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bitchlessdino · 8 months

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mood rings, drive thru theaters, and the latest issue of tiger beat (m)

Pairing: chan x college student!reader (afab) Genre: angst, smut, fluff Word count: 6.9k tags: SVTHUB COLLAB, set in the 70s, plot twist with dark ending (possibly triggering to some), pwithplot, tutor!reader, busty!reader, pining, brief mention of religion, mention of recreational drugs, mention of death, mention of medicine and medical practice, mention of tragedy (car crash), breeding kink, daddy kink, unprotected sex, couch sex, handjob cream pies, dirty talk. Summary: when you fall in love, it can feel like you’ll be with that person forever, that there isn’t another being in the world you rather be with. This case is just as heavy in your youth, tutoring a boy you’ve only ever walked circles around, while you wear a mood ring from his parents souvenir shop so you could feel closer to him. When it happens, you don’t expect things to crash harder than the way they do. author note: she's here!!! i might reedit later but i wanted to get this out before i changed my mind about the plot again so enjoy and check out the rest of the collab!!!!

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @wonuhour @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun

Falling in love in the seventies wasn’t easy. You didn’t have mobile phones or text messaging, hell, you were lucky if you had email. Most people didn’t. That’s what made it so much harder to be a person stricken in love. All you had was paper, a pen, and the possibility of hearing something through your home landline.

Every day you would wait for the confirmation call he’d be coming. He was one of the polite ones. You were grateful to have formally met him through the tutoring program held in college and you look forward to that phone call and the weekly meetings every Tuesday and Wednesday to go over organic chemistry. Somewhere in that mix, you had hoped to find your own chemistry with him despite knowing how selfish that’d be.

You’d never admit it loud but you had the classic high school pining back when you attended the same classes in the same town. He was a sweetheart then just like he was a sweetheart now and you longed for him like any other teenager. He had you doodling combinations of your names together in a worn out notebook and cherishing an item you secretly associated with only him. Yours was a mood ring.

In the summer of 74’, a new souvenir shop had just opened around the block after countless failed businesses by previous owners. This shop was owned by the Lees, a cute mom-and-dad duo that was sweeter than any cream-filled Twinkee. There was not a thing intimidating about them. They seemed like good people. What you weren’t ready for was their son working the register that day.

What was it about a man in wide leg jeans and a tight fitted shirt that made you want to physically fall to your knees?

At the time, he was wiping a glass candy tray rather meticulously. He has only greeted whoever came in without looking, too focused on getting every dust particle out of every crevice, so he didn’t notice how you found him to be the most interesting sight you’ve seen.

His smile when seeing the swell job he’s done was priceless compared to every piece of merchandise in the store. If there was a chance you could bottle up and take it away for keeps, you would. You would tell the local newspaper this store would be a new world wonder just from this boy alone.

You had to pinch yourself to finally pull your eyes away from him, scanning for something, anything, interesting enough to purchase and ring it up with him. Finally, your eyes land on something colorful, ever-changing, and wearable.

“Will that be all for today?”

You nodded, holding back a wide grin as you watched him run through your purchase. His smile never faltered in front of you, and for some reason, it made you feel special, despite the assumption he probably smiled in front of anyone who came in. Still, it made an impression.

“That’ll be a dollar please and since you’re a new customer,” he picked something from a box behind the counter, “a pack of now and laters for the road. You can have one now and another later. They’re great.”

God, he’s cute.

You mused at him, accepting the ring and freebie after paying him up front. “Thank you.”

“Have a great day. Catch you on the flip side!”

You waved back at him on your exit, immediately regretting not staying longer to chat. As expected, your mind went blank the second he spoke to you, and the moment you were alone, you slid on the mood ring on your ring finger and focused all of your energy on thinking about the questions you could’ve asked. For him, that was like any interaction, but for you, it’ll be a core memory.

It was throughout the years you realized that you’d be attending the same high school, sharing the same senior year, experiencing the same last year festivities, but despite the many opportunities, you never had an encounter like that with him again. You’d pass by that souvenir shop countless times, glancing at him while he worked every shift, but cowardly never approached him again. Not with the lack of trying, of course, your adolescent self was too busy to find a way to make him fall in love with you according to whatever you read in Tiger Beat.

You remember flipping through it, back and forth, momentarily distracted by the boyish charm of David Cassidy, and then going back to reread it in case you missed something. This had been your adolescent bible to understand whatever was on trend because only God knew you needed it. Somedays, you’d pretend you were talking with him through your magazine posters. Now that was a face deserving to be in magazines.

“You’re still thinking about that boy? Just talk to him already.”

Even your closest friend, Stacey, couldn't get your head out of the clouds.

You adamantly shook your head, the magazine clung to your chest. “No, absolutely not. Me talking to him wouldn’t even happen in my dreams. In fact, I’d probably have to pay admission to see him in my dreams.”

She rolled her eyes, letting you get back to whatever exactly you were doing. “Okay, drama queen. We get it. You like a boy.”

She was used to this at that point and it’d be all the same. You never outgrew it entering colleges either, the same one he happened to attend, which you couldn’t have been more stoked to find out. “He’s not just any boy, Stacey. he’s the boy. He’s so far out. I can’t even fathom his existence.”

You were in fact exaggerating, but at the ripe age of 18 all of it felt sincere and you truly did believe it was all true.

And to think you hadn’t formally met him yet until you started participating as a tutor in a peer help program at your University. You didn’t expect much of it, only thinking of collecting some community hours and hopefully maintaining a good reputation with your professors and there he was, like fate. There he should, hair coifed in intentional pristine, a loosely buttoned vibrant green shirt, and familiar tightly fitted pants that flared from the bottom.

Your breathing seized, stunned by the sheer fact you have stood this close to him since the first time your eyes laid on him. When he turned to you, he didn’t seem to notice your reluctance to walk closer as he strode confidently in your direction.

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Lee Chan. You're my tutor, right?”

Your heart sounded like a metronome at the highest speed at this point, taking your breathing in little by little, timidly returning him with your own introduction. Safe to say, you were both scared out of your mind, yet excited about this turn of events. Though, if you thought about it too hard, you had the chance of rendering tutorship useless and then it’s farewell to Chan.

That’s when you made the executive decision to omit him from your head during these sessions and treat him like any other peer needing help, as you initially intended with anyone you were assigned. If you wanted to continue these sessions and help out Chan, you needed to do more than think about what your future looked like together with 2.5 kids and a big picket fence.

You picked up a polite smile and settled in at a table, flipping a textbook to the first chapter of the course. Fortunately, he followed just as any other person struggling in chemistry and attempted to keep up with the lesson plan. As expected, you’d stumble over many of your teachings, forgetting some of the information yourself and having to refer to the book due to the blinding glow of your student, but as time passed, things eventually were more tolerable.

It was a few months later found an easier medium of being infatuated with the young man but helpful enough to pass the assignments in the above-average percentage. He just happened to be a good student that required more patience. Somewhat, it made you warm to learn that about him, including the fact he was good at listening, or how his eyes lit up picking up a lesson and recalling from memory. However, you kept this situation mostly professional, avoiding social interactions that would take away from your role. That was until Chan found comfort in spending time with you, having a sense of gratitude much grander than anyone teaching him Aldol reactions or valence electrons.

You could feel his soft gaze as you outlined something on his study sheet, emphasizing its importance since it’s appearing in the final he’d be taking eventually. If this were you back in the days of learning his name for the first time and thinking about him every waking second, you’d faint right about now. You’d be lying right now if you said you didn’t feel dizzy from the heat of his presence, but as you have been for the time spent together in the library, you’ve trained yourself to ignore it while mastering to subdue your intrusive thoughts.

Chan somehow found a way around that.

“Oh, your ring. Looks like the one in my parents' shop.”

You momentarily glanced back at the trinket before zone backing into today’s lesson, awkwardly chuckling to yourself. “Oh. Ha ha, that’s because it is.”

His eyes lit up the way they do, a cartoonish gleam in his eyes. “Really? I think I’d remember seeing you.”

“It was once a really long time ago.”

“Well, you should visit again. I can give you a good discount. We just got a big shipment of pop rocks.”

“Okay, sure.” You smiled, internally giggling at the thought of Chan entertaining himself with explosive candy and sharing it with you like the coolest treasure. “Alright. Organic compounds—“

“We really met before?” He interrupted.

“It really was so long ago. I’d be surprised if you did remember.”

“Well, I feel bad. I feel like there’s time it should be making up.”

You waved it off, not minding the now teary expression of guilt on his face. “It’s fine, Chan.”

“How about we go and watch a movie? I think the drive thru is replaying ‘The Godfather’. You should come with me.”

“Really? I don’t know.”

“Come on, consider it a thanks. You don’t even get paid for all the time you’ve spent teaching me.”

“No, but I get community hours. Speaking of teaching.” He placed his hand over yours, cuffing off the words caught in your throat. You find yourself helpless at the sweat pleas of Chan who works the cute angle all too well as he scooted closer to you. “I don’t think I can rest knowing I haven’t found a way to thank you. You’ve been tutoring me for 4 months. The least I can do is take you out.”

You’re a bit stunned, your leg already shaking in nerves as you never expected such a proposal to easily leave his lips and for you nonetheless. You exhaled, mustering the courage to meet his eyes before nothing, pressing your lips to discourage an all too gleeful smile. “Fine. We’ll watch ‘The Godfather’.”

He let you go, beaming, and tracking his pencil tracking over his notebook filled with chicken scratch that was comprehensible to him. “Good, I can pick you up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated before gluing his eyes back on the textbook, a noticeable hue of peak creeping up the back of his neck. “So, organic compounds...”

This arrangement was all you could think about until the day of, reading and rereading your magazines for possible outfit ideas, dating tips, and anything with the potential of making the best of this nerve-wracking situation.

On the day of, you got in your best get up just in time for the meetup. Anxiously, you turned your mood ring around your finger as you waited by the door, contemplating to yourself if what you chose was the right course of action. When the knock came, you came swinging the door open and pinched yourself from swooning seeing him in casual attire, including jeans that hugged his hips just right.

