10, he quickly sat down in front of the mirror next to the bed and removed the hat he'd been wearing all day. With a wink towards her through the mirror, he began combing his hair.

Mary could have watched him all day, but opted to give him some privacy and opened the door to his balcony. She stepped outside and took a deep breath, enjoying the nice view over the park across from them.

The sky had cleared up and the stars were already shining brightly as the nearly full moon cast a bluish hue over the hotel. After a while she went back inside, shivering and rubbing her arms, and she saw that he'd moved to sit on the bed. She caught him dry swallowing some pills and sat down next to him on the bed, placing her hand on his forehead.

"Are you sick?" she asked with a frown.

He chuckled and caught her hand in his own. After a quick kiss to her wrist, he shook his head.

"Nah, don't worry." He placed the pills back onto his nightstand. "They just give you more energy. Makes you think faster and better, and you can stay awake way longer. We took 'em all the time in Bavaria."

Mary's sceptic gaze went back and forth between his face and the orange pill bottle in his hand.

"So... you got these from a doctor or something?"

"A Sergeant gave me these, honey," he offered, as if this would justify just about anything.

Mary sat back a little. "But... you're not on maneuvers anymore. Why do you still take them?"

He sighed and looked at her pleadingly. "Honey, do I really have to explain myself to you now?"

Mary remembered how he'd told her about his trouble sleeping ever since his mother's death and being shipped over. How he'd lie in bed at night, pondering and worrying about a future that he felt didn't offer much to him anymore. He had told her many times already just how tired he felt. She bit her lip, feeling slightly guilty and shook her head.

Apparently he again knew what she was thinking and put a comforting arm around her neck. With a tenderness that threw her off guard each time, he pressed a few soft kisses against her cheek, his lips lingering on her skin. "Now, that's way better, baby. Just trust me with this, yeah?"

"Are you alright, Mary?" A familiar voice asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Rex! I didn't know you were here!" She laughed and put a hand over her heart.

"Sorry, I didn't want to scare you."

"Don't worry, I was just... thinking." Mary gestured around aimlessly and shrugged, a reserved smile on her face.

Rex nodded and took a swig of beer.

"How are you? Are you here... with Elisabeth?" Mary asked, trying to sound nonchalant as she ran her thumb along her glass, drawing little circles along the condensed surface. She didn't want to admit it, but the possibility of the German girl also being at the party bothered her immensely.

"Uh, no, she had some important family stuff going on. She's talked about you a lot, she really liked meeting you," Rex offered.

Mary nodded with a small smile and took another big sip from her glass. His answer didn't really calm her nerves. Did that mean Elvis originally invited her and wanted her to come as well? It's just that she had no time?

Mary quickly chided herself for thinking about it so much. She didn't want to play the role of the jealous, paranoid girlfriend. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she took this relationship way more serious than he did.

Over the past few weeks he'd reassured her over and over again that she was his best girl, though she still wasn't entirely sure what exactly that meant in Elvis' world. She desperately wanted to find a way to trust him and make this relationship work. But she wasn't entirely naive, either.

Rex noticed her being deep in thought again and moved on with a small nod and a shirt brush against her arm. This brought Mary’s thoughts back into the room and she straightened her shoulder, trying to get it together. She wasn't usually like this and it annoyed her.

Suddenly her vision went black as someone put their hands over her eyes from behind. For a moment she was startled, but she didn't have to think long to guess who it was. She let out a laugh, breathing in his familiar smell.

"Oh, who could it be?" she said jokingly and put a finger against her chin, her worries from a minute ago instantly forgotten. The effect his mere presence had on her was something she couldn't fathom.

"Why don't ya take a guess, sweet thing?" he asked in a funny, high-pitched voice that didn't even sound like his own, making her laugh.

He hung one arm around her neck while the other wrapped itself around her waist. His voice right next to her ear made her shiver.

"Mary Cherry, I haven't even told you how beautiful you look tonight. All dolled up," he whispered low and pressed his cheek against hers.

Mary bit her lip and grinned widely, unable to form any words. She instead put her hand on his arm splayed right above her chest and gently ran her thumb over it.

"You're perfect. Perfect, pretty baby... And you're wearing the bracelet that I gave you," he murmured and lifted up her wrist and carefully turned it back and forth to watch how it reflected the warm light from the chandelier above them, shining and shimmering with each soft movement.

"I wear it every day." Mary admitted with a bashful smile.

He grinned against her cheek. "Good."

When she raised her glass to her lips, Elvis quickly drew away and stood in front of her. He unceremoniously snatched the drink away from her hand, leaving her a bit dumbfounded.

"Nuh-uh that ain't nothing for you, honey."

She tried to get back her glass. "Elvis, everyone's drinking."

He held the glass above his head, out of her reach. "Not you."

Mary put her hands on her hips sighed. "Why not?"

"Because I say so, honey. Ain't good for a little girl like you to be drinking and all that."

She frowned. "It's just one glass."

"Cherryyyyy." He tilted his head, looking at her imploringly.

"But-"

He placed the glass on a nearby table and shook his head. "No, I'm not gonna discuss this now."

She huffed in frustration and he raised a challenging eyebrow at her. It almost tempted her to speak up again, but she didn't want to ruin the mood. It was his party after all.

"...Alright, Elvis."

His lip curled and he gently rubbed her arm. "Thank you, baby." He smiled and started playing with the bracelet on her wrist again.

Absentmindedly his gaze trailed over her arm until he was looking over her shoulder. His expression shifted somewhat as he stared at something behind her. When she turned around she saw Vernon talking to a young, blonde woman. With a subconscious squeeze to his hand she turned back to him. For a second his eyebrows twitched but he quickly regained himself and gave her a reassuring half smile.

"I'll be right back, Cherry." He spoke in a low voice and his thumb brushed against her chin before he walked past her.

Mary quickly looked back at Vernon and frowned a bit when she saw Elvis disappearing towards the staircase. She wondered about the woman his father was talking to and why it apparently bothered Elvis so much. It wasn't her place to speculate on those things though, so she sighed and made her way towards the dining room with raised eyebrows.

For almost half an hour Mary aimlessly wandered around and, despite a few unsuccessful attempts at mingling, her mind was pretty much preoccupied with the sudden disappearance of the party’s host.  

She eventually decided to sit down next to Elvis' dog, Cherry, who much like his owner wasn’t too concerned about rules and laid down comfortably on the green couch in front of the window, much to the disdain of Herrn Schmidt. She absentmindedly stroked his soft fur, contemplating her next move.

With a sigh, she got up again, smoothed down her skirt, and made her way through the crowd, growing more and more anxious about Elvis' absence.

After climbing two flights of familiar creaky stairs, she turned towards the first door on the right and carefully knocked against the white wooden door.

"Elvis? It's me."

After a faint ‘Come in’ from the other side of the door, she slowly stepped inside.

"Hey, you," she whispered hesitantly, not really sure what to expect.

He sighed and opened up his arms. "Come here."

With slow steps across the creaky floorboards she laid down next to him with him encircling her with his arms in an instant.

"How do you like the party, honey?" he mumbled, his lips close to her ear.

Mary looked at him, a small gleam in her eyes.

"Apart from the fact that I'm sober?" she joked, trying to cheer him up a little. It didn't quite go as she planned.

He huffed a laugh, a weird mix of mirth and frustration in response. "Why are you doing this?"

"What?"

He gestured towards her, as if he wasn't sure what to say. "Being like this. When everything I do is to take care of ya."

Mary leaned over to peck his lips, trying to appease him. His pout slowly turned into a bashful smile. She could tell that he was trying to fight it, trying to keep that pouty expression on his face to make her feel guilty.

"Sorry, I'm just joking, E. I am enjoying the party... even if I don't really know most of the people." She shrugged and gave him a pointed look. "Are you enjoying it? Why are you here all by yourself?"

"I'm not."

"You know what I mean." She smiled.

"I-I uh, had to get away for a bit. Uh... I just wanted to spend some time with my best girl."

She paused. "You knew I'd come?"

"Well, I-I hoped so."

Mary shook her head in a good-natured way. "You're so sweet, really."

"Ain't that just every man's dream? Being called sweet," he huffed while fiddling with the ring on his pinky finger, his face scrunched up.

She suppressed a snort and placed her hand on his cheek with a smile. "And silly as well."

"Silly?"

She hummed and reached up to brush some hair out of his face. His lips twitched for a second, a mischievous look in his eyes as he unexpectedly grabbed a pillow and smacked it right into her face.

It took Mary a second to process what happened. She looked at him in shock and disbelief and he couldn't help but snort at her funny expression. His mood swings were a mystery to her. His dark broodiness mixed with the sudden light playfulness always made her stop for a second, trying to figure out how to react. This was no doubt his way of telling her that he didn't actually want a serious talk now. A weird way to show it, but she found it charming nonetheless.

So, she picked up the same pillow and threw it right back at him. Now it was her turn to giggle at his surprised face. His open mouth quickly turned into a wide grin and he picked up the pillow again, but she managed to dodge his attack, hurriedly getting up from the bed.

"No point in running from me, Cherry," he warned as he slowly got up from the bed as well and started chasing her around the room.

After a few minutes of back and forth between them, pillows flying around and his hiccupping laughter filling the room, Mary started to get exhausted. Right when she attempted to leap over the bed to escape another attack, he managed to get a hold on her ankle and pulled her back with a force she hadn't quite expected. She let out a surprised squeal as she was dragged across the bed and turned around to face him. But he was, once again, quicker, moving his body closer to her and catching her hands in his bigger ones.

He sat on top of her, pressing her into the mattress and holding down her hands on either side of her head. It knocked the wind out of her for a second and she looked up to him to find him breathing just as heavily.

"Got ya," he whispered, his eyes dark and half lidded.

Mary's breath hitched in excitement, his weight above her both comforting and arousing at the same time. She didn't even think about moving away from him again, afraid that if she'd move but one muscle, he'd roll off her again.

Her throat felt very dry and she licked her lips as she looked up at him with wide eyes. His face hovered inches above hers, his hair falling over his forehead which was covered in a faint layer of sweat. He raised one eyebrow, making her breathing pick up once again, despite the fact that she already sounded like she just ran a marathon.