Chan, on the other hand, didn’t hide his emotions. Bright and animated, you grew hot under his watch, fiddling with the mood ring now on your middle finger and seeing it glare back a yellowish orange, indicating how nervous you really were. He took cautious steps towards you, mouth falling in awe, and he tugged at his band tee, which now felt lackluster compared to what his eyes were now seeing. “You look really good. I feel underdressed.”

“No, no,” you said, shaking your head and stepping down from the porch. “I just threw something on.”

“Well,” he offered an elbow, “shall we?”

You accepted his offer and hooked it through, hiding your elation. “Of course.”

He escorted you to the car and guided you to the passenger seat before closing the door, allowing you a moment to swallow the spaciousness of his station wagon before heading off to the theater.

Cars beside cars, people neither mingling, making out, or taking advantage of the concession stands with 25-cent popcorn and pop. The sun was in the process of setting before it became a violet hue and eventually pitch black, perfect for movies. You got out of the car and smoothed out the wrinkles of your outfit, taking another deep breath.

You only had a fleeting second seeing him come out from the driver's seat, a smile settling on his face for what felt like you and only you.

Then came the hoard. Voices calling out Chan’s name, boys and girls his age gathered around him, offering his gregarious greetings and rowdy conversation. They hounded him with hugs, not minding you who stood off from the side behind the cat. Your expression dropped, starting from your smile before spreading over your body language. Chan, remembering your existence, tugged you from the hood and brought you to his side. He briefly introduced you as his tutor, and you did your best to greet them back just as politely.

They nodded at you, sly faces towards Chan as if you wouldn’t notice, and then came their bombarding again, only this time in your presence. You kept up the calm facade, only laughing when necessary before turning to the person who brought you here. “Nice to meet you all. Hey, Chan. I’m gonna get some snacks.”

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

You didn’t let the disappointment show on your face as you walked away but let it fall free as your back was towards the group. You hear their teasing and playful banter, questioning if you’re really just his tutor and Chan confirming, leaving no implication for anything else. You crossed your arms in embarrassment, already regretting letting this situation occur, imagining the worst scenarios to come.

You quietly asked for popcorn and a grape pop, greeted with your refreshments a few moments later, along with a box of raisinets. Your lips parted in confusion. “Oh, I didn’t order these.”

“On the house,” the guy winked, leaning over the counter a little too close for comfort, “a secret promotion for cuties like yourself.”

“Ah,” you gave him a tight-lipped grin, visibly distancing yourself, “thanks.”

“You know, I can always sneak away from my post for little liplock in—“

“Hey, you doing alright? I was worried about you.” You didn’t have to look to know. His body came crashing into yours. An arm slung over your shoulder, an action almost as natural as breathing. “Do you have enough?”

Your eyes flickered toward Chan who came to your rescue, nodding curtly. “Huh? Y-yeah.”

Chan met the seller's eyes before accepting your purchase for you, handing you over only the popcorn. You stared at the box of raisinets before he tugged you away from the stand.

“I did good, right? I’ve been told that guy’s a creep. I didn’t know he worked here.” His whisper sent chills through your body, yet burned your ears. You could feel the fanning of his breath, tickling your skin and raising every hair in your body.

“Me neither.”

“He’s not a good guy. You see him around, walk in the other direction ok?”

You nodded, taking his advice into serious thought. “Thanks, Chan.”

When it’s clear you’re out of sight, he parted from you, keeping his hands down his pockets, visibly apologetic. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable with that. He just won’t let it go unless he finds out you have a boyfriend or something.”

“Mmh-hmm.”

“Let’s get back to the others, hmm?”

You spent most of the night with Chan and his friends. Some laughed at how cheesy the movie was or actually scared of what was actually occurring (Chan was a mix between the two). You’d enjoy it more if you weren’t a bit bothered by the circumstances. All you could was glance in Chan's direction while he smiled and laughed along with his friends. Even though you were sitting next to him in the same car hood, you never felt further away. Every direction tonight felt like a punch in the gut, having only spoken to him before the movie started. At this point, you felt as if you had no place here, blinking away the humiliation tears threatening to fall.

“I’m a little cold. so I’m gonna finish the movie in the car.”

Finally, his eyes landed on you, “What?”

You slid off the hood and dusted yourself. Chan followed behind you confused before seating himself inside the car with you, a worried expression on his face. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course not.” You splayed a less genuine smile, raising your cheekbones for good measure, but seeing its failure to convince otherwise.

“That means I did do something wrong,” he said, smiling bitterly. “Sorry. I’m not the best at picking up cues.”

“I told you, Chan. I just got cold.”

He sighed and turned to reach for something behind, pulling over something thick and warm over your body, covering your torso and legs. “Here. So you won’t catch anything.”

There’s that familiar clang to your heart you should be used to by now, following the marching band that typically arrives after inside your chest. “Thank you.”

You both sat in silence for a bit, continuing to watch the rest of the movie. He makes so attempt to communicate with his friends outside and he doesn’t smile, only focusing on the movie, insistent on being in your presence. You aren’t sure how to behave, fingers inching at lingering awkwardness.

“If I’m being honest,” You started saying, filling the charged air with something other than tension, “I didn’t expect to see that many people with us.”

“You didn’t?”

You shook your head. “I misunderstood all on my own. Don’t worry about it. Let’s just finish the movie.”

“Hey—“

“I’m feeling warmer already,” You said, grinning as yourself deeper into the blanket.

Your eyes were ready to train back in the movie before he spoke again, hearing a tone in his voice you weren’t all that familiar with. “I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable alone with me. I guess I did anyway.”

Guilt festered in the out of your stomach, regretting making a big scene out of nothing. “That’s not—“

“I got scared,” he admitted, the corner of his lips quirking up in a self-loathing grin. “They already saw my tickets so they thought they would get some too. Make it a group thing. I didn’t want it initially, but I thought, maybe it’d make things easier…I should’ve run it by you.”

You met his eyes, earnest yet soft. You didn’t know how to respond to any of this, processing his confession slowly. A fit of emotions wash over him and you see now the inner conflict that he had dealt with, somehow washing you over with relief. The final deep exhale you let out was solace, thinking to yourself how situations like this only happen in movies and books. You’re warm all over, an overwhelming urge to reach over and hug him, a fellow rambling mess.

“You didn’t misunderstand anything. I did want to go to the movies with you, but I wasn’t sure if you felt pressure or—“

You grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers through his. He stiffened under your touch, blinking back at you like a lost child. You smiled back at him from ear to ear and body leaned over on his side. “Just hold my hand. We’re not going to cause any more misunderstandings. Okay?”

He matched you, his pearly whites staring back at you as pretty as ever. “Okay.” His thumb caressed over your fingers, noticing something interesting as he did so. “It’s purple.”

“Hmm,” You looked down at your clasped hands, noticing that same thing he did: your mood ring in a solid rich purple. “It is.”

“Do you remember what purple means?”

You avoid edhis eyes, quietly laughing to yourself. “You know better than anyone.”

“I do.” He tightened his grip, head leaning against your shoulder and it felt as if time had stopped. You don’t doubt that he can hear your heart racing right or your uneven breathing. He turned the ring around your digit, watching how the colors periodically shift. “I won’t let there be any more misunderstandings.”

Since that incident, you went about your tutoring sessions as normal, with the additional intimacy that didn’t exist before. You both gradually developed these sessions into more study dates and then they became real dates. Things only became official when the semester finally ended and he continued wanting to see you, visiting your place whenever you got the chance using any possible excuse.

You could remember how happy you felt at the time. The relief there was to know he liked you back. It was almost as if you were living a dream. A damn perfect dream.

Then your first kiss came around. You were as nervous as anyone anticipating the first. Every doubt in the past didn’t matter, only now did. Everything all led up to this point. It just happened in the way you least expected it to.

You didn’t know why he insisted on teaching you how to play arcade games when he was just as bad. Still, it was cute seeing him try so hard. The firmness of his back followed your movement, guiding you to the right combos, shifting the joystick to move in the right direction, and although it was all wrong, you appreciated the back hug you were getting in return. Even the claw machine had to be a teaching lesson, insisting he had something to teach you.

“I did it. Chan, I did it!” You saw the stuffed dinosaur grabbed by the metal prongs, dropping right into the winner’s slot. You bounced on your feet cheering and took Chan along with you, hugging him tightly as your inner child healed and squealed at your achievement.

“I knew you could! You’re amazing.” His strong arms came around you firmly, pressing you against the glass of the machine.

Your breath was seized, replaced with weightlessness and tension in your chest that doesn’t seem to want to leave and perhaps you didn’t want it to. Although he didn’t pull away from the embrace, he parted far enough to meet your eyes and the longing in them. He knew what it was because that’s what was in his eyes, falling into their trance like a lucid dream that had him higher than any recreational drug. Neither one of you was willing to let it go, so all you do is stare. Stare at each other like you’re in your own world and no one else’s. As if life as you know it ceased to exist except for you and Chan. Nothing else matters.

When it felt as if you could imagine a more perfect moment, he leaned in with closed eyes, finding your lips like they were a second home and stealing your breath. You thought to lean in to kiss him deeper, but he already had found his grasp and pressed into you closer against the glass, feeling every ounce of muscle and shape of his body beneath his clothes. His shallow breath against yours, his hug of lips pulling at your bottom lip, and he emitted a soft grunt.

He pulled away from you with his arms still wrapped around your sides, shocked by his impulsivity. He stroked the side of your head, scanning for any fear in your eyes, slightly relieved to see any in sight. “I’m sorry. That was…a lot, huh?”

You shook your head reassuringly. “No.”

“Then I can kiss you again?”

The corners of your lips turned up, gripping his jean jacket to pull him closer. “Yes.”

You were kissing for hours that day and the next day, and then again the day after. Since then, something has shifted and these teenage dreams turned reality into something less family friendly. Your nights in his dorm became more frequent, more intimate, and always backed by a melody thanks to a record player gifted to him by his dad when he moved out. His prized possession, besides you anyway, as he claimed.

“What do you want to be when you’re older,” he asked, dragging his digits in and out between yours. He smiled, noticing your mood ring turning a mix of pink and purple before kissing your knuckles. “You know I want to be a nurse. What’s your dream?”