"You're not scared of me are ya, honey?"

Mary shook her head and swallowed hard. "I'm not." Her answer came out as a raspy whisper, prompting her to clear her throat.

"I'm not," she repeated, louder this time, while staring into his eyes.

He looked her up and down for a second before releasing her hands. His fingers slowly began grazing over her arms and his eyes held hers with an intensity she hadn't seen before. She felt the anticipation building in her lower belly and her legs twitched under his weight.

"Good, cause ya ain't got no reason to, okay?" he insisted, his eyebrow still raised. "You trust me?"

"I do," she whispered shakily and slipped her hands under his sweater, making him shiver when he felt her touch on his hot skin.

He briefly ducked his head with a small smile, his heated gaze drifting downward involuntarily. His weight shifted on her when he leaned forward slightly and Mary felt her chest rising and falling rapidly at the sensation. No matter how hard she tried to slow down her breathing, it only seemed to get worse when his slow touches halted, right at the buttons of her blouse.

For a few seconds neither one dared to move, a fleeting moment of clarity within the carefree playfulness, a silent question whether or not they should continue. His fingers hovered over her breasts and Mary impulsively dragged her hands from under his shirt and put them on his hips, attempting to pull him closer to her. He blinked in surprise before shifting on top of her with a small smile. There was a tension in the room that seemed almost unbearable when he circled his fingers over the buttons, puffing up his cheeks and shaking his head.

He, painfully slowly, started undoing them, brows furrowed, his eyes completely focused on the task at hand. She gently stroked his legs when she saw him fiddling with one button in particular, his fingers trembling just the slightest bit. When she looked up to him again, his cheeks were tinged with a soft pink.

She had to stifle a small giggle and her eyes widened, not quite expecting his sudden shyness. To her he always seemed so sure of himself, believing that he was right about everything and in full control. But right now it was different. Mary would be lying if she said that she didn't enjoy seeing him like this, it felt so very genuine and real.

He caught her bewildered expression and leaned down to nuzzle his nose against her cheek.

"Ya don't gotta be nervous," he whispered and sat up again after a quick kiss to her neck. She felt a smile tugging at her lips at his attempt to manipulate the situation to his favour.

"I'm not nervous, E."

He nodded slowly, his eyes surveying her. "Mhm, okay, but why are you blushing like that?" He smiled and traced a finger over her burning cheek.

Mary turned her head away from his touch and giggled. "I could ask you the same thing," she whispered into his ear after wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close to her, unable to resist the chance to tease him a bit.

"I'm not blushing," he muttered against her shoulder.

She let out a loud laugh. "Yes, you are!"

He shook his head. "You're seeing things, sweetheart. Got a very, uh, vivid imagination," he drawled and playfully tapped his finger against her temple.

"Mhm, sure," she giggled and slowly undid the rest of the buttons as he was too busy brushing his lips against her neck.

Elvis’ hot breath tickled her sensitive skin and she sat up, the blouse making her feel constricted and too hot all of the sudden. He quickly understood and helped her move the fabric off her shoulders. His warm hands on her bare skin made her shudder, despite feeling like her body was on fire, briefly making her question her own senses. Mary watched as he hastily tossed the garment aside and returned his heated gaze to her body.

Nearly trembling with anticipation, she waited for him to touch her, but when he only stared for what seemed to be an eternity, she decided to take matters into her own hand and quickly shimmied out of her skirt as well.

He swallowed hard and whispered a small ‘Damn’  when he saw her bare thighs. Just as she went to reach behind to unclasp her bra, his hand shot out to hold onto her wrist.

"Don't," he argued. "Please, leave 'em on. Looks so pretty." His eyes wandered over her form.

Mary was momentarily transfixed by the very unexpectedly gentle and loving look in his eyes. The way his long eyelashes fluttered as he took in her body, careful and appreciative at the same time. It made her skin tingle and her hands twitch, she wanted nothing more than to run her fingers over his face and feel those soft cheek and lips. He had never been more beautiful than in this moment.

"Such a sweet girl," he said in a low voice, his eyes finding hers again.

Mary felt a lump in her throat at his words. The way he could make her feel a million things at once with only a few soft glances and that velvety voice was confusing and enticing at the same time.

Utterly unable to react any differently, she leaned forward and crushed her lips against his, gripping his sweater tightly in her fists. The wet noises from their open mouthed, hectic kisses nearly turned her into a puddle and she felt grateful for his tight grip on her, securing her and drawing her even further in.

Kissing him was addictive and Mary frantically tried to get as much as possible by pressing herself even closer against him, tongues touching and breaths mingling. In what she could only describe as a gentle chiding he very subtly shook his head and nearly halted his movements, urging her to slow down a bit.

"Easy, honey," he mumbled against her mouth.

She huffed and responded by attempting to pull off his sweater, letting him know what she thought about taking it slow. He just grinned and pinched her hips, before letting his hand roam over her butt, gently squeezing the soft flesh. His soft kisses made her crave him so much more and she still impatiently tugged at his sweater.

When he finally took mercy on her and pulled the fabric over his head, messing up his hair a bit in the process, she wasted no time and rubbed her hands over his bare skin. The urge to touch him and be as close to him as possible  was impossible to suppress and Mary enjoyed watching the little expressions on his face when she'd brush his nipple or trail dangerously low along his lower belly. He certainly felt and looked leaner since returning from maneuvers, his chest a bit more toned, his jaw a tad bit sharper. His lips however were as plush and soft as ever when she started nibbling on them again.

"Somebody's very eager, huh? Don't worry, sweetheart, don't ya worry your pretty little head. I'll take care of ya good. Mhm."

He lifted her up from his lap and guided her to lay on her back before crawling on top of her, his eyes twinkling.

As if in a trance, Mary's hand found its way to his lips, tracing and outlining them. He opened his mouth and gently bit down with a playful growl, making her chuckle. She watched him in awe when he continued sucking and nibbling on her fingers.

"I could bite these widdle fingers all day," he laughed as his hand grazed over her lower belly, sending shocks throughout her entire body.

He bit his lip as he toyed with the waistband of her panties before looking at her. Mary nodded reassuringly and he smiled before slipping his hand inside. The second he touched her, her hips involuntarily bucked up against his touch. His smile widened and he easily spread her lips apart, fingers gliding over the sensitive bundle of nerves and Mary let out a small cry of pleasure. She felt like she was floating, all rational thoughts completely abandoning her with each skilled flick of his fingers.

A poking sensation on her thigh, which she quickly realised was his body reacting to her, made her throw her head back into the pillow almost desperately. He continued nudging her, probing at her entrance, before easily slipping inside. Mary thought she was seeing stars as his long fingers quickly found a steady rhythm. He carefully watched her expression, wanting to catch every twitch, every tremble.

"You're so beautiful, Cherry," he whispered as he stroked her cheek and leaned in, kissing her deeply and slowly. He thrust his hard length up against her thigh over and over again while groaning into her mouth.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she bucked up her hips again, the throbbing in her core becoming almost too much for her. His thumb then pressed down on her clit, pushing her closer and closer until she felt the coil in her lower belly snap, the intense pleasure overwhelming her in an instant. She didn't even fully realise when his hips stuttered against her and he collapsed onto the bed.

After a while, she noticed the lack of warmth from his body above hers and turned her head slightly to look at him, his tired but content face pressed into the pillow.

For a minute they just basked in the moment, both panting and trying to calm their rapidly beating hearts. With a strength she didn't think he could muster at the moment he almost clumsily pulled her onto his chest and gently cradled her head.

"Was that good, honey? You liked it?" he whispered quietly.

Mary nodded lazily and raised her head to look at him. "Very much...  You really know how to make a girl feel good."

He just grinned and licked his swollen, red lips, looking proud. With a soft chuckle, she began to play with his now damp hair and he quickly leaned into her touch while closing his eyes. She thought it was so cute that he was so concerned with whether she enjoyed it or not and couldn't help but lean in to press another soft kiss to his lips.

"I guess we won't go back to the party?" she asked, smiling against his mouth.

His grin widened and he shook his head. "Not a chance," he whispered and settled further into the mattress with a contented sigh.

Mary quickly followed suit and buried her face into his neck, his skin still a bit clammy. It was like the world stood still for a moment, the faint voices from downstairs echoing through the corridors fading away.

She shifted hesitantly, torn between doing what was right and what she wanted to do. And there was nothing she wanted more than to lay in his arms right now. She knew it actually shouldn't matter after what they had just done.

Thankfully, Elvis quickly decided for her. He tightened his grip on her and moved to lay half on top of her, effectively pinning her down again.

"Nuh-uh, you're staying right here, Cherry. Riiiiight hereeee," he cooed, his voice muffled.

Mary looked up at the ceiling before grinning widely at his insistence that she'd stay. She wrapped her arms around him in response and closed her eyes. To her it felt so right to lay in his arms, a sense of belonging filling her entire being like never before.

"I love you," he mumbled, his face buried in her hair.

She felt like her heart was about to beat out of her chest. "... I love you too."

..................................................................................

Tagging: @lookingforrainbows @godlypresley @18lkpeters @richardslady121 @c-rosenn @karel-in-wonderland @kingdomforapony

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #writing prompt game #1958 elvis #army elvis #elvis x oc

[vampkillr]

Mixer — Peter Parker

m! reader — 728 words — any! peter but i wrote with andrew in mind

I couldn't explain it. The look we shared. As if from across some random person's living room, everything just clicked as we saw each other. His eyes held my gaze, tilting his head as he seemingly ignored the guy he was with. I was tempted to push my way through the array of drunk strangers, but his friend seemed to guide him somewhere else the moment I took a step forward. "Did you find someone?" Gwen, who— like myself— was perfectly sober, yelled over the booming speakers.

"I need some air!" I shouted so that she could hear me, and with a thumbs up I set out to the balcony. It was cold, and the breeze only added to the chill. No one was out here but me. Or so I thought.

"Not really a people person?" I turned to the voice. It was that guy from before. "Little too cold out here to be standing by yourself," He smiled. I couldn't tell if the pins and needles on my face was from him or the weather. He walked towards me, leaning against the guardrail. I could see the way his breath left him in puffs of vapor against the crisp air. "I'm Peter."

"Y/n." I outstretched my hand and he shook it. His hands were so much warmer than mine. "I don't really want to be here, my friend made me." he laughed at my confession.

"Mine kinda did, too." He was closer to me, our arms brushing against each other and yet I didn't seem to mind. This stranger, so close to me and yet he still felt too far. "Two losers out in the cold instead of getting hammered at a party..." He started, a smile creeping onto my face. "Two awfully pathetic losers." We seemed to look at each other at the same time, yet he was the only one with the strength not to turn away. No one's ever left me so flustered from just a look. It was like he knew who I was without me having to say anything. Like it just felt right for him to be here next to me. He was so calm, so warm; something about him drew me in. I met his gaze once more as he spoke again. "Sounds like they're perfect for each other, don't you think?" We just seemed to be getting closer. like an invisible force was pulling the two of us into each other and we weren't fighting against it.

My body moved on its own, turning towards him. He guided my arms to rest on his shoulders and before I could begin to think of how incredibly wrong it was, we were kissing. It didn't feel rushed. There wasn't some goal to the kiss. Neither of us were chasing anything. We were both right where we wanted to be. If I could freeze time and relive any moment of my life, it would be this one. The way he coaxed me into him, not pushing me any further than I was okay with; just reminding me that he wanted exactly what I did... There was something to him that I couldn't bring myself to deny. I could feel his reluctance to pull away as we separated. "Oh, please let me do that again..." He whispered and I smiled.

"Maybe we can go somewhere a little bit warmer first?" His eyes were piercing through me, like he was trying to find a reason to say no but couldn't. Within moments he had my hand in his and was leading me through the crowd and down the hall into a bedroom. He let my hand slip from his, finger's lingering on mine just long enough for me to notice. Music beat gently throughout the room, muffled enough as to not be loud or very prominent. I locked the door and walked further inside. Pictures of him and other people littered the walls amongst an array of posters and drawings for some sort of bracelet. On his desk, a closed laptop, a small toolbox and a bunch of spare parts for some sort of device. He sat down on the edge of the bed and just watched me. Leaned back, resting his weight on his hands and his head tilted. There weren't any words we really needed to share for this part.

now that classes fully started im only working like 2 24 hr shifts so i have a lot more free time 😸 anyways let me know if u want a continuation lol i have a pretty bad writers block so my imagination is not very great rn

#peter parker #male reader #peter parker x male reader #spiderman fic #spiderman x you #spiderman x male reader #peter parker x reader #fanfiction #andrew spiderman #ao3 #fanfic

[daemour]

The Corporal's Wife

Pairing: maybe Mingi x f!Reader, past Jongho x f!Reader

Word Count: 2309

Warnings: Mentions of war, mentions of death, that's all

Genre: Angst, fluff(?)

Summary: You're still hanging onto the hope that your husband, Corporal Jongho survived the war, but with six years and not a peep from him, you're starting to lose hope. When a mysterious young man turns up at the cafe you frequent, your days of quiet sadness may be coming to an end

TY to @sanjoongie for helping me choose a title lol <3

also if u want a sequel with what happens with yn and mingi lmk

-

After the war ended six years ago, you visit the café in front of your house daily. Perhaps it’s fruitless to hope, but you don’t know what you’d do if you stopped believing.

Your husband’s body was never found, and some days you wish they’d never told you that so you wouldn’t have a reason to stay in the same town you’ve always been in. Maybe you should attempt to move on, but there’s always a lingering feeling of guilt if you even think about it.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the chain in front of you scraping the floor. “Do you mind if I sit here? All the tables are full.”

A tall figure in a plain shirt stands before you, a large covering his hair and eyes. Warning bells sound in your head but against your better will, you shake your head. “Go right ahead, I don’t mind,” you say, gesturing to the empty seat. “May I ask your name?”

The man hums. “Mingi. And yours?”

“I’m (Y/N). What brings you to this town? I’ve lived here all my life and haven’t seen you around.”

Mingi’s lips pull upward into a small smile. “Hm. That’s a private question ma’am, but I’ll answer it if you limit your questions to one a day.”

You cock your head to the side. “You’re awfully sure that I’m that invested in a stranger’s life,” you respond cooly.

Mingi laughs hard and you can’t help but notice his adorably crooked teeth. “Fair enough. I’mm answer your question in good faith. I’m here to live a more peaceful life. Better?”

Your brows furrow. “More peaceful life?”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Mingi sing-songs, shaking his head with an amused smile on his face,” next question is for tomorrow.”

You gape at him but all he does in return is tip his hat and offer a smile before getting up and leaving. He intrigues you, and you are always in the café in the afternoon, so maybe you will take that offer. With a shake of your head, you return to your usual cup of tea and the book that had laid forgotten on the oaken table.

-

“You’re back!”

“You sound too pleased about that,” you grumble as Mingi takes a seat in front of you once more. “I usually come here around this time anyway, it wasn’t because of you.”

Mingi chuckles. “Still, you’re here. So I’ll let you ask another question.”

You sigh, but you can’t lie and say you aren’t even a little curious about this strange man who sits with you. “How old are you?”

Mingi smiles. “Safe question. I’m almost thirty, turning in four months.”

You cock your head. “You look young for your age. In fact, you’re actually younger than my husband,” you laugh quietly, looking down into your teacup. “You would have gotten along.”

Mingi hums, voice low in his throat. “Is he not living here with you?”

You shake your head, your breath catching in your throat as you try to avoid the subject. “Ah, he’s not here at the moment, it’s just me in this town.” You offer Mingi a weak smile. “Please excuse me, I must head home and finish some chores.”

Before he can say anything in response, you book it out of the café. You don’t want to face the truth just yet. You check the road before crossing it in a hurry to get to the safety of your empty house.

As you catch your breath just inside the wooden door, your eye catches the last picture you took with your husband. Jongho smiled so peacefully in the picture, with you standing right by his side and a matching smile on your own face.

Tears well up in your eyes and you rip your eyes from the picture. You cannot continue wallowing in your overwhelming love for him, but are you truly ready to move on? As the wetness blurs your vision, you kick off your shoes, stumbling towards the kitchen.

He’s more endearing than you had thought, with his bright smile and warm laugh. You’re getting more attached, you can feel it in your heart. You don’t know if you’re ready to handle the feelings that come with it, but you cannot dwell on that now, not when you’re just getting to know him. Maybe it’s just platonic.

You take another deep breath and fumble for the cabinet where Jongho kept his whiskey. You need to calm down.

-

“I’ve realised…” you start to voice the thought that had been plaguing your mind for the past few weeks. Although you’ve known Mingi for only three months, you’ve grown to enjoy his company and the insightful answers he offers of himself. However, one thing had been sitting pretty in your subconscious. The tension in your gut will not go away until you get your answers. “Why don’t you ask questions about me, Mingi?”

“...What?” Mingi asks, noticeably stiffening and pulling his hat further down his face. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we have his whole system of me asking you questions, but you never seem to want to get to know me. Why is that?”

Mingi sighs. “I suppose I can’t continue hiding. But here is not the place. Take a walk with me, (Y/N)?”

Your eyes widen You’ve only known Mingi in the comfort of the café. Although it is trivial, it feels like a big step to by anywhere but here with him. And yet, he’s still waiting patiently for your answer. “Okay…” you whisper, slowly standing and brushing your long skirt off. “Where to?”

Mingi smiles. “Not far. There’s a park a few blocks away.” You know that palace all too well—your husband proposed there. If that is your destination, you’re less worried.

The walk doesn’t take too long—Mingi’s stride is long and you practically scuttle after him. The park is just as nice as you remember, with a few couples milling about. He leads you to a pavilion and before you even have a chance to catch your breath, he starts to speak.

“To preface, I was a soldier in the war almost six years ago,” Mingi says slowly as if trying to choose the right words. “I was stationed in Inhon City. Sound familiar?”

The name tugs at your memory but you can’t recall it. “Not really…I’ve heard of it.”

Mingi sighs, pulling off his hat, and you gasp at the sight of zig-zagging scars decorating the upper half of his face. “Jongho was my commanding officer. I’m sure that name is familiar.”

“Jongho…” you whisper. “If you’re looking for him, he’s not here, I’m sorry.” Your voice sounds foreign even to yourself. You don’t know how Mingi knows your husband or their history, but if he’s here to kill you, he won’t get any satisfaction out of it.

Mingi shakes his head, pity in his eyes. “I know. That’s why I’m here. He loved to talk about you, you know.” Your eyes tear up “That’s why I never really had to ask about you, although it would have gotten suspicions off my back.” He smiles bitterly.

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“He’s dead, (Y/N).” Mingi smiles sadly, but you shake your head.

“No.” Your voice is quiet as if it would shield you from Mingi’s words. “He’s not.”

Mingi takes a step closer to you, almost reaching out to comfort you but deciding against it. “(Y/N), he’s been gone for six years. Do you really think he wouldn’t have found his way back to you if he was still alive? Jongho loved you. He wouldn’t want you to waste the rest of your life waiting for a man who couldn’t come back.”

You shake your head once more, but deep down, you know what Mingi said was true, even before you had met him. “His body was never found, Mingi. Please leave me alone,” you hiss, perhaps hoping your anger would reverse time and you never would have met this tall stranger. And Jongho wouldn’t be gone.

“(Y/N),” Mingi starts to say, reaching out for you, but you take a step back.

“I want to go home.”

Mingi frowns, retracting his hand. “At least let me walk you home,” he offers but you shake your head.

“What, you want to know where I live?”  The harsh words come out against your better judgement and Mingi flinches. “Oh, wait, you probably already know my address.”

“That’s unfair,” Mingi frowns but you shake your head.

“That’s unfair, but you getting to know me from a lie isn’t?” You raise an eyebrow and Mingi cowers.

“It wasn’t a lie…”

You glare at Mingi’s sorrowful voice. Like he has a right to sound so pitiful. “A lie of omission is still a lie, Mingi. Just…please leave me be. I need time.” He finally acquiesces and you escape back down the path.