In the background was Led Zeppelin, their intoxically addictive tune spinning on the table. You thought to yourself a bit before turning your head back up at him, nuzzling closer into his warm touch before answering. “I want…to be surrounded by the people I love.”

He laughed like he heard the sweetest thing on planet Earth before his fingers threaded through your hair. “Baby, that’s sweet but not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant, but it’s what I want. It doesn’t matter much what I do, as long as I’m with my loved ones.”

“Am I one of these loved ones? Do you love me?”

“Yeah. I love you.” You didn’t even hesitate, the words were always on the tip of your tongue until that final push. You lifted alight above him to repeat yourself louder. You let him heed your words. “I think I really love you.”

You thought he’d react differently, more scared and unsure but—“I love you too.”

“Chan,” you smile, warm filling your inside as you let your breath chase away the race in your chest.

“I mean it.” He bent his head down to meet your lips, cupping your cheek with the warmth of his palm. “I really, really love you.”

Chan toppled over you, lips meeting yours repeatedly in a heated frenzy, caressing your body and holding you desperately against him as you did the same to him. He kept you between his legs, whispering it over and over, ‘I love you, I love you,’ blistering and marking your skin. How was it that made you feel as if you weren’t allowed to breathe?

Before you realize it, clothes started coming off. Piece by piece. As ‘Babe I’m gonna leave you’ replayed, shirts, belt, pants, and everything underneath fell to the ground. You saw him. You saw all of him. And he saw all of you. Your instinct was to shield away, be conscious of your then and there but in his own way, he reassures you, speaking to you as though all his words were nothing but the earnest truth. “I’m here. You’ll never have to worry about me not being here. I love you so much.”

Your flesh spilled through his fingers, imprinting his hands through your nude. Sounds of worship leaving his lips between every kiss, not even the worry of lack of condoms could stop him. Your thighs were glued to his hips, and you felt the warmth of his length titter to your fresh heat. You moaned every time you met lips, every bite he gave to your skin, and every full twist his fingers made with your sensitive buds before filling the inside of his oral cavity of your full breast.

You ached to have him in you, hand barely reaching his girth before wrapping a tight wrist around him. He shuddered at your touch, thrusting through the circle of your palm. You felt the need in his movement as he grinded down on his couch, not minding the wool burn inevitable to be left behind. Weak chuckles escaped his lips and he flashed you a smile, seconds away from melting into helpless groans. “You know just how to handle me…”

“Only because you treat me so well.”

Kissing one breast and then the other, he reached your lips as he held your thighs against the sides of his torso. “And I’ll do it for as long as I’m alive.”

You looped your arms around his neck and pulled yourself against him, his warm breath tickling the tip of your nose. “Make love to me. I wanna feel you inside me.”

“Then I won’t wait a second longer.”

The moment you felt him inside you, you felt higher than anything you could find in a blunt offered by the shady next-door neighbor. You buckled into him, lifting your hips off the couch for a fully bloomed taste. The stretch he left had your jaw falling, clutching to his shoulder, and letting out exasperated breaths. You nearly choked on your own spit that had only forced it down when he picked up the pace.

You molten walls only sucked him in deeper, calling his name in blurred whines. Each thrust and each kiss was fueled by an undying passion. He carried you, palm to your back and your legs around his waist, and pulled you on top of him. From beneath you, he drilled your insides, meeting your longing expression.

Your fingers draped over his face, and you held on to his blissful expression that occasionally dropped in anguish when chasing after his rhythm. You whined his name desperately, clinging to him as you dug down your hips down his lap. He moaned louder than before, gingerly cupping your breasts and finding your stiff nipples between his fingers.

“You feel so good taking me…and your tits are so soft and warm.” He pushed himself to thrust hard, pleased with how easily you easily bounced against him, watching your flesh moving loud and fluidly like water. “You’re so perfect to hold, and love, and fuck my dick into—shit.”

Your chest rose and fell catching up with his efforts. “Chan, I love you so much.”

“I love you too. So, so, so—fuck!”

You felt his grip grow tighter and saw his jaw drop lower. His legs clenched to your sides impulsively, unwilling to let go. Soon enough, he couldn’t take it anymore and came inside you. He looked as if everything in his brain told him not to, but it seemed that nothing could stop the geyser within him from coating your insides with hot ivory. He snapped into you in an erratic rhythm, cum spilled in you and out of him until it stained the wool underneath.

Chan was red in the face, both in embarrassment and heat. He looked up at you in panic at the direness of circumstance considering neither one of you thought to stay protected. “Shit, fuck,” he exclaimed still pumping inside you, “you feel so good. I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, bending down to kiss him. “It’s okay, just don’t stop…please…”

His stressed expression melted, as did his fingers into your skin. He caressed over your sides with love in his eyes, swallowing nervously. “Really, baby? That ok?”

Perspiration coated his skin, beading down his adam’s apple as it bobbed. You felt like mush in his touch, letting your hips make use of the natural lubricant. Your boyfriend groaned at the sound of the slick moisture sliding over his skin. You cupped his face in your hands, working your jaw in a needy liplock. “Yes, please. Fuck your cum in me, please.”

His fingers tensed, dragging your lips to slap down on his. He exhaled slowly, your walls hugging his cock erect. He asked in a breathy voice, “Fuck my cum in you…my pretty girlfriend wants something so dirty done to her?”

“Yes, yes, please…” You whined.

He slammed up into you, feeling how he’s already bottoming out inside you. Hearing you moan his name lit a fire beneath him and he rolled you on your back to rut in you like a merciless animal.

“You want my cum in you, hmm? Fill you up with my cum and put my fat load in you?”

You jerked in the opposite direction, your skin smacking against each other causing the tenderness of your skin. “Yes, please,” You choked out, “I want it all with you.”

His lips picked up from the corner in a smirk, turning you back over to plant you against the couch while his feet finally touched the ground. “You want it all? Like a life? A family? You want me to build a family with me…have me fuck my babies into you?”

“Yes, baby, please. I want you to fill me up so I can make you a daddy.”

“You love me that much?” He slammed into you with a proud smile. “You love me so much you see your future with daddy?”

You batted your lashes back at him. “I see every day either full of joy or full of your cum inside me.”

He snickered before biting his lips in a filthy moan, “Such a dirty mouth on the mother of my kids.”

You’re spent by the time your legs gave out, and you and your boyfriend exhausted your bodies to the point you couldn’t move even an inch off the couch. Cum seeped out of your holes like sap, only halted as you pressed your legs together to get comfortable. Chan had barely enough energy to tug a blanket off from behind him and throw it over your bodies. You smiled into his warmth, nuzzling into his chest, and inhaling his lusty musk.

You moaned in satisfaction. “Mmh, I like this…”

“Me too.” He hummed.

“I never want this to end.”

“And it won’t,” he said, kissing the temple of your forehead.

“Are you hungry?”

You moaned. “Starving.”

He chuckled, holding you closer to him as his voice dropped an octave. “Let’s fill you up with something, hmm?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling as you lightly shoved him. “Chan…”

“Food, babe,” he said with a cheeky smile, “get your mind out of the gutter.”

After a quick shower, and a few wet kisses in between, you’re set to refresh yourselves with some fast food and can’t help but be filled with elation. You cozied into the passenger seat accepting the hand he’s offered as the other steadied the wheel. You can’t help but notice how he glanced every now and then when he shouldn’t, making you nudge him to fix his gaze.

It was always a loving one, one that you’d forever burn in your memory. You don’t even know why, but you shed a tear looking at it. That smile of his seems to go on for miles and brightens your day like the morning sun. You felt it in your heart. Something suffocating that you couldn’t describe but all you think in your head is that this was love and that loving Chan would be the easiest thing you could do.

He sent you another glance before making a turn, one a little longer than the few before, then all you heard was a loud blaring honk, your voice screaming his name, and then your vision went pitch black. You stared into darkness. Emptiness. Nothing was in sight.

That was until your eyes were open again. You woke in a place of all white, smelling of antiseptic and a hint of febreeze. You slowly blinked, scanning the room, unmoving. Still, in fact.

“Good afternoon, Sunshine. Sleep well?”

You only could see who entered when they walked in your field of vision. Your eyes stared in shock at the sight of your boyfriend, smiling back at you in scrubs as he wrote away in his clipboard and looking as if he hadn’t aged a day. You internally screamed at your body to move, crying from within the inside at the inability, and then soon growing tired, realizing it’d never be possible. As he put away documents in a file holder pinned to the high wall, you stressed your throat to speak, hoping for the least a sound to follow, but instead, it was your silence.

“I’ll just open the blinds a bit, make sure they’re not too much light in your eyes. Too bad your nap was a little long. The weather was so good. I thought we could roll you out into the garden.”

You are losing your mind. The last thing you could remember was a car accident that felt like mere seconds ago and staring into the eyes of the man before you, who matched the love in your eyes. Now you’re imprisoned in your own immobile body, with no clue why and how the love of your life survived when you barely did.

“Your heart is pounding. Wait a second.”

Chan strode over to the monitor just out of view, forcing yourself to rely on your peripheral to watch him. His side profile and his body were all within reach but unassessable. You felt the sweat of your palm through the sheer determination alone, but to no avail, he stayed away from your grasp.

“Hmm, we’ll have to figure that out.”

Finishing up, he stood in front of you like a figure of light radiating brightness unfathomable to man. A light bright enough to fully grasp your reality. Your true reality.

That’s right. He’s not your boyfriend. You were never together.

You’ve been the way you were for two years, by a car accident nonetheless. This was Nurse Lee–your caretaker and nurse–who insisted you call him by name and talked to you as if you could talk right back.

And this wasn’t the 1970s. It was the 2070s.

Your gaze quickly turned to “Three's a Company” playing on the highly advanced TV plastered on the wall, momentarily surprised that they still had the show on cable, before snapping right back to your nurse, now going on about the daily work gossip. You couldn’t help but stare again, watching his handsome face turn up in a smile every time something delightful popped into his pretty little head as he spoke. Your eyes fluttered in remorse, a familiar sinking feeling in your chest as you inhaled and exhaled through your breathing tubes.