You don’t know why you’re so affected but his words sent a sharp pain into your heart. Deep down, you knew that Jongho was not going to return after the first two years, but you needed that hope to keep you going. You don’t know what you’d do without the idea of Jongho returning. You’ve waited for so long that you don’t know if you could ever move away.

With a sob, you slam your front door shut behind you and fall to the ground. The last time you cried was when you heard the news of Jongho missing. All the pent-up frustration and sadness are finally being washed out of your soul.

In a way, it’s refreshing, but there are so many conflicting emotions that you don’t know what to do but to let it all out. As you wipe your teary eyes, you look over at a picture of Jongho’s siblings hung on the wall.  You hadn’t seen them since Jongho’s parents’ funeral which was right before the war started. Maybe they could offer insight.

With a last wipe of your eyes, you head to the study to call ahead and ask to visit. You know they won’t mind, but it’s the polite thing to do, and maybe just talking on the phone will help ease your worries.

-

A few days later you’re currently in the midst of packing for when you finally go to visit your in-laws as they graciously invited you to stay for the weekend. However, a knocking on the door interrupts your task. “(Y/N), can we talk?”

Your body stiffens at Mingi’s voice. Why is he here? You knew you shouldn’t leave without telling him where you were as you would have felt bad otherwise, but you were planning on asking the café owner to pass the message on, not to confront Mingi directly. “No.” You hate how shaky your voice is, and Mingi can hear the uncertainty.

“(Y/N), please.” You bite your lip as you stomp over to the door to give Mingi a piece of your mind.

“Mingi, I told you to please leave me alone,” you start to scold but stop short as you swing the door open and see Mingi’s face. His eyes are red and the dark circles under his eyes invoke regret in your chest. His hair is a mess as he holds his hat, turning the brim round and round in his hands.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” Mingi says, his eyes downcast. “I didn’t want to keep it from you, but I didn’t want to bring it up on our first meeting and just…never got around to telling you. The more time passed, the more worried I got about bringing it up. Jongho may have been my commander, but he was also my friend. I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

You close your eyes to try and stall the tears. “Mingi…I’m not mad. Maybe I was back then, but I understand now.” Your words are thick with emotion.  “I wish you told me before but I can understand why. I just…do need some time. It’s hard to not want to wait for someone I’ve been with for over ten years.”

Mingi nods. “I understand. I just couldn’t wait any longer before apologising. I should have told you sooner.”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry, Mingi. I don’t hold it against you, bubt I need to finish packing. I’ll be visiting my family for a few days, but we can talk more when I get back, okay?” You offer him a smile which he returns, albeit shakily. “Thank you again for coming to chat.”

With a nod, he turns away and replaces his hat on his head. You watch his back as you feel a tightness in your chest at seeing him leave. “Mingi!” You call after him, and he stops in his tracks. “Would– would you like it come with me?”

He turns back around, confusion evident in his eyes. “Me?”

“Yeah. I’m visiting my brother-in-law and his wife. I’m sure they’d be happy to meet one of Jongho’s friends.” Mingi’s lips twitch and you fear you’ve gone too far. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, sorry. I didn’t even ask if you were busy. I just…thought you might like it–”

“I’d love to,” Mingi cuts you off. “Thank you for inviting me, really.”

You tilt your head. “It’s no issue, really. Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea? I’m almost finished packing and we can leave soon after.”

Mingi nods carefully. “Thank you, (Y/N). Really.”

You get the feeling he’s thanking you for more than just tea, but you won’t point it out. Instead, you just open the door wider to let him in. It’s time for you to let Jongho go, and maybe Mingi will be the one to fill the void left in your life.

#pirateeznet #kvanity #wkcnet #ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez mingi #mingi #mingi fanfiction #mingi fanfic #mingi x reader #mingi angst #mingi fluff

[artificial-sleep]

Tapping into Denki being miserably in love -- the painful, aching kind that Ovid warned of.

At first, Kyouka is guarded, really guarded. Denki has had a crush on her for a while, but she keeps her distance, pushing him away over and over again.

She's convinced that this a game to him: that he doesn't really know what love is and he can't love her. He's a flirt, your typical boy who likes the prize of the chase more than the human being who comes with it. She's terrified of falling for him, so she rejects him continually.

Until one day she gives him a chance.

But only after she makes him swear he'll treat her right. She demands respect, and Denki seems to think her going out with him is all lighthearted and fun, giddy with the excitement. It fuels her fire.

"I'm gonna treat you like a princess, Jirou. I promise!" he says with a toothy grin, and she scowls.

"No! I am absolutely not a princess." Denki looks confused, but he can't possibly understand what it meant to be an object of affection in the Middle Ages.

He can't possibly imagine what it means to be a woman now. It means to be just that: an object, a possession. It makes her skin crawl with uneasiness. She wants to be loved, not made into doll.

"I'm a human being. Not just a silly little girl. And I'm no treasure or princess or pet because I cannot be owned. I can only be loved."

Denki doesn't get it. Of course he doesn't. And he stupidly blurts out, "I do love y-" to which Kyouka plugs her ears immediately to keep the poisoned words out of her head.

"No, you don't," she demands, "You can't because you don't even know me. If you want to love me, then you have to know me."

So Denki accepts the challenge. And Kyouka stays carefully guarded along the way, not giving more to him than he can handle.

She withholds the first kiss for a long time and any private encounters for that matter.

They meet in public spaces and they talk. And Denki slowly knows Kyouka, and the fleeting flittering his stomach used to do when he saw her has progressed into a monster.

He feels like he might be swallowed whole by the sensation of how Kyouka makes him feel until he's a stumbling idiot. Until it's not funny or cute anymore and the love he feels for her is so overwhelming it might rip him apart.

Only then does she allow him true access, a deeper, truer love until he's spilling over hopelessly, crying on her doorstep in the middle of the night because he's so miserably, awfully, terribly, dreadfully in love that he'll die if he can't be with her.

"Kyouka, I love you. I swear, I love you. I can't get enough of you. I think about you all the time. Everything I do, I think if it would make you happy. I- I can't imagine going a day without you, and I can't even picture a future without you in it. I-I love you.

I love you just like you taught me I would. And I love you for exactly who you are as you are now."

It's like a dam breaks, Kyouka's careful composure quickly reduced to crumbs. She's sobbing, holding him impossibly closer, chanting pleas of her unrequited love.

And this is... This is the love she was worried about. 

And now she had taught the man she loves how to harvest it and admonish her in it, and all she can do is let it wreck her now until they're both hopeless, lovesick fools.

- E N D -

Hi I needed this to restore my faith in heteroromance (it didn't work I still think it's a hoax lol) but like yeah sometimes love fucking HURTS AGHH so if you want love to hurt here's my Playlist for this one:

Just the Same - Bruno Major

Oh Comely - Neutral Milk Hotel

It Will Rain - Bruno Mars and also If I Knew

And Work Song - Hozier but also all of Hozier because he has a gift for writing about painful love his songs just hurt so good and hit every damn time

Okay thank you have a good day

#kamijirou #denki kaminari #jirou kyouka #kaminari x jirou #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #romantic

[distortedclouds]

And hi once again!

This one is for the thing "questions I think be fun to be asked" :3

1, 6, 9, 11, 15, 17, 24

Hello hello!!!

what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

this can be a little tricky but I'll try:

Learning English at a young age! that sure did open up a punch of doors for me getting to read different opinions and perspectives from all over the world since english is such as "universal" language at the moment. Kind of also made me the black sheep in my family and community lol

Having a teacher who recommended me philosophy books in 6th grade. While Im no longer an avid philosophy reader it sure did help form me

Would it be a cliché to say writing? I've been writing "long" stories ever since I've learned to string complex sentences. Yes, my 60% kill bill plagiarism fantasy i wrote at 11 counts. But writing, just as much as reading, was the best tool at not only empathy and really getting into other people's shoes, but also getting into mine, if that makes sense, and exploring my own experiences and emotions at more depth

6. what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

oh man THE PEOPLE!!! THE P E O P L E !!

I'm not a social butterfly and I don't go around talking to many people, but online it's kind of a different story. The best part of a fandom is the people there!

Heck I even got married thanks to fandom lol

9. tell a story about your childhood

ANNA PLEASE!!!

11. what do you consider to be romance?

I guess I tie romance up very closely with intimacy. So I kind of think that platonic relationships and friendships could also be romantic in a sense

But going out of your way to make someone's day, while thinking about them and their smile, is romantic. So is taking care of anything the two of you share, like your living space or any items you regularly share. Sure all the traditional elements of flowers and chocolate and dates count, but those are only a part of the picture

15. what do you think of when you hear the word “home”?

Belonging. It's really hard to call a place home when an integral part of you is hidden or rejected. Home can be with people, it can be a place you sort of, easily find your place around, it could be with your pet

17. name 3 things that make you happy

3 more thinfs...

Coffee!

Biiiig mountains in the distance

Friends ( those aren't things but it counts I guess)

24. what’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for?

That I've become more adept at guiding my stubbornness towards more productive avenues. I guess that's what you would call "determination" to avoid the negative stigma of the word but

I'm stubborn. Awfully so. I won't deny or fight it, but maybe help it help me on the way

#Annawayne #ask

[faintingheroine]

Hope you don't find my constant asks annoying, but you're the only Wuthering Heights blog that posts regularly lol.

What are your thoughts on Cathy and Isabella's dynamic? It always fascinated me.

I would never find them annoying :) It is always fun to get asks.

It is indeed quite interesting. Despite their differences they initially have a genuine though superficial friendship. Actually I like how when they are children it is initially presented as a friendship rivalry of “Edgar and Isabella vs Heathcliff” before the book centers on Edgar as a romantic rival for and counterpart of Heathcliff.