It all made so much sense. Too much in fact. Here you were in dreamland living in disbelief that someone as sweet and kind and Charming as Lee Chan—nurse Lee Chan—would ever be someone so madly in love with you. You lived a happy and healthy and normal life in your dreams, shutting off from the dark truth of your world is, as if you’ve never been in this accident. You dreamt of life before it was taken away before you narrowly escaped death.

If you could call this escaping death anyway. You were practically dead.

And perhaps the worst part—

“Vivian liked the flowers you suggested. I think she’ll finally stop being mad at me thanks to you.”

He gently moved your head to fluff the pillow behind you and placed you back on top. He brushed away a hair that strayed over your face, and you felt a sensation pulse through your fingers. “I wish you could meet her. You’ve always been there to listen to me talk about the wedding planning, the bridal stuff, and then the actual wedding. I hope you liked the photos, the guy we hired was—phew—a pretty penny.”

You started to blink rapidly, seeing your reality crumbling before you, and all he could do was look as devastatingly beautiful as always, even with the dark circle under his eyes from long hours of work.

“I talk a lot, huh? That’s what you’re thinking. Sorry, you’ve always been a listener, not that you can help it.” He chuckled to himself. “Sorry, dark joke. I’m sure if you could move now, you’d laugh.”

No, you wouldn’t.

“I’ll be out of your hair in a second. Don’t worry.”

He did the last round of his thorough check-up of your room before standing by the door with his clipboard in hand. Clicking his pen, he turned back to you one last time with a smile now turned bittersweet.

“Any day now. Your heart pulses a little faster every day. Your family is waiting for you. And because I’ve grown attached to you I’m waiting for you too. Maybe after all this, we could be friends, then you can tell me how much you love or hate when I talk to you. Just as long as you’re up and running again.”

The moment the door closed, you were alone again. The fluid built in your tear ducts finally found their escape and streamed down your still face, facing their discomforting warmth. Your chest heaved, your grew breaths shallow, your throat went dry, and suddenly your lips quivered. In solitude and sheer desperation, you said your first words in years.

“Chan…come…back…”

But it didn’t matter.

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sunflowersandsapphires · 8 months

Text

Make a Mistake

Wake Up, Chapter 6

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.

warnings: smut-adjacent towards the end (steamy kissing), swearing

a/n: This chapter was so much fun to write! I tried to unpack Matt’s insecurities a little bit and I had so much fun with that. As always, like, reblog, respond, and request if you have feedback!!

w/c: 3.6k

It had been a few weeks since you survived an attempted mugging, the pain in your head having mostly faded.

Matt had stayed with you at your place for the entire weekend, reluctantly departing for work on Monday—though he diligently checked in on you every hour. Your boss has been more than sympathetic to your situation, giving you a few days off and letting you work from home until you’d fully recovered.

During that time, you were hesitant to be left alone. While you barely remembered the encounter itself, the fear surrounding it was still very present as you went about your days. Matt had become your anchor (to a higher degree than he already was, you supposed.)

You replayed your foggy memories of that night over and over in your head, thinking back to how Matt had knocked a man unconscious to help you. Though, from what you knew about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, he was pretty practiced at that.

After you pieced together the trail of clues he’d unknowingly left you, you began to care more about the public’s view of the vigilante, for obvious reasons. It had become a new obsession of sorts. Reading newspaper articles about the various criminals he had stopped, looking at images of “sightings” online, rabidly defending him in online forums against trolls.

While others might feel betrayed or disgusted by Matt’s secret, you felt…awe struck.

This man was devoting every single minute of his life to the people of the city that needed help. The people that needed him. He had saved hundreds of lives, including yours. He had almost died. Multiple times, according to some sources. You’d have to ask someone about what the fuck had happened at Midland Circle, though you doubted anyone would be forthcoming with the story.

The knowledge of Matt’s alter ego made you want him even more, which was really complicating your role as his fake girlfriend. As was the fact that this sweet, savior of a man was now spending damn near every night at your place to make sure you felt safe enough to fall asleep.

Sheepishly thinking back to the night two weeks ago when you’d called him sobbing after a concussion-induced nightmare, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought that he cared about you enough to check on you daily after that. In fact, you were expecting him soon for your weekly dinner, which he had promised would turn into another night at your place. For your security, of course.

Groaning and dropping your face into your hands, you cursed your crush-happy little heart. Here you go getting attached to the man that you were in a fake relationship with. This was bad. Your feelings could jeopardize everything! And Matt didn’t deserve that. The poor man was working another job after coming home from the office and you were begging him to spend time on you for, what, comfort? Sure, you weren’t stopping his nightly activities from happening—if the way he leapt out your window after you had fallen asleep was any clue—but you weren’t exactly making his life easier.

‘And you should be making his life easier’, you scolded yourself. All this man does is help others. He deserves to have someone looking after him for a change. Hell, he deserves a whole team of people to look after him, but if you needed to act as a one-man army, you could do that.

A knock shook you from your thoughts. Putting your anxiety on hold, you went to retrieve Matt at the door.

Picking at your dinner as your nerves tied your stomach in knots, you faked a smile and asked “How was your day, Matty?”

“Not bad. We got the charges on the Jones case dropped. Dismissed with prejudice.”

“Oh Matt, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you!!” Slipping your arms around him, you squeezed tightly. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating?”

“Eh, I was tired. Besides, a bar wouldn’t really be good for your head just yet and I don’t want to give you a migraine.”

You shook your head at him, smiling. “We aren’t sewn together, you know. You should've gone without me!” You gave his shoulder a light shove.

Matt simply shrugged, burying himself in your hair. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you, anymore.”

The statement caught you off guard, but before you could blurt out a response, he stammered. “I—I mean, you’re my girlfriend to the public. So it’s best if we spend a lot of time together around other people, is what I meant.”

Your heart sank. “Yah. No, yeah that makes sense.” You were quiet for a moment while you debated whether to be honest with him about your growing affection. After a bit of deliberation, you choked out “How did you get the charges dropped? I thought that case was a disaster.” Cringing internally at your cowardice, you pulled away from Matt and back into your own seat.

Matt frowned, hands clenching momentarily before his expression evened out. “The court's error was big enough for us to turn their main argument on its head. The judge didn’t think the case was worth the time after that, I guess.” He gave a mirthless chuckle, staring at his lap.

“Good thing you discovered that error then!” You squeezed his knee and his expression brightened a little.

“I did the easy part. It was all Foggy and Karen, really.”

“Well, you’re a team! So of course they would—“ you tried to reassure him but Matt interrupted.

“Honestly, I’m shocked they still want to work with me. I rarely pull my weight. They’re both so kind and devoted and I’m…I’m a mess.”

You looked at him in disbelief, gently taking his hand in your own. “What do you mean, darling? How are you a mess?”

Biting his lip, he refused to turn into your gaze. “I just— we won today but I felt so…ashamed. Like everyone was giving me all this credit for something I didn’t do. I feel like that a lot of the time.” He closed his eyes, body deflating.

“Oh, Matt,” You cupped his cheek to try to bring him out of self-deprecation mode, but he wasn’t ready to step out of it yet.

“And it’s not just work, I mean I have no idea why you haven’t run for the hills yet. I’m overbearing and temperamental and selfish. I just take and take and most people realize that and cut me off— but somehow there are some people that don’t seem to care that I’m bleeding them dry. But I can’t pull away because…I need it now. So I just sit here and take the credit and pretend that I’m helping, but I’m not.” To your horror, his eyes became glassy.

“You are helping.” You began firmly. “And you are allowed to need help yourself, darling.” You tenderly gripped his nape, stroking the skin underneath his jaw with your thumb. “We haven’t ‘run for the hills’ because we care about you too. And, as much as you want to deny it, you are incredibly patient and sweet and thoughtful.”

“But I—“

“Darling, I’m more than willing to hear you out, but I want you to acknowledge that this is just a flare up of your imposter syndrome and a side effect of your crippling Catholic guilt. Is there anything that you could be doing that would satisfy you? Or would you still be critical of yourself for not doing ‘more’?”

Matt sighed, leaning into you and resting your foreheads together. You brushed some hair away from his forehead and gave it a firm kiss before letting it fall against yours once more.

“I am honored that you trust me enough to talk to me about this, and your feelings deserve to be heard and acknowledged, but you have to cut yourself some slack sometimes. Have you ever had a moment where you felt that you were enough?” You posed the question as precariously as possible, but Matt still felt emotion well up in his throat.

“No.” His soft voice cracked on the admission.

“Why not?” You pressed, still stroking his warm skin.

“Because…because—“ he drew in a ragged breath. “I’m just not enough. I’m just not and I never will be.”

“And I can absolutely relate to how you’re feeling right now, but have you ever had a personal reason for feeling this way, or is it because it’s what you’ve been told?”

Matt hadn’t revealed much to you about his childhood, but you knew that it hadn’t been filled with love or validation. As someone who had also lacked those things growing up, you expected his guilt and shame surrounding what he wasn’t doing stemmed from never being good enough for others.

“Matty, darling,” you continued as he stayed silent, your concern and curiosity growing. “When was the last time you felt appreciated by someone close to you”

“Um…probably last week when you—“

“Someone besides me, love.”

Matt held his breath, wracking his brain for an answer that would appease you, but he couldn’t find one.

“I don’t know.” A tear finally slipped down his cheek and you brushed it away.

“Do you feel good when people do appreciate you?”

Matt nodded against you. “Yah. I know I don’t deserve it but…”

“Matthew Michael Murdock, of course you deserve it.” You chastised, but your words held no real anger. “I know it’s hard to believe when you hear it so rarely but you are wonderful. And if I have to convince you of that all by myself, I will.” You repositioned yourself so that you were in his lap, running your fingers along his scalp, foreheads remaining glued together.

“You are so compassionate. Everything you do is for someone else. I don’t know many people who would think about dropping their evening plans to console a friend after a nightmare once, let alone consistently care for them for weeks after.”

“See? Overbearing.” Matt interjects and you push at his chest to interrupt him.

“No! Not overbearing. Kind. And you might operate on a…unique schedule…” Matt flinched at this so you hurried to praise him again. “But! You are so effective and intelligent that you manage to juggle everything anyway! Like that week when you stayed home from the office because you’d fallen and sprained your wrist. You told me Foggy was upset with you, but you unraveled the opposition’s argument in less than an hour the day you came back. That was impressive. You’re impressive.” Matt flushed at your comment, burying his face in your neck. You smiled down at his adorable position before continuing.