I do think that Cathy likes Isabella though she finds her a bit of a spoiled brat, and Isabella likes Cathy even though she seems to be somewhat jealous of her position as the mistress of the house after she marries her brother. It takes Isabella’s crush on Heathcliff for this friendship with some tension bubbling under the surface to become a full-on Mean Girls affair. Cathy is often physically abusive or emotionally manipulative towards others, but her telling Isabella’s crush on Heathcliff to Heathcliff is her most calculated and vengeful act. It is incredibly embarrassing for poor Isabella and disastrous in its effects - Cathy misjudges how vengeful Heathcliff became. To be fair Cathy does seem to be genuinely concerned for Isabella’s safety and warns both her and Heathcliff to not go through with it, but she also inadvertently ruins everything by making Isabella more resentful and desperate to prove herself and by giving Heathcliff the idea in the first place.

I think Isabella running away with Heathcliff is as much motivated by resentment towards Catherine’s actions and by her being jealous of the attention she gets from men as much as by her love for Heathcliff. A. Mary. F. Robinson puts it into words very judgmentally and victim-blamily in her 1883 biography of Emily Brontë: “And after all, a marriage chiefly desired in order to humiliate a sister-in-law and show the bride to be a person of importance, was not intolerably requited by three months of wretched misery; after so much she is suffered to escape”.

After Isabella understands how horrible Heathcliff is and “falls out of love” with him, she regrets her fight with Cathy and forgives her. To be honest she still has some subconscious jealousy and resentment towards her in lines like these: “Catherine had an awfully perverted taste to esteem him so dearly, knowing him so well, Monster”.

Her feelings towards Catherine are complicated as showcased here:

“you sit down opposite me, and put poor Catherine’s baby away: I don’t like to see it! You mustn’t think I care little for Catherine, because I behaved so foolishly on entering: I’ve cried, too, bitterly—yes, more than any one else has reason to cry. We parted unreconciled, you remember, and I shan’t forgive myself”

I do think that she is more jealous than she lets on and still hasn’t completely gotten over Heathcliff, but she is still sad about her death and graceful enough to kiss her portrait along with her brother’s on her way out of the book:

“she stepped on to a chair, kissed Edgar’s and Catherine’s portraits, bestowed a similar salute on me, and descended to the carriage, accompanied by Fanny, who yelped wild with joy at recovering her mistress.”

She also seems to idealize Catherine’s bravery, rebelliousness and fiery temper and her refusal to marry Heathcliff in this great line:

“’But then,’ I continued, holding myself ready to flee; ‘if poor Catherine had trusted you, and assumed the ridiculous, contemptible, degrading title of Mrs. Heathcliff, she would soon have presented a similar picture! She wouldn’t have borne your abominable behaviour quietly: her detestation and disgust must have found voice.’”

And this line is what finally gives her the opportunity to run away.

In short Isabella’s feelings for Catherine are complicated.

I do quite admire this relationship’s development. It would be so easy to make them hateful rivals, to have Isabella wish for Cathy’s death like in the 1939 movie. Instead they do seem to truly care for each other.

This relationship is not the focus of the book, it is more of a plot device, but it is still a very nuanced portrayal of a female friendship because Brontë was a genius who could express so much in a few words.

#wuthering heights #asks #a. mary f. robinson #isabella linton

[citrinekay]

27, 32 and 37 for the weird questions for writers game if you feel like it!

I love your writing so much!!

Hi, thank you so much for the ask! I love being given the opportunity to talk about my fics/writing :))) 27. Who is the most stressful character you've ever written and why? Oh this is easy. John Silver from Black Sails, hands down. He's stressful because everything he says is a lie while at the same time, he feels Everything at level 9000. There is this constant discrepancy between what he is saying and what he is actually feeling. Massive characters details were purposefully left out by the writers, leaving humble fanfic authors like myself patching together what I DO have to create a whole picture from his POV while still trying to be true to the shadowy nature of the character from canon. Second place probably goes to Lee Dong-sik for similar reasons. He's a slippery guy to get your hands/mind around because he's always deflecting lol 32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you? This is tough. I've read a lot of good books, novels, and fanfics over the years but the very first passage that popped into my head is this one from James Baldwins' Giovanni's Room:

"I did not know what to do or where to go. I found myself at last along the river, slowly going home. And this was perhaps the first time in my life that death occurred to me as a reality. I thought of the people before me who had looked down at the river and gone to sleep beneath it. I wondered about them. I wondered how they had done it - it, the physical act. I had thought of suicide when I was much younger, as possibly, we all have, but then it would have been for revenge, it would have been my way of informing the world how awfully it had made me suffer. But the silence of the evening, as I wondered home, had nothing to do with that storm, that far-off boy. I simply wondered about the dead because their days had ended and I did not know how I would get through mine.

Pretty dark, I know. But this book is one of the best I've ever read and I would encourage anyone, especially folks identifying as LGBTQ+ in some way, to read it. It's a book not just about being gay but about not succumbing to fear and failing to let anyone in and love you. What it means to me is embracing my queer identity and opening the doors of my heart to let love in because in this whole world, it's the most important thing. 37. If you were remembered only by the words you put on the page, what would future historians think of you? I would love to think that historians would remember for me for my queer love stories about identity, home, and belonging, but lets be real. The world is not that nice to queer people. They would probably remember me for all my raunchy, filthy, kinky porn and consider me a hedonistic, irredeemable heathen. In the end, I suppose that's okay Send me a number from this ask game, Weird Questions for Writers, if you want to hear more!

#my writing #ask game

[mlobsters]

supernatural s14e19 jack in the box (w. eugenie ross-leming, brad buckner)

foreboding episode name. also rolling my eyes again that they decided to do hallucifer 2.0 with jack

sigh i am not really up for mary's wake today. next day. i tried to watch jason kelce's retirement press conference, which was so emotionally taxing, i decided watching this episode would be better. watching someone trying to not cry when their entire body is fighting it is so hard. so hard. i made it a minute before my chest hurt so much i had to stop. anyway.

well i did yell at sam for burning mary's picture, but this the same one but bigger so i guess it was fine. weird choice, but fine.

SAM Hey. Uh, most everybody's headed out, but Bobby's gonna stick around. I thought maybe we could open that scotch Ketch left and hang out, talk about Mom. DEAN "Talk about Mom"? SAM Yeah. DEAN Isn't that what we've been doing?

dean handling it as well as expected

quick sob in the woods to take the edge off so he can go back to being emotionally unavailable for sam. i get it. my personal m.o. is to go silently sob somewhere and then come back and be able to have a cool, calm and collected rational conversation about things. wouldn't recommend that either

SAM But they're real, right? We know that Mom's not sitting on a cloud playing a harp. She's in a good place. Or she's in a great place. She's with Dad. DEAN Hmm. You know what else? There wasn't enough left of her to even try to bring her back.

i have been thinking about that a lot lately. knowing about heaven etc, if it weren't so busted and broken down, what's the big deal if someone dies. especially if they're a "special" case soulmate type so they get another actual human to be blissful with. like the only real-real is on earth, they say, but the alternative sounds awfully compelling

dumah having jack turn a heretic into a pillar of salt, hokay

DUMAH Words can't begin to express how Sam and Dean will feel. Now here is the real test. We need more angels. You're not God. You can't just make them out of thin air. But if a human were predisposed to it, maybe you could take their soul and forge them into one of us.

LOL what. they got duped by lucifer when he said he could make more angels, but i guess they've been working the problem

handy we have this special box ready for eternal torture of archangels and maybe juiced up nephilims? who knows

DEAN No. Well, I mean, I want Zeppelin to get back together. But what I need -- What we need is to stop Jack. Big difference. But here's the deal. We both got to sign off on it. This might be our only shot, and if he even catches a whiff that this is a scam, he's off into the wind. SAM Exactly. And how do you think he's not gonna know something's up? DEAN Because you're gonna be so damn sincere. SAM Me? DEAN Mm-hmm. SAM Why me? DEAN Because you've always been in his corner, all right? You're his go-to guy. Sam, if you reach out, he'll come. If I do it, after what happened to Mom, I could lose it. I will lose it.

how about we cool off, take a minute or week or four, and think about this first. but dean wants to do it literally right now. great.

did not see castiel ganking dumah coming, all righty.

SAM So what do we do now? Just go on with Jack locked up in there forever?

i mean yeah it's reversible but this is the most accelerated plotline ever. like an instant pot to turn jack into lucifer

SAM You know, I never thought it would end like this with Jack. DEAN Sammy, we knew from the beginning it was a long shot with him. SAM Yeah. Yeah, but long shots are kind of our thing.

one day you've got three dads who love you and then you fuck up and they're locking you in a box

DEAN He's locked up, safe. He's in the Ma'lak box. CASTIEL No!

please, we need some pushback on dean about this.

DEAN He agreed to it. Because deep down, I think he knows it's best. CASTIEL No. You're doing what Dumah -- You are manipulating him.

tell him, cas. i hate when they have dean be like this

all right. surprise, surprise. it didn't go well.

i haven't finished an episode this quickly in ages.

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 14x19 #eugene ross-leming #brad buckner

[trenchcoatsbi]

Hey tio tommy!! Tysm for your kind words :DDD I think yeah cannon divergent is the best way to put it DBBFFB what complicates figuring things out id my other kins feelingd that are pomme and tilin like everytime I see tallulah with her family and stuff it makes me so painfully jealous and a lot of the feelings get twisted

Plus the entire cannon divergent part lol , I think its mainly because usually in fanfics or stuff I am pictures as awfully sweet and stuff (sometimes showing my sassy personality with abuelito) but like it doesn't really feel like that

Its like instead of that I was more collected and for saying it some way calm? Like just giving you the "•-•" stare (and for some reason I find myself getting uncomfortable with me livimg with abuelito and chayanne??? Idk why it might be my tilin kin acting up)

- tallulah qsmp⭑ (kinsidering)

“TIO TOMMY” YEAHHH

ANYWAYS HEGSHAHA YEP. its so hard to focus on sorting things out with a clear mind when so much shit is clouding your view like misconceptions of you, other kintypes.

you should write down your mems sometime, yknow, get a good sense of self!

personally it took me a really (3 yrs ish) long time to come to terms with being kin, especially since im such a victom of kff folk. AND ITS LIKE YOURE COOL N SHIT But it makes me seem less valid sometimes? or at least feel less valid. I KNOW I AM THOUGH!!! SO ARE THE OTHER KINNITERS (im so good please laugh)

feelings of discomfort could 100% stem from other kins, but since youre canon divergent it could also be from events you havent remembered yet!! be open minded to stuff like that for sure >:D

thanks for chattin talloolee

#tom posts #sbi asks #llulah anon

[sleepymarmot]

Phantom Thread (2017)

[Finally forcing myself to post the reviews of films I watched earlier this year. Saw this one on January 29th — almost exactly seven months ago! As usual, I also post the notes I took while watching, so scroll down a bit if you only want the review.]