“And you’re so resilient! You’ve been through so much and you’re still trying to make the world a better place. So many people would’ve given up on the rest of humanity but you don’t. And I don’t think you ever will. You’re just so…good. So don’t ever say that you don’t deserve to be praised for what you do and who you are. You’re the best man I’ve ever known. And I will always appreciate you.”

“Thank you,” Matt spoke your name softly, gripping the top you wore as if it was the only thing holding him together.

“Anytime. I mean that. If you’re ever having a bad day, I will gladly ramble on about your great body and incredible personality.”

“I don’t believe you mentioned my ‘great body’ before.” Matt straightened up with a tiny smirk.

“Oh c’mon. You and I both know that you’re well aware of the effect you have on women. We’ve been fake dating long enough that you don’t need to pretend with me.” You scoffed.

“I know that other people have considered me attractive, hell, Foggy talks about my ass so much some people think we are married. But I don’t think you have ever said anything.”

“Because I knew it would go straight to your head and i refuse to give you the satisfaction.”

“Weren’t you just saying that I should be complimented more?”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“It just is!” You laughed as he poked your side.

“It sounds like you’re not ready for my line of questioning. We may have to revisit your testimony at a later date, if the opposition permits.” Clearly his wave of insecurity had passed, if the joking nature of his comments were anything to go by.

You shook your head at his jest, tracing his perfectly sculpted jaw with your fingers. As you scraped your nails over his stubble he made a sound akin to a purr. Giggling, you did it again with a bit more force. “You like that, do you? Good to know.” Your brain signaled to you desperately. You are treading a dangerous line, ma’am. You ignored your rational side, continuing to stroke the lawyer’s face.

Matt let his head fall against yours once more, the bridge of his nose pressing against your cheek. Your hand moved back to his scalp, kneading gently. Leaping over your own anxiety, you took a risk. He felt your jaw move as you spoke again. “You know, I’ve been thinking about all the preparation we’ve done, but we haven’t practiced something that seems kind of…big?”

Matt nuzzled your ear, hearing your pulse throb under his touch. “What’s that, angel?”

“Well, um, it’s just that—we’ve never, uh, kissed before.” You stumbled over the request, continuing to thread your fingers through his hair. Before Matt could say anything, your ramble continued. “I mean, you’ve kissed me on the cheek, I guess. Sorry, I don’t mean to sound needy or anything—I mean, it’s fine! We don’t need to do that. Forget I said—“

Cutting you off, Matt swiftly dipped your body so that you were lying horizontally on the couch cushions and positioned himself over you. A dark smirk crossed his face as your arousal grew. “Have you been thinking about kissing me, angel?”

“No!” You squeaked, wriggling out from the trap his arms and provocative gaze had created. God, why was it so hot in here right now. Standing up from the couch, you paced away from him. “I just meant— It seems like something other people would expect couples to do, is all.”

Matt’s sinister smile faded to a softer one. “If you wanted me to kiss you before, sweetness, all you had to do was ask. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh trust me, you don’t need to worry about that.” You brushed off the concern quickly before realizing what you’d just admitted to. “Uh—I mean—“

Matt just chuckled, standing from the couch and moving over to you. He softly took your chin in one hand. “You know, you’re cute when you’re flustered.” That statement did not help your feelings at the moment, but Matt wasn’t done. “You want me to show you what we could do, the next time we are at an event together?”

You were nodding, practically breathless at this point. “Please, Matty.”

“Well, a pretty girl like you deserves a nice experience, not just a quick peck on the lips.” Matt pursed his lips, thinking, and you fixated on them. Desire was pooling in your gut. Matt, seemingly, did not notice your growing hunger as he stroked the hollow of your cheek before continuing. ��We’d want to get their attention, right? So, I think I’d start by pulling you close.” He tugged you into him, making you gasp. Smile widening, he slid a hand around to the back of your neck. “I’d want to hold you like this, I think. Make a real big show of how lucky I am to have you, ya know?”

This man was going to kill you. He had to know what he was doing, right? Damn your lovestruck heart for initiating this.

You shifted from foot to foot, a rush of pure lust making you a bit impatient. Matt frowned, “Sorry, too much? Need to stop?” His hand dropped from your nape and you whimpered involuntarily.

“No!” You squeaked, cringing at how high pitched your voice sounded. “No, it was nice. Please don’t stop, I want to, um, prepare for the next event! Like you said.”

Matt’s smile flickered back to life, his hand coming to rest under your hair once again. “Oh, I get it now. Did you like this, pretty girl?” He pulls you impossibly closer, breathing over your lips. “I’ll keep showing you what we could do, but if you stop liking what I’m doing, you tell me, ok?”

“Uh huh.” You managed, completely breathless now. Matt grinned, wrapping a strand of hair around one finger and giving a slight tug.

“Good girl.” You bit back a moan, keening into him a bit. Matt steadied you with a laugh, “Well, once we had everyone looking—and they would be looking, sweetness—I’d lean in…” He did so, his lips ghosting over yours. “And I’d kiss you until everyone in the room knew you were all mine.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You forcibly closed the indiscernible gap between the two of you, wrapping your arms around him. As your lips met, sparks danced across your eyelids. You’d heard rumors, but you were still amazed at how skilled Matt was. He was an incredible kisser. Threading your lips together with ease, he gave your top lip an almost imperceptible tug before slowly pulling away. “Something like that, sweetness.” He panted, brushing a thumb over your lower lip.

“I think I need another demonstration.” You murmured, hand coming up to his head to push him back onto your lips. His mouth parted in a broad grin as you desperately pressed your mouth to his again. Your knees were practically buckling, Matt was holding you up—hand still woven into your hair.

Stubble scraping against your chin, you gently pulled at his bottom lip, mirroring the sensation he’d just created for you. His breath danced across your face, a small noise escaping his lips. His tongue gave the tiniest swipe over your lip and you mewled.

Pulling away abruptly, your own noise acting like an ice bath, your eyes widened with horrific realization. Clearly, you were taking advantage of the position he’d put you in, and you were more than embarrassed at the thought of you getting off on it.

“Oh god, Matt I’m so sorry—I-I don’t know what came over me!” You stammered, stepping away from him with your head falling into your hands. He let you pull away, but smiled after you, shaking his head.

“You didn’t do anything I wasn’t more than ok with, sweet thing. I’d be overjoyed to practice that again sometime.”

You peeked at him between your fingers. “Really?”

His eyes darkened with want. “Really.”

“Are you absolutely sure? Because I don’t want to push you—“

Matt was on you in an instant, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and touching his nose to yours. “Please, angel, kiss me like that again.”

And you did.

“So are we going to dance around the big fat elephant in the room all night?” You stirred your drink, avoiding Marci’s question.

“What elephant? There’s no elephant.” You assured her, maybe a little too quickly given her knowing smirk.

“God, you're a worse liar than Fog. Who told me after little to no pressure was applied that you and Matt are kissing now? Am I supposed to pretend that’s not a massive development?”

“Marce, it’s not like that. We were practicing for the legal conference next week.”

“I’m sorry, ‘practicing’? You have to know how disgustingly middle school that sounds.”

Burying your face in your hands, you heaved a sigh, knowing that Marci would not drop the topic until you’d satisfied her curiosity. She was ruthless that way. “I mean, when you put it like that—“

She laughed as heat rose in your cheeks. “Ok then spill! How long has this been going on? Have you told him that you like-like him yet?” Her voice rose in a sickeningly teasing falsetto.

Ripping your head out of your palms, you looked at her in shock. “I do not like-like Matt. What are you—“ You trailed off, taking in Marci’s knowing look and raised eyebrow. Returning to the shelter of your hands, you groaned. “God, does everyone know? Does Matt know??”

“Foggy, Karen, and I have been speculating for a while. Matt seems to be blissfully unaware.”

“Ugh! You can’t tell him, Marce. Promise me! It’ll ruin everything.” You pleaded, anxiety swirling through you at the thought of him finding out that you’d been infatuated with him throughout the fake relationship.

“I won’t tell him.” Marci took your hands in hers, encouraging you to look at her again. “But, I don’t think it would ruin anything. In fact, I know that it wouldn’t. He likes you just as much as you like him.”

“He does?” You bit your lip, warmth cascading over your face at the thought of Matt returning your affections.

“Yah, babe. He treats you like you hung the moon. And, apparently, you two have kissed already…”

You rolled your eyes. “Ok we kissed a handful of times in my apartment and once in public and we agreed that it was so it wouldn’t look awkward in front of Snyder in the future.”

“Ok so that is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You two have kissed multiple times in the last week and you still think this relationship is fake? I’m begging you to put an end to all of this misery and TELL HIM HOW YOU FEEL.” She gently shook your shoulders to prove her point and you laughed.

“Ok! Ok. I’ll do it. I’ll tell him.”

“Thank god!” Marci downed the rest of her drink. “I'm going to hold you to this.” She pointed at you, sternly.

“Yah, yah. I know.”

Little did you know, Matt was getting an eerily similar lecture from Foggy and Karen on the other side of Hell’s Kitchen.

Taglist: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @scoliobean @harperdoodle @mattkinsella @leikelle @sweetbee0108 @dark-night-sky-99 @fallen-angels2213 @will-delete-this-later-probably @cheshirecat484 @thornbushrose @vernon-dursley

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louroth · 10 months

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Hello everyone :>

It's been a month! it's incredible how much my life has changed- while I'm still adjusting I'm just...still walking on clouds. it feels unreal. the patreon took off and I can almost make a living wage on it which is frankly fucking insane, and the discord is so vibrant it scared me for a moment (not anymore- shooting the shit with the people there is the favorite part of my day, even if I sometimes just leave a trail of emotes lskjdhajksdhkjasd.) I couldn't have asked for a better community. YES I am crying about it. Thank you, so, so much. I am cradling your face in my hands. crying.

But as always, enough of my bleeding heart. Let's get to it!

The first two weeks after posting the update, I took a sort of quasi vacation and only wrote a handful of story-words each day, and spent some time fooling around in the discord + brushed off my smut archive to refine for Patreon. There are already 4 stories up, and a new one coming tomorrow- though I haven't decided yet whether it will be possessive/jealous L sfw short or one very nasty short where you come across a particularly insistent species of vines while trekking the forest. hehe. we'll see. >:3

But, even though I had to rest not to combust after work, I am very pleased to say that the next chapter is coming along great, with the skeleton finished for its entirety, and about 45% and some change already written (it's very hard to gauge because I jump around a lot when I write.) This is the final chapter before the forest, filled with action and the heart wrenching drama of offering tenderness to a certain someone, and deciding for your hunter when enough is truly enough. I have teared up writing certain scenes and I genuinely cannot wait for you to experience this next part yourselves.

It is so funny reading things I wrote for this chapter six months ago, or longer, because I knew exactly what emotions I wanted to bake in and couldn't really nail it, but now it is coming together beautifully! Sure, it will still be wonky first draft writing, but the core is there and that is all that matters for now. I'm saying soon™ for the update for now, because I am allowing myself to adapt to writing full time- I didn't quit my job to become my own nightmare boss, and I truly want to enjoy this process. I think, in the long run, it will result in a better story. Patience is my mantra. All in due time- I cannot force quality creative work. But by everything wretched and sinful, I cannot wait to share this next part with you!!! I'm frothing at the mouth!!!

In other news, y'all. I need to get organized. I get heartburn thinking about all the different variations of files and notes and notebooks and scraps of paper and variables and branches of plot and just generally, the things to keep track of is getting to the point of a dragon hoard of scary 'oh no I forgot about that part'. I'm gritting my teeth through it until this chapter is out, but after it, I am going to spend some time to

1) get my shit together in gorgeous, beautiful spreadsheets

2) get serious about finding beta- and proofreaders. (me @ u: 🥺)

But that's it, my friends! I scrapped an entire progress report because I started sounded corporate and listing points which was just... sad. I really hope I evolve into writing these in a more fun way, which would make them more fun for you to read too! But for now, I think this will do. I hope you have a beautiful day/night, and if you would like to see more in depth dev-logs of my writing life, or random sneak peeks, I post those weekly on patreon!

Or join our discord, which. It's just the nicest place, I can't even come up with words that do it justice. It's my favorite daily newspaper.

Until next time! x

#OUROBOROS #ouroboros-if #interactive fiction #dev log #progress report #im scuttling off to finish character moodboards now like a gremlin #i am wholly soaked and immersed in the world of ouro and that just feels... so nice. I never want to leave #on asks: sorry they have taken low priority while I adapt to everything happening. I read every single one and smile and laugh and ponder #but when it comes to actually answering my words just stop working. its a soup up there #send thots and prayers 😔#(or come join the discord where I answer questions with gusto on the daily)

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cartermagazine · 8 months

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Today We Honor Robert C. Maynard

Robert C. Maynard, the first African American editor and owner of a major daily newspaper in the United States, was known as a trailblazing journalist who led efforts to desegregate newsrooms and educate minority students to pursue careers in journalism.

Maynard was born in 1937 in the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn, New York. He dropped out of high school when he was 16 to work as a freelance writer for newspapers including the black weekly, The New York Age. He landed his first journalism job in 1961, when he joined The York Gazette and Daily in York, Pennsylvania. Five years later, he received a prestigious Nieman fellowship to Harvard University then served as a national correspondent, ombudsman, and editorial writer for The Washington Post.

In 1979, Maynard became editor of The Oakland (California) Tribune, which had been called “the second worst newspaper in the United States.” But he quickly turned it around and purchased the paper in 1983, making him the first African American to own a major metropolitan newspaper. The Tribune subsequently won hundreds of awards, including a Pulitzer Prize in 1990 for its coverage of the Loma Prieta earthquake.

Maynard also received dozens of awards, including eight honorary doctorates and the Elijah Parish Lovejoy award, named for the abolitionist who was killed by a pro-slavery mob in Illinois in 1837.

Despite dropping out of high school, Maynard stressed the importance of education and advised young people to stay in school. In 1977, he and his wife, Nancy Maynard, founded the nonprofit Institute for Journalism Education in Berkeley, California, renamed the Robert C. Maynard Institute for Journalism Education after his death. The institute has trained and placed more nonwhite journalists than any other single institution in the country.

Maynard, 56, died of cancer at his home in Oakland in 1993. He was posthumously awarded The Freedom Forum’s highest honor, the Freedom Spirit Award, and $100,000, which went to his family to help sustain his vision of giving all Americans front-door access to the truth.

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rapha-reads · 2 years

Note

do you have any merthur fic recommendations that have happy endings?

Do I ever ! Strap on, I've got quite the list.

Tagged Angst With A Happy Ending :

Take A Letter, Merlin by Caledonia/@iamcaledonia (7870 words, Modern Era)

Arthur is an emotionally repressed workaholic who is unhappily married. Merlin is his loyal and competent personal assistant. One Monday, Merlin comes to work to find that, over the weekend, Arthur has dictated a letter for Merlin that is about to change both of their lives. A song fic inspired by the 1969 classic, 'Take A Letter, Maria' by R. B. Greaves.

Kiss Today Goodbye, by Cithara/@citharaposts (5337 words, Canon Era, Divergence from s02e13)

When Arthur regains consciousness in time to hear Merlin confront the dragon, his world is turned on its head by the revelations that follow.

Turning the Page, by @schweetheart and @queerofthedagger (19050 words, Canon Divergence, Epistolary)

Without intending to, Arthur pushes Merlin just one step too far. Now he's left without his manservant but a hundred questions, a world of hurt, and guilt that clings to him like a shadow. Well, and a notebook filled with drawings because apparently, Merlin can draw on top of being a sorcerer. No matter how often Arthur tells himself that he just wants to forget, he can't help but come back to the collection of sketches and notes, a chronicle of all that Merlin has done.

Maybe their story isn't quite over yet.

The Knights of the Table, by DrJackAndMissJo/@drjackandmissjo (9198 words, Modern Era, Food Critic and Chef AU)

'Can you even believe this guy?" Gwaine asked, offended and almost breathless as he popped himself on Percival’s counter. There was no need for any of the other men to ask who he was talking about. Everyone knew about the devilish creature that wrote the restaurant and food reviews on Camelot Weekly. “What makes you even think it’s a guy?” asked Lance as he took the newspaper from the Irish man, “I’m pretty sure that it is a demon sent straight from hell to torture all of us!”

Tagged Happy Ending :

Hope On A Tuesday Afternoon, by arsenicandsunshine (8985 words, Modern Era, Housemates, Idiots in Love, Getting Together)

Arthur likes his life. Why wouldn't he? Nice flat, all to himself, stable job. Friends. Yep, he's set all right. Or, he is until he ends up with an unexpected flatmate. Merlin certainly does have a knack for turning Arthur's life upside down.

a long, long day, by @oncefutureemrys (1237 words, Canon Era, Secret Relationship, baths and massages)

Merlin was beyond tired of it all. He just wanted one moment where… it could be just him. Just him and Arthur, just the two of them, without the rest of the world interfering. But alas, Merlin was no normal person and neither was Arthur, and the chances of them having a regular day were almost as likely as Uther deciding to stop hating magic. So, he walked into Arthur’s room, ready for more late night chores, a slight slump in his posture. To anyone else, it would seem as if he was perfectly fine, usual Merlin just slightly tired from a long day’s work. But Merlin knew it was a bit more than that. And so did Arthur, apparently, because when he stumbled in, he found the idiot sitting casually behind his desk, an air of amusement and playfulness surrounding him, a teasing grin forming on his stupid, stupid (handsome) face. Or: Merlin's had a long day, so Arthur takes care of him.

Suffering in Silence, by TheCourtSorcerer/@tcs-main (3205 words, Canon Divergence, Sir Leon-The-Long-Suffering, POV Leon)

He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to say something. He couldn’t keep silent anymore. Day in, day out… The constant borderline scandalous looks, the barely concealed innuendos, the incredibly unsubtle touches, all of it! He was going to lose his mind. How could two people be so blind?! So, that’s what led him to the tavern that night, across from Gwaine, a hint of regret tugging at his mind that he steadfastly ignored. “Okay… How do we get them together?”

Secrets & Lies, by LiGi/@little-ligi (13333 words, Canon Era, Divergence, Arthur Finds Out, Protective Arthur, Friends to Lovers)

Arthur had finally put his finger on it. The thing that had made Merlin stand out, the thing that had intrigued him about the boy ever since the first time he’d met him. The thing that was going to get him killed… Merlin had magic. Not only had it, but used it freely all the bloody time. It was only a matter of time before someone saw him do it, and then they’d report him to the king and Merlin would be dragged out into the courtyard and executed. Well, not if Arthur had anything to do about it. Mid series one, Arthur, for once not being totally oblivious, discovers that Merlin has magic. The problem is, having magic gets people killed and Arthur very much prefers Merlin alive. It turns out making sure nobody sees Merlin do magic is rather a full-time job however...

A Universe Which Freely Gives, by @psychotic-fangirl369 (26455 words, Post Canon, Reincarnation, Arthur Returns, Getting Together)

Arthur returns… but because of a series of unlikely events (and perhaps a bit of morose dragging of feet because he can't bring himself to believe the signals), Merlin misses the boat. By the time he makes it to the lake, signs of Arthur abound but Arthur is nowhere to be found. Magical tracking being less reliable than one might think, when Merlin finally does manage to find him Arthur is bizarrely well-adjusted, living in a flatshare in London with roommates who think he's batty but mostly harmless, and working an improbable job. Enter: Merlin, who Arthur absolutely is not expecting to still be alive.

So Where Are My Flowers?, by @tehfanglyfish (1365 words, Canon Era, Pining, Flowers, Magic Reveal)

A question asked as a joke leads to years of fresh flowers waiting for Arthur each morning until the one day he almost screws things up.

Balancing the Scale, by sunsetmoonrise (20528 words, 5+1, Canon Era Divergence, Slow Burn, Pining)

Five times Merlin didn't realise Arthur was protecting him, and the one time he did.