Liveblog

The dress is pretty but it doesn’t sit well on her at all.

Damn that was quite a rude way to hit on a perfect stranger

Girl has no sense of self-preservation! What do you mean you get into the car of a customer you talked to for two minutes, after dark?!

Wow he put his fingers in the sauce, is that normal for rich British men or is that another creepy flirting method? That’s unhygienic, please use your own food for innuendo

Oh my god Cyril is immediately acting creepy also

“My job to give you some. (beat) If I choose to.” Dude lmao…

“You have the ideal shape. He likes a little belly.” Ok first of all, insane thing to say once again. Secondly, w h e r e

I like this dress even less. Weird skirt, looks uncomfortable.

Why did he bring his sister to their date

“How early?” “I’ll wake you.” …

The fabric conversation… Is this negging again or is he for real

I really thought Cyril would say “Maybe you’re being too fussy.” I guess Alma has not yet leveled up enough to get quoted verbatim

“But, please, don’t let her sit around waiting for you.” Ha, now Cyril is repeating Alma’s words without even knowing Does Cyril not drink from the kettle? That was kind of risky…

The wedding dress is ugly Oh, he said it himself, okay

Damn, all of these women have to work overtime because of this couple’s power plays

He went from “I want a divorce” to “We’re doing food poisoning based BDSM” awfully quickly

Wait where’s that text post about being poisoned by your wife... Was it inspired by this movie lol

Ok so we all agree Reynolds is autistic, with his routines and picky eating and misophonia

---

Review

How come Tumblr has never mentioned this one to me? Feels silly to say “where have you all been hiding this” about a Best Picture nominee from five years ago, but still. This is literally a romance between “ok first of all i didnt "miss" the red flags i looked them and thought yeah thats sexy” and “love my terrible wife […] when we eat dinner ill smile and say “poison again ?” and she will shrug mischievously but we both know it is very much poison”!

General notes

Set design, cinematography and lighting were beautiful. In our age of murky shots, it’s remarkable to see a film that’s never underlit — sometimes even the opposite. Wasn’t a fan of the grain, though; the flickering is hard on the eyes, and in the copy I watched it looked like a low quality rip instead of a warm nostalgic analogue look that I assume was intended. The sound side was as good as the visuals: this might be the first time I actually noticed the sound design, and the score was nothing less than what I expected of Jonny Greenwood.

I have mixed feelings about the costuming. Some of the dresses are beautiful… but the two most important ones, the very first dress we see and the very first dress made for Alma, didn’t fit the wearers’ silhouettes, and looked stiff and uncomfortable.

Some of the dialogue, mostly at the beginning, felt unnatural; not sure if that’s just me not being a native speaker, since nobody else had the same complaint.

I didn’t get “never cursed”. Was that a statement Reynolds secretly made about himself, or a lucky charm referring to the princess’ marriage? Why did Alma rip the label out? Why did she join the seamstresses in the first place — did she feel guilty that they got caught in the crossfire and had to work overtime because of her, or did she just want to inspect the dress? I also don’t understand why people seem to adore the New Year’s Eve scene.

Do you think Alma told the doctor the whole story, or just talked about their relationship but left out the poisonings? I think it would be unwise to tell that to anyone lest they call the police…

In the sections below, I am going to talk negatively about Reynolds a lot. So I want to clarify first: I do sympathize with Reynolds in many ways; I wouldn’t want a new person to get in the way of my habits, and I would be unhappy with the surprise dinner too. And that’s also exactly why I don’t invite strangers to live with me and interrupt my routines then get mad at them for that, you know…

Filing this one as “Movies I wouldn’t want to watch or discuss with my mother even though there’s zero sex and nudity on screen”. I don’t know which part would be more awkward, the Freudian subtext or everything else…

The omelette

I’ve recently acquired a bad habit of reading too much about movies before watching. In this case it was probably a good thing, though: without the spoilers, I doubt I would have seen this any time soon, or managed to sit through the first hour. Luckily, I didn’t know the key element of the omelette scene, and still managed to have a proper first time viewing experience as it slowly dawned on me that Reynolds was aware of everything and the poisoning was going to be consensual this time.

That scene, and the follow-up interactions between Alma and Reynolds in the cottage (excluding the daydreaming flash-forwards, which I have mixed feelings about), were, unsurprisingly, my favorite part of the film. Many reviews quote Alma’s monologue (which, as I realize now, I might have originally encountered in a joke screenshot with zero context) or the line Reynolds says in response, so I’ll highlight some other things. The contrast between how simple and ordinary their actions are on the surface (cooking, serving food, eating, talking at the table) and how wild the meaning of these actions is; the mix between a duel, a dance and a negotiation that mostly consists of extremely mundane movements. The intense eye contact, the “I know that you know that I know”. How Alma put too much butter in his food and poured water too loudly for too long, and he accepted it without complaint but with the same calm and clarity as the poison. How they look genuinely happy, in love, and on the same page for the first time in the entire film. How easily he says “I love you”.

The omelette discourse

…And now that I’ve documented my immediate positive emotional response, it’s time for some overthinking and complaining. Perhaps everything I say below can be dismissed by saying “they’re both awful and deserve each other, that’s the point haha”, but that’s not a mode my brain can stay in for long. So please bear with me, or just skip this section.

Because no matter how exciting and cathartic that ending is, I can’t help but ask: what next? Is this experience going to let Reynolds finally grow out of his cycle of childlike helplessness and patriarchal despotism, instead of solidifying it? What are we supposed to infer — that the poisonings are going to be a regular occurrence from now on, or that they will become unneeded as Reynolds gradually mellows out? (The former would, realistically, have diminishing returns and practical complications like “people are going to start asking questions”, and the latter kind of goes against the celebratory kink-positive tone of the film’s grand finale.) Are we to believe that Alma’s poison is an antidote to Reynolds’s toxic masculinity, and that the more he submits to Alma the more he can tolerate her when things go back to normal, until the two of them grow to exist harmoniously?

I guess there is some evidence of that process already beginning. When Reynolds bounces back after the first poisoning, he’s slightly less mean to Alma than before the marriage. Alma’s poisoning is also less destructive the second time: consent, no collateral damage, not on the eve of an important deadline, she agrees to call the doctor.

I think the film wants the viewer to think that by the end, Reynolds and Alma’s mutual toxicity cancels itself out, and they manage to reach a harmonious equilibrium. That might be true of the first poisoning, where Alma retaliates against Reynolds’s abuse with some of her own. At the mid-point of the film, their vileness is pretty evenly matched. After that first poisoning, there’s a brief honeymoon period. Then Reynolds goes back to berating Alma, disregarding her feelings, and being dissatisfied with her presence in his life… And in response to Reynolds making her feel unloved, Alma does something that makes Reynolds feel loved. In the end, the score is still in Reynolds’s favor instead of being even. Even in Alma’s daydreams of their happily ever after, the closing monologue of the film, there is no mention of Reynolds changing to accommodate her, only of Alma changing to accommodate him: “I am older and I see things differently, and I finally understand you.”

Perhaps here the story structure and the balance of power between the characters are in conflict; it makes sense to end the film on the strong scene that changes the relationship in a major way — but that means the viewer doesn’t get to know if that change leads to improvement. We never learn if Reynolds eventually becomes a better partner; we only know that Alma is committed to him either way.

No matter how satisfying the couple’s new arrangement is to watch, I don’t see how it would help with the actual problems in their relationship. They are at different stages of life, and that exacerbates the natural differences between their temperaments. Reynolds doesn’t respect Alma as an equal; he insults her and allows others to insult her to his face. He has immense power and privilege over her socially and materially. He has a career that he loves and a devoted sister, but she has no life outside of him — no friends, family, interests, hobbies, income, etc. — and it’s hard to tell if it’s sexist writing, intended characterization, or both.

How is any of that going to be helped by them growing closer emotionally? You two found a love language you have in common and unlocked a new level of intimacy and mutual understanding, congratulations! Is it going to broaden Alma’s horizons and opportunities? Is it going to give Reynolds more progressive views and social awareness, enough to at least defend the honor of his lower class wife? Is he going to stop being emotionally abusive because he is emotionally fulfilled?

This would imply that Reynolds behaves the way he does simply because he is too high-strung and he just needs to take a chill pill. That the problems in their relationship can be reduced to him being a control freak, and once he gets accustomed to giving up control and learns to enjoy it, and then he’ll be a good partner. Sorry, but it’s hard for me to believe that one can tame, let alone fix someone by domming them.

The film seems to attempt a subversion of the patriarchal, hierarchical “artist/muse” “upper class/working class” “man/woman” power dynamics. But the characters do not dismantle that existing power imbalance: instead, they build something new and mutually satisfying on top of it. The film intentionally avoids the feminist wish fulfillment route: Alma doesn’t liberate herself, and she doesn’t even want to. It’s a fairy tale where the Beast doesn’t really become a better person, so the Beauty becomes a worse one to “match” him… but she’s still locked inside his castle. Alma doesn’t abandon the role of a muse, only adds another traditionally feminine role to it: mother. As Feminist Frequency’s review puts it, “Traditional, restrictive gender roles are not escaped; one set is just briefly swapped out for another.” Related: it might be just a consequence of Reynolds’s chosen trade, but the people Alma walks over in her bids for his attention are always women (Barbara Rose, the seamstresses).