Alright, that's quite a lot already! These are the latest in my bookmarks, don't hesitate to ask me again if you want more!

#replies #2012throwback #merlin #merthur #merthur fics #merthur fic #merthur fic rec #fic rec #happy endings #happy fics #angst with a happy ending #rapha talks #rapha reads

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venus-haze · 2 years

Text

Is a Dream a Lie If It Don’t Come True (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Your new job at the Memphis Evening Observer is the breakthrough you’ve been looking for after years of dead-end jobs. You strike up a friendship with Elvis, a handsome and charming man you meet at a nearby park during your lunch breaks. As you work more closely with the paper’s crime reporters, your eyes are opened to the dangerous aspects of Memphis you’d been blissfully unaware of. Good thing Elvis is looking out for you, right?

Note: Based on an anonymous request for a non-famous Yandere!Elvis AU. The reader is gender neutral, and no descriptors are used. I made up a name for the newspaper you work for, and I based the crime reporters on Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart. The title of this fic comes from one of my absolute favorite Bruce Springsteen songs, The River. Elvis is more of a “soft” yandere in this.

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, and stalking, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Mentions of sexual content that involves coercion but nothing explicit. Descriptions of violent crime, fighting, and feelings of anxiety and paranoia/being unsafe. Age gap (Elvis is in his late 30s, reader is in their 20s).

You woke up unreasonably early on the first morning of your new job, but you supposed it was better than waking up unreasonably late. Your first real office job, no longer in the throes of retail chaos was something you were undoubtedly excited for, yet your excitement quickly turned to anxiety as eight in the morning grew closer. Thanks to the typing skills you tirelessly practiced in your free time, you landed a job at a local newspaper, exaggerating your experience with the industry just a bit. You wouldn’t be a reporter, but in more of an administrative role, typing up whatever was asked and getting paid almost double what you used to make.

The first hour or so at the paper consisted of a whirlwind of introductions, and you knew you’d have to ask everyone for their names again at some point. Your new coworkers seemed friendly enough, even Hugh and Lara, the crime reporters, a husband and wife duo who spent the morning drinking black coffee while mumbling to each other about the weekend police reports. You sat in on the weekly staff meeting, trying to focus on what the editor-in-chief was saying and also what a fellow typist was whispering to you about the different people who spoke and topics that were discussed as the meeting proceeded. By the time you were on your lunch break, you felt like your brain was going to melt.

You’d prepared lunch at home, your brown paper bag in hand as you crossed the street to the park. The weather was comfortable as you walked around a bit, looking for a good place to sit. It was busy for a weekday, mostly retirees sitting around and other people from nearby businesses who had the same idea you did, enjoying lunch outside. You found an empty bench with a perfect view of the pond and made yourself comfortable as you watched the ducks swim around while you ate.

The autumn breeze felt nice as it blew by, calming your nerves a bit. You knew part of you felt overwhelmed by how different your new job was compared to your past ones, and you were afraid the editor-in-chief would know you were under-qualified and fire you right back to retail hell. You took a sip of the drink you had with you, trying to shake the negative thoughts from your mind.

You spent the next ten minutes or so people-watching, but no one seemed to be doing anything interesting. Silently, you cursed yourself for not at least bringing a book with you to pass the rest of your lunch break. Just as you were going to gather your stuff and go window-shopping to kill time, you were interrupted when a man approached.

“Mind if I join you?” the handsome man asked, holding a to-go bag from a nearby sandwich shop. “I usually sit here, but I don’t mind the company if you don’t.”

You shook your head, scooting over for him. “There’s plenty of room. I’m Y/N.”

“Elvis, nice to meet ya,” he smiled. “You work around here?”

“I work in that building, over there,” you said, pointing to one of the skyscrapers behind you. “Seventh floor, for the Memphis Evening Observer. I’m not a reporter though.”

“You wanna be?” he asked.

You thought back to the crime reporters you met that morning and shook your head. “No way. I’m happy being a typist. How about you?”

He pointed to a building adjacent to yours. “Sixth floor, accounting.”

“You like it?”

He shrugged. “It pays the bills.”

As the next few weeks went by, you found yourself eating lunch with Elvis almost everyday. He was kind and well-read, yet you found yourself preoccupied with how incredibly attractive he was. He had to be at least ten years older than you, but since you didn’t notice a ring on his finger, you figured there was no harm in subtly flirting with him, especially since he’d flirt back. You wondered if because of your age, he didn’t take your dropping hints that you were interested in him seriously–or maybe he was married and just allowed himself to indulge in the slightest bit of emotional infidelity.

When you had commented that he seemed familiar, as if you’d seen him before, he mentioned that a little over ten years earlier, he had a burgeoning music career and seemed almost embarrassed when your eyes lit up in recognition. He didn’t go into detail about his short-lived music career, but you knew there were a decent amount of teeny boppers who found mild success during your teenage years only for you to never hear about them again except in commercials for various household products.

It was obvious he loved music, but there was a sadness in his eyes when he’d speak about it, a longing for something that was lost, or never came to be in the first place. In another universe, you could see him being a star. Though you never pried, you did want to know what happened—did his music stop charting? Was there a scandal?

“It’s never too late to try again,” you said. “Some bars have open mics on weekends. I’d go with you, even.”

Elvis smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

When you got to your apartment that evening, you looked through your 45s, hoping to see one of his singles among your collection. You weren’t surprised when you didn’t have any, but disappointed nonetheless. That weekend when you went out with your friends, though, one of his songs was on the jukebox. As ‘Trouble’ played throughout the bar a few minutes later, you were brought back to listening to the song in your youth.

“Wasn’t this in a movie?” one of your friends asked. “I swear the guy who sings this was in a movie.”

Another friend shrugged. “Probably something from forever ago. Why’d you even put this on, Y/N?”

“Just wanted to hear it, I guess,” you said, now determined to get Elvis to go to one of the open mic nights.

As luck would have it, the very bar you and your friends were spending your Saturday night in did have open mic on Thursdays after seven. When you informed Elvis of this on Monday afternoon, he let you know he’d think about it. You didn’t want to pressure him, but it was clear that music was his passion, and he wasn’t entirely happy with how his life had turned out.

In the meantime, you found yourself feeling unsure about your own choice of profession. You’d never been scared of being in Memphis before, living in the city for years with no issues. You didn’t have the best relationship with your family, and had essentially been on your own since you were sixteen, though you couldn’t remember exactly what made you settle down in Memphis in the first place. Still, it seemed like you were the one increasingly tasked with typing for the small crime team, and some days, the stories would send a cold chill across your body.

Despite your deep-rooted horror at the subject matter, you found yourself hanging around Hugh and Lara’s desks, listening in on their conversations about the latest robbery or murder. Perhaps you’d been living in naivety for longer than you should have, as you started looking over your shoulder more, suspicious of even casual day-to-day interactions.

“You think that has any significance?” Hugh asked.

Lara raised a bemused eyebrow, “The fact that it was six feet away or the fact that her head was detached from her body in the first place?”

Hugh shrugged. “Either. Both.”

“New kid, whattya think?” Lara asked, startling you as she caught you eavesdropping. She still called you ‘new kid’ even though you’d been at the paper for months.

You walked over to their desks, standing next to Lara to get a look at what you assumed would be a police report.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, quickly turning your head away from the photo on Hugh’s desk. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a photo of it?”

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s grotesque. I don’t understand how anyone could do that to another person,” you said. “I think whoever did that probably knew the victim and was really angry at them or something. Going through that much effort seems so…personal.”

“So it’d be a crime of passion or a fed up stalker,” Hugh said.

Lara slapped the top of her desk. “That’s what I was saying.”

“You’re right, you happy?” Hugh conceded.

“He’s disappointed there isn’t a pattern.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What, like one of those killers—what do they call them?”

“Serial killers,” Lara answered. “I don’t know why he wants one here so bad. I barely get enough sleep as it is.”

“I don’t want one here, but it’d be a hell of a story. Could maybe even get a book deal out of it,” Hugh said.

You’d zoned out from Hugh’s rambling, somehow your gaze fell on the photo again. It was grainy, black and white, but the longer you stared at it, you swore it was your face on the decapitated head. Had you been so blind to the dangers of Memphis this whole time? You weren’t stupid, you knew cities were prone to higher crime rates, it just came with having a lot of people living in such close proximity to one another. Before working for the paper, though, it had all been in your peripheral. Being face-to-face with statistics, reports, and photos made you wonder how Hugh and Lara hadn’t gone crazy.

“Shit,” Lara said, noticing your dazed expression. “Y/N, c’mon, let’s get you a cup coffee or something.”

Just as the two of you started to make your way across the office to the breakroom, you noticed Elvis standing near the receptionist’s desk, an umbrella in his hand. His face lit up when he saw you, and you did the same.

“This the guy who makes you practically skip off to lunch every day?” Lara asked, with a hint of amusement in her voice.

You felt your face heat up at her observation as you approached Elvis.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” you asked.

“Weather’s not great today,” he said, lifting up his wet umbrella, “but I was wonderin’ if I could take you out to lunch? If you’re not too busy.”

Lara gave you a small smile as she nudged you with her elbow. “Go take an early lunch. I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks,” you said as she walked back to her desk. “Let me just get my things.”

It was a short walk to the sandwich shop that Elvis would regularly buy lunch from. If he didn’t bring something from home, he would have one of their to-go bags with him. As he was a regular customer, a man behind the counter greeted him, though he seemed surprised that Elvis was dining in and with someone.

The two of you were handed menus, and while he didn’t so much as pick up his, you took a moment to decide your order. Service was quick, since you’d come in just before lunch rush. While you were normally pretty hungry this time of day, you found yourself picking at your food and letting Elvis lead the conversation.

“You alright, Y/N? You’ve been awful quiet today,” Elvis asked.

You swallowed the lump in your throat that had been there since your conversation with Lara and Hugh earlier. “I swear I’ve never been afraid of living in Memphis, for as long as I’ve been here, but now, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not safe.”

“Livin’ by yourself ain’t safe, that’s for sure.”

You sighed, picking at your food. “I don’t know. I always thought I was fine on my own, but–”

“You don’t have to be on your own anymore, Y/N. I’m here,” he said, his voice sincere as he reached across the table and held your trembling hand in his. “I’ll look after you.”