Speaking of motherhood… What happens when the woman who likes to treat her husband like a baby gets a real baby? How does she split her time between them? Does she end up neglecting one of them, does that make Reynolds jealous or more abusive? Or will he by that time have gone through enough personal growth to be actually fit for fatherhood? An interview with an expert on Alma’s specific brand of abuse asks an even more worrying question: “I also wondered about the baby at the end, because those who engage in the behavior are likely to do it [again] when similar situations arise. So as the baby gains skills of emancipation, would Alma be equally threatened by that? I saw the baby and thought: Oh no, it may be at risk.”

Perhaps I am being overly cynical and uncharitable here because of who made the film. When an artist with a history of being cruel to his girlfriend writes a story about an artist being cruel to his girlfriend, and makes the fictional girlfriend abusive too, how can I not question it? This film was already very awkward to approach and enjoy as a fan of Fiona Apple, even regardless of its content.

The relationship development

Another thing that didn’t work very well for me in the final sequence is something that also applies to the other parts of the film: the internal logic of the couple’s relationship development. Reynolds goes from “This was a mistake, I can’t live like this, I want a divorce” to “Intoxicate me now 😏 With your lovin’ now 😍 I think I’m ready now 😳” in the space of one cut. These scenes are directly adjacent with no development between them. It makes sense from Alma’s perspective (“what an asshole he’s being, he needs to be poisoned ASAP”), but not from Reynolds’s.

On Alma’s side, though, there’s also a bit of weirdness: Alma to Reynolds: Don’t worry babe you’re not gonna die, I’ll take care of you <3 Alma to the doctor: If he died that’d be fine by me, we’d just meet in the afterlife ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I really can’t tell how I am supposed to take this, and which of the men she was lying to!

But let’s go back to the beginning of the film. Throughout the initial phase of the relationship, I was sure that Reynolds chose playful bullying as his flirting tactic consciously, but later in the film he showed so little self-awareness that I started to suspect he thought that was a normal way to show interest in a girl you just met. Either way, I was surprised that the way he condescended to her changed considerably when the seduction was over, though in retrospect it makes sense. On Alma’s side, there was a similar shift: she was far more welcoming of his insulting methods of flirting than I would expect from a self-respecting adult with a strong personality, and started rebelling when they settled into domesticity. Perhaps the domineering attitude of a handsome stranger showering her with attention was exciting at first, but when their relationship became routine, she quickly grew sick of being treated like a second class citizen in what has become her own home. (I wasn’t joking with the quote at the top of the review: it was my genuine and immediate impression that Alma goes along with the 342561 red flags exhibited during the very first day not because she’s a doormat but because she’s a freak.)

The love at first sight didn’t work for me, as well as the couple’s determination to stay together despite their incompatibility. I’m just not convinced that they actually love each other as entire human beings. They do love certain sides of each other. Reynolds loves the muse with the perfect measurements; the assistant totally devoted to him; the new woman (future) finally displacing his older sister (present) and mother (past) while, unlike them, also being his sexual partner. Alma loves the genius who makes her feel beautiful and important. They both love the persona the other assumes in a caretaking scenario. But is there a deeper connection? Do they actually love each other unconditionally, not just the aspects of each other that fulfill their needs? I’ve seen quotes in confirmation of that from PTA and Vicky Krieps — but the text itself provides no satisfactory evidence of that.

Obligatory comparisons with other films

I like to chain movies together because of themes or character dynamics they share. A couple of reviews for Crimes of the Future mentioned this film, and I decided to watch it next assuming that the similarities start and end with the relationship between an aging artist and a strong-willed younger woman. Turns out, these two films also make an interesting double feature because in some ways they’re an inverse of each other. Crimes of the Future and its main couple wear abnormality on their sleeve, but the central relationship is healthy and stable; Phantom Tread appears classy and family-friendly, hiding the more shocking aspects of the relationship beneath the luxurious surface. Both films are very sensual without the conventional sex scenes, but the approach is diametrically opposite: Crimes of the Future circumvents the content rating system, managing to put explicit scenes on screen just because they don’t contain specific banned body parts; Phantom Thread purposefully and conspicuously avoids showing any sex or nudity to preserve the aesthetic and make other scenes feel more charged. The protagonist’s old age is important in both: for Saul, it’s deteriorating health and conservatism towards newer ideologies and ways of interacting with and modifying one’s body; for Reynolds, it is the decades of habit and privilege making him internalize the belief that his own authority, taste, routines are something absolute and unquestionable.

A bigger surprise was the two films also shared the theme of food and eating. Crimes of the Future: eating as a fundamental bodily function, food as means of sustenance, and the politics of food; Phantom Thread: eating as pleasure, food as means of human connection, and the power dynamics of feeding and being fed. Both films go deeper than the surface: food is not just something that is served and tasted, but chewed, swallowed, and digested, which is not necessarily a smooth and uncomplicated process. Phantom Thread’s exploration of the food theme is probably the best one I’ve seen so far not just in film but in any media, and the only one I can think of where “food as love and sex” made sense for me.

Choosing The Favourite as the next film to watch after this one was a good choice too: they also had some things in common. There’s a young woman winning an older and more powerful person’s affection by taking care of them while they’re sick, there are toxic relationship, there’s even literal poison... The older parties are similarly spoiled and eccentric but very different in certain important ways, and the protagonists are even more alike.

People have mentioned this film’s similarities to Rebecca, which I haven’t read or watched; my own first thought was about Misery, which I also haven’t read or watched. Out of the films I’ve seen before, there’s Crimson Peak — someone made an entire Venn diagram for their similarities. I’ve also seen comparisons with a number of other films, mostly ones I haven’t seen. Is Phantom Thread more intertextual than the usual or is that just me?

#phantom thread #liveblogs and reviews #blah blah blah #maybe i should stop trying to write coherent reviews... #i wrote most of this right away but the task of making it readable has been weighing me down for months and drained so much energy from me

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Politics and Violence- Part 2

Pairing: Elliot (Euphoria) x Reader

Summary: Elliot approaches the reader at school, violent blushing and flirting ensures. It ends with Elliot, very forwardly, asking the reader on a date. When the reader returns home, she faces a kind of angry Fez, demanding that she tell him what's she's been hiding from him. Drama ensures.

Song: "Acai Bowl" by Dominic Fike (I like the vibe especially during the flirty scenes in this)

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of drugs, sexy flirting and pretty substantial sexual tension lol.

A/n: Look guys, I'm early!! I love all of you and I'm very stoked for you guys to read this :) Some of these convos were based off of things I found on pinterest lmao.

I’m going to be honest. I’m definitely going against every piece of advice that has ever been given to me about love.

I’m diving head first into him, a smile on my face, my heart thumping against my ribs every time I speak to him or see him. He was just an addictive person; his smile, his hair, the way his eyes squint when he’s laughing at me, his voice. He would call me every night, his quiet, deep voice making my stomach flutter.

These were the types of feelings that my grandmother told me to avoid at all cost. To not trust the cute boys with the soft brown eyes, those that resemble a puppy dog. She would tell me to run for the hills the minute they looked my way and to keep my heart close to my chest. Sadly for her, I wore my heart quite visibly on my sleeve and so did Elliot.

He was slowly becoming my best friend, surpassing anyone else around me on my list of favorite people. He listened, he watched and paid attention to my every move, he was interested in any idea I had to share and any story I had to tell. And, not that it’s the most important thing in the world, but he is an amazing kisser.

Though we mutually agreed that we would take time to get to know each other, that did not keep us from flirting from sunrise to sunset. He would snapchat me pictures, fresh out of the shower, my jaw dropping at the sight. In return, I’d send him back a picture of me in my mirror at night, just a t-shirt covering my body. We drove each other crazy and I think that’s what I loved most about our relationship. It was no pressure and fun.

Fezco was starting to get suspicious, his eyes trying to catch a glance of my phone when I would smile widely at the screen. He would ask me occasionally what I was up to, if I was getting into any sort of trouble without him. I would just respond with a simple shrug, brushing it off and keeping it vague. I know that I can tell him and be honest that I had been talking to a boy for the last month or so. He had his own relationships, Lexi Howard coming over occasionally and spending a bit too much time at our home for her to be considered just a friend. But just like he liked his privacy, I liked mine.

My gaze moves from the white board, the lights dim as the teacher shows a presentation on the male anatomy. Not exactly the way I’d like to learn more about dicks, thank you very much. Finding Elliot from across the room, his eyes are already on me, a soft smile on his lips. His hand lifts in a bashful wave, my eyes rolling playfully at him as my cheeks warm. I watch as he holds his phone up, my own vibrating in my lap. Opening the device, I smirk at his text.

From Brat Tamer: You’ve been looking at me awfully a lot. Do I have something on my face?

My lips curl into a sassy smile, my eyes flickering back up to the teacher to make sure she can’t see me typing out a response. The last thing I needed was her catching me and taking my phone to read the message out loud to the rest of the class. But this is a sexual education class for a reason, am I right?

To Brat Tamer: No, sadly you have nothing on your face.

I watch as his eyebrows pull together in confusion, his eyes catching mine and almost saying ‘what’s that supposed to mean?’. I just shrug playfully, watching him with a smirk as he types out a response. My heart thumps in my chest at the response, knowing exactly what to say to drive him crazy.

From Brat Tamer: What do you mean sadly? What should I have on my face?

I hear his quiet laugh from across the room, looking at me expectantly as I press send, my message naughtier than it should be. I see a look of realization pass across his face, watching as he gulps and shifts in his seat. Looking back down at my message, I giggle under my breath.

To Brat Tamer: Me.

Elliot quickly shoves his phone back in his pocket, his hand reaching down to palm himself through his sweats. I grin proudly, my attention flicking back to the teacher as she points at a very crude image of a penis.

My ears are barely tuned into her words, my mind running to places that aren’t exactly the most appropriate. I’m sure he’ll approach me after class, his teasing intensifying as he gets me in his hold. He knows that I’m done for the minute his hands rest on my waist, my words stuck in my throat. I’m all talk for sure.

“-which brings us into our next fact which is 'human sperm contains sugar’.” The teacher says, my ears immediately perking up as I let out a laugh, the students' attention on me as I snort.

“Then why isn’t it sweet?” I point out, Elliot’s giggles heard from across the room as he tosses his head back. The teacher just looks at me, genuinely shocked but I could tell that she was also thinking the same thing. She stutters a bit as she forms a response, watching me carefully as I lean back in my chair.

“What?” She asks meekly, her face still shocked as I shrug, clearing my throat.

“What?” I respond simply, the teacher just sending me one last confused look before carrying on with her lesson. I snicker under my breath as my phone buzzes once more, my ears tuning out the rest of the lesson.

From Brat Tamer: Meet me in the courtyard after class, xo.

A smirk stretches out across my lips as I take a seat on the steps of the courtyard, following Elliot’s orders of where to meet him. My fingers scroll aimlessly through social media, my stomach fluttering with nerves. They were good nerves, the thought of Elliot being close to me again after a few days of not seeing each other over the weekend makes my head spin.

I watch as Elliot opens the door across from me, his eyes flickering around the area to find me. When his eyes lock on mine, a bright smile takes over his face, his eyes dipping to look at the ground nervously. I sit up straighter, shoving my phone into my pocket as he approaches me.

“Hi honey.” He smiles, slipping down next to me as my cheeks flush at the gentle nickname. I send him a nervous smile, bumping my shoulder with his as he chuckles, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. He pulls me to him with a laugh, his lips pressing against the side of my head. “Don’t gotta be nervous- relax.” He whispers, rubbing my arm gently as I shake out my nerves. He just chuckles lightly, knowing me well enough to know that his presence still puts me on edge. Without being behind a screen or weed in my system, I was a whole lot less ballsy. “You’re such a smartass, ya know that?” He says suddenly, looking down at me as his hand moves to rest on my waist, his dark eyes flickering between mine.

“Why?” I ask quietly, my eyebrows pulling together as he rolls his eyes playfully, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. The motion makes my heart stop for a second, the need to feel his lips on mine overwhelming me.

“Then why isn’t it sweet- Like who thinks of that shit?” He mocks teasingly, his voice raising a few octaves as I snort. My eyes roll at the mention of the class, my cheeks warming a bit as I shake my head with a smile.

“Me. I think of that shit.” I giggle, taking it a step further, placing my hand on his knee as he rubs my back. The movement is so simple but it makes my heart swell happily, needing to feel his touch. His expression turns into something more mischievous as he leans into me, his nose bumping against mine.

“Wanna test that theory?” He whispers, his eyes flickering down to my lips as I swallow roughly.

“What theory?” I squeak, all thoughts of anything else completely abandoned at his proximity.

“If it’s sweet.” His innuendo makes my eyes flicker nervously away from him, a shocked laugh leaving my lips as I hide behind my hands. “You’re all fucking talk, it’s so cute.” He whispers, pulling me closer to him as my cheeks heat up violently. He just presses delicate kisses to my forehead, my temple, and my cheek before finally cupping my cheek, his lips capturing mine. I hum quietly, my hand squeezing his knee gently as he deepens the kiss. Gently nibbling my lip, I gasp, pulling away before I jump his bones here and now. He looks at me with a shy smile, his shoulders shrugging gently. “I’ve been thinkin’ about doing that for a bit now.” He laughs quietly, my head bobbing in an agreeable nod. His eyebrows just raise gently, urging me to go on about how much I agreed.

“I’m always thinking about kissing you, so…” I trail off, ignoring the eyes that are locked on us, confused and conflicted. I can see Rue out of the corner of my eyes, watching us and whispering to Jules as Elliot’s attention stays locked on me.

Pulling away from him briefly, not wanting Rue to go to Fez and tell him my pretty big secret that I’ve been hiding from him and Ash. Elliot’s lips part in shock, his whole body squirming as he clears his throat.

“Gotta take me on a date before you kiss me again.” I whisper, his clumsy, boyish reactions giving me confidence to keep teasing him. He nods, not having an issue with my idea. “Tonight?” I offer, my lip pulling in between my teeth as he mumbles a quick ‘fuck’ under his breath, taken back by me being forward. Taste of your own medicine, bitch. “I believe we have a theory to test, so, might as well take me to dinner first.” I giggle, his eyes rolling as he sends me a tight lipped smile.

“You’re such a brat.” He mutters, his eyes flickering down to my bare thighs, his hands twitching in his lap. We were both keen on waiting, on building the tension as long as we could until one of us snapped. It was fun, I’ll give it that, but I can tell by how he’s practically salivating at the sight of my bare legs that something might happen after this date tonight. I hope more than just something happens.

“I’m aware.” I whisper, elbowing his side as he stands, me quickly following as I step in front of him, my hand slipping up his chest to rest just above the tattoo that I know sits delicately on his skin. His heart pounds under my touch, his breath coming out in breathy gasps.

“Yeah?” He asks, his hands resting on my hips as I get lost in him, subtly giving a ‘fuck you’ to Jules and Rue as they walk by us, gawking.

“Wanna know what else I’m aware of?” I ask, my voice low as I look up at him through my lashes. His head dips a bit, his nose bumping against mine as he presses a delicate kiss to my cheek.

“What’s that, babydoll?” He whispers, his eyes dark and naughty as he watches me, his lips inviting but I have other plans. Focus, Y/n.

“The tent in your pants- better tuck that in your waistband!” I grin wickedly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips as I pat his chest. Backing away from him, his wide eyes travel south, his backpack immediately being pulled off of his shoulders to cover his problem. “Text me!” I wink, watching as he rolls his eyes, a huge smile on his lips as he blows out a breath of air.

Making my way into the house, I throw myself onto the couch with a huff, a happy smile dancing across my lips. Ash looks at me, his head tilting curiously as I try my best to shrink my happy expression before suspicions rise.

“Why the fuck you so happy?” He asks, kicking his feet up on the coffee table as his eyebrows pull together. “Matter ‘a fact, why the fuck you been so happy?” He laughs, Fez entering the living room with a huff. He lifts my legs, placing them on his lap as he joins us. I just shrug simply, shoving my face into the pillow as my cheeks warm. “Man, you know why she’s so fucking happy?” Ash asks Fez, the boy curious beyond belief. Leave it alone, Ash…

“She got a man, that’s why.” My head whips around to look at Fez as he huffs, rubbing a hand over the top of his head. He looks pissed, his eyes glaring at me as he shakes his head. “Why did I find out from Rue instead’a you?” He asks, watching me as I sit up nervously, my heart pounding in my chest. “She said you were all fucking cuddly wit’ the kid, kissing and shit.” My cheeks warm vividly as Ash scoffs, the pieces connecting in his brain.

“All makes sense.” The boy clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth, a proud smile on his face. “What’s his name? Might have to do some digging.” I roll my eyes at him, reaching out to punch his thigh as he squeals.

“Leave me and my new man alone!” I point between the both of them, Fez rolling his eyes as his head hits the back of the couch. “We’re going on a date tonight. We’re just getting to know each other, it’s no pressure, no labels.” I shrug, explaining as vaguely as I can without telling them I literally offered to suck his dick earlier. That’ll stay between me and Elliot. Fez stares at me, unconvinced as he shrugs.

“Maybe you’ll have to invite him in so I can meet him.” Fez offers, my head immediately shaking as I lift myself off of the couch, my phone buzzing loudly in my pocket. I know it's Elliot who's calling me, my eyes widening as both men in front of me tune into the ringing. “Answer it, right here.” Fez orders, his face stern as I huff, knowing he means it. I turn to Ash who just snickers, going along with our eldest brother's plan. “On speaker.” He adds, my eyes widening as I fumble over my words. Rolling my eyes, I pull my phone out from my pocket, Elliot’s name across the screen.

“Hi, what’s up?” I ask when I answer it, Elliot’s laugh ringing from the other end of the phone. Ash is hanging onto every sound from the other end, his ears tuned in and his smirk wide. Fez just looks stoic, his shoulders tight as he rests his arms behind his head.

“Really? That’s all?” He laughs, my eyes rolling as I look between my brothers, annoyed by their presence. If they wanted a show, I would give them a show.

"My brothers are forcing me to answer this call in front of them. You’re on speakerphone.” I warn, Elliot gasping from the other end of the phone. Just like the men in the room, Elliot would do anything to embarrass me. Fuck, this was not a good idea.

“Is this the equivalent of impressing the parents, cuz I’ve never been good at that.” He chuckles, my smile growing as I avoid my brother’s eager stares. “Wait. Does this mean fucking Rue snitched on us?!” He yells, a laugh leaving my lips as he fumbles on the other end of the line. “She’s with me now acting all innocent and shit- did you really tell on us?! You fucking tattle-tale!” He screeches and I hear Rue yelling on the other end. I break down in giggles, both Ash and Fez laughing under their breath. “Oh my god, does this mean that they know about me sticking my tongue down your throat cuz-”

“Elliot!” I cut him off with a laugh, my hand reaching up to cover my face. Ash bursts out laughing, his head thrown back in giggles as he writhes around the chair. Fez just looks uncomfortable, a small laugh leaving his lips as he shakes his head.

“I’m just sayin.” He huffs, cursing out Rue some more before letting out a brief sigh. “Okay, take me off the speaker phone so we can talk about date night- whoop whoop!” He cheers, my finger tapping the button as I lift the phone to my ear. I make my way out of the living room but not before flipping both of the boys off. Their laughs are heard from down the hall as I enter my bedroom, Elliot giggling in my ear. “So, I figured we could eat take out and then I could eat you out. Then we can watch a movie or whatever at my place.” He offers, my jaw dropping at his flirting, my cheeks aching with happiness.

“Elliot!” I scold, the image of him between my thighs makes my stomach clench.

“What? Am I being too forward?” He asks teasingly, a huff leaving my lips as I pout. “Come on, get ready, pack a bag or something- I might keep you forever if this date goes well. Which it will.” He chuckles, my face warming as my heart swells at his words. I might keep you forever… “I’m picking you up in a half an hour on the dot, be ready brat.” He orders, my head nodding sternly.

“You got it.” I grin, sitting up as he sighs.

“But first,” he pauses, grunting as he moves, “I gotta kill Rue.”

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#elliot x reader #euphoria #euphoria series #fezco #fez #elliot euphoria #ashtray #elliot smut #elliot fluff #angst