“Thanks, Elvis. That makes me feel a lot better, really,” you said, giving him a small smile.

He let go of your hand after a moment and said, “I don’t know if this’ll help any, but I thought about that open mic thing tomorrow, and I think I’m gonna do it.”

“Seriously?”

“What’ve I got to lose?” he said. “I can pick you up from work, and we can go together, if you want.”

“I’d love that! You have no idea how excited I am.”

Having lunch with Elvis made you feel a lot better by the time you got back to the office. He was so easy to talk to, and you had to admit your crush on him blossomed more when he said he was there for you. Maybe a bit of liquid courage at the open mic night would be just what the both of you needed, and if you had misread everything, at least you’d have a fallback.

When you got to your desk, Hugh walked over and apologized for not warning you about the photo, explaining that it was just part of the job for he and Lara. They were so used to it that he’d forgotten it would affect you so much. You appreciated his apology, but it still left you somewhat rattled that people could even become desensitized to such violence. It made sense, though, they saw it so often in their line of work, that it was almost normal to them.

You didn’t sleep well that night, waking up every few hours, every sudden noise making your heart beat out of your chest. At one point, you could swear you saw someone’s face in your bedroom window, but when you turned the light on, there was no one there. Still, you closed the blinds and pulled the curtains shut.

When your alarm clock screamed at you in the morning, you jolted awake, finding yourself in a cold sweat. As soon as you stood up, you could feel the exhaustion through your body, and considered calling out of work. You decided to push through your morning routine with a hot shower and hotter coffee, not wanting to let Elvis down by not being there for him that evening.

You’d taken the bus to work instead of driving, since Elvis would be picking you up afterward. The day flew by, and all you could focus on during lunch with Elvis was prying information about what he planned to do for the open mic, but to your disappointment, he insisted that he wanted it to be a surprise.

The rest of the day at work was spent helping Lara on a low-stakes story about how there’d been reports across the city of someone stealing gasoline from people’s cars. You were grateful for the change of pace, but were still restless until five, when you grabbed your things and headed downstairs to wait in front of the building for Elvis. You realized you had no idea what kind of car he drove, but luckily he had the windows rolled down, so you could see inside as you quickly got in so as to not hold up traffic.

“Nice car,” you commented as he drove up the street.

“She does alright. You know, I used to have a pink Cadillac,” he said.

“No way.”

“Sure did. Bought it for my mama; she couldn’t drive, though, and it started gettin’ old and rusted. I loved that car.”

Unsure of how to respond, you placed your hand on his arm in an attempt to comfort him. He looked at your hand, then at you, and smiled.

There was still time before the open mic at the bar started, so he drove to one of his favorite restaurants for dinner. It was a cozy place, and the comfort food seemed to calm his nerves. He explained that while he loved music and still sang and played guitar on his own time, he hadn’t performed in front of people in years.

When you arrived at the bar, there was a decent amount of people for a weeknight, and someone was already on stage singing. Elvis looked a bit nervous as he held his guitar in one hand, his other arm around your waist. You suggested getting a drink first, which he didn’t hesitate to agree to. His eyes darted around the bar, and you noticed his leg bouncing.

“You’ll do great. I know you will,” you assured him.

He huffed out a laugh. “We’ll see.”

A few more people went up to perform, all of them pretty talented in their own right. The bar had filled up even more. You had no idea the open mic nights were so popular. Suddenly, Elvis decided he was ready, and you walked with him to the side of the stage, where the host for the night was standing.

“Yeah, man, you can go on right after her,” the host said, motioning toward the woman who was presently on stage.

“I know you got this, but do you need anything?” you asked.

Elvis gave you a sly smile. “How ‘bout a kiss for good luck?”

As if he needed luck, but you nodded, thrilled to finally get to kiss him. His lips were soft against yours, and you gently cupped his face with your hand, caressing his cheek with your thumb. He pulled you closer, your chest pressed against his, and you gasped as he gently bit your lower lip. The moment was cut short by the host telling Elvis it was his turn to go on, and you would’ve been annoyed if it wasn’t your chance to see Elvis perform.

“Well, it’s been a while since I’ve done this, and I doubt any of y’all remember me,” Elvis said into the microphone. “But for those of you who ain’t dinosaurs, I’m Elvis Presley—“

There was a faint cheer and some light applause from the throughout the bar, which seemed to make Elvis relax a bit, as he bantered a little with the audience before going into ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ to the delight of the bar patrons. People clapped along to the beat or got up to dance, and you knew you must have looked like a fool sitting next to the stage with a wide smile on your face.

Elvis’ voice was deeper and stronger than the recording from early in his career that you’d heard just a week before. His stage presence was unbeatable, and you couldn’t help but giggle when he sent a wink your way. Just as quickly as he started singing, the song was over—but his performance wasn’t, if the crowd had anything to say about it. Someone drunkenly shouted “encore!” which led to a chant throughout the bar until Elvis acquiesced with ‘Hound Dog.’

You noticed someone else waiting near the stage for their turn to go up, and you almost felt sorry for them, having to follow up Elvis. The smile that spread across his face at the bar’s overwhelming applause for him was infectious. You didn’t hesitate to run over to him as he walked off of the small stage, throwing your arms around him and kissing his cheek.

“Elvis, you were incredible!” you exclaimed.

“You’re somethin’ else, Y/N. Got me dreamin’ again,” he said, laughter in his voice.

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

He merely smiled in response, as several people had gathered around him to praise his performance and mention that they loved his music and had wondered what happened to him, glad to see him on stage again, even in a little dive like this. You whispered that you’d be waiting for him at the bar while he spoke with the small group of fans. He nodded, giving you a quick kiss before you walked away.

You ordered another two of what you and Elvis had been drinking before, and you couldn’t help but feel proud of him, hoping this would be the first open mic of many that he’d go to. Maybe he would never reach his former level of stardom, but Memphis certainly hadn’t forgotten about him. You were pulled from your thoughts by some intoxicated patron who clearly had no concept of what personal space was.

“Hey, baby,” a man slurred as leaned next to you against the bar. “What’re you drinkin’? I’ll buy you another.

“Thanks, but I’m here with someone,” you said, trying to stay as a calm as possible.

“I don’t see anyone here.”

“He’ll be right back,” you answered quickly.

He rolled his eyes, laughing as if you were joking. “That means I can’t buy you a drink?”

“Please leave me alone. I’m not interested.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the man raged, grabbing your arm.

You tried pulling your arm from him, but panicked when you realized that even drunk, he was much stronger than you. “Let go of me. Let go!”

It felt like you blinked, and the man went head first into the bar. His face slammed against the hardwood, and you wanted to throw up at the sound of his nose definitely breaking upon impact.

You looked to Elvis, who, instead of leaving the man he had just shoved in his misery, grabbed him by his collar and practically dragged him out of the bar. Immobilized by shock and fear, you stayed frozen in place until Elvis stormed back inside a few minutes later, his hands bloody as he slammed a few dollars on the bar and gathered you and his guitar.

“Party’s over,” he said, a darkness in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m sorry the night got ruined,” you mumbled.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for. Sons of bitches like that make me sick,” he spat. “I’m bringin’ you home. Shouldn’t be out so late anyway.”

“Can I stay the night with you?” you asked anxiously as you followed him to his car. “I don’t wanna be by myself.”

“‘Course, darlin’,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

During the drive to his place, your gaze kept drifting to the steering wheel, and how he seemed unfazed by the blood that had dried on his hands. You shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what conversation to make with him, so the drive was silent except for the radio playing softly.

He pulled into his garage, his house a carbon copy of every other on the block except for the paint. You figured a suburban neighborhood would consist of mostly families, rather than bachelors like him. If he hadn’t kissed you the way he did back at the bar, you’d still be wondering if he were married or not.

“I’m gonna wash up,” he said, nodding in the direction of what you assumed was the bathroom. “You make yourself at home, baby.”

You poked around his living room while he was washing the blood off of his hands. His bookshelf had a lot of interesting titles that ranged from religious topics to fiction, and you felt a bit of pride seeing some of the books you’d recommended to him among them. The walls had two dozen or so picture frames, each with photos of what appeared to be his family, some of him with other men in army uniforms, and a few of him as a young man during his singing career with various celebrities. None of the photos were recent, however, and you noticed a few frames didn’t have photos in them at all.

When he returned from washing up, he regaled you with the stories behind each of the photos, the two of you staying up until late in the night. Most of the photos had some happy or funny memory associated with them, but there was always a hint of yearning in his voice with the ones from the height of his fame.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” you said.

He nodded. “Shoot.”

“Why did you stop making music? It seems like your career was going really well, and then you just stopped.”

“It was, but uh—I had a girlfriend who my manager wanted me to stop seein’, her name was Dixie. I kept seein’ her anyway in secret. After I made my fourth movie, I got her pregnant, so I took a break from singin’ for a little while so we could get married,” he explained. “I got drafted not long after that. My mama died, and my break from music just got longer and longer. I still sang at our church, but after me and Dixie split up, they said they didn’t want a divorced man singin’ in the choir.”

“Oh my god, Elvis, I’m so sorry,” you said, moving to console him. You gasped when you accidentally put too much pressure on your arm, still tender from where you’d been manhandled. Elvis’ expression darkened as he looked at the faint bruises blossoming on your skin.

“I shoulda killed ‘im,” he growled.

You’d never been afraid of Elvis before, but you could tell he meant it. “It’s nothing. He just grabbed my arm—“

“What if I hadn’t been there? No one else was jumpin’ up to help you, were they?”

“No,” you answered quietly.

“No,” he repeated. “When I said I was gonna look out for you, I meant it, Y/N. You got no one else.”

“My friends—“

“Your little friends can’t look after you, not the way a man can. You need a man to take care of you, don’t ya baby?” he said, the double-meaning of his words not lost on you as you looked at him wide-eyed.

You nodded, all of the fear and anxiety you’d felt the past few weeks coming back to you. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

He exhaled, as if ready to argue if you disagreed. “Good, I’m glad you see I just want what’s best for you.”

It made sense, Elvis had so much more life experience than you, being older and having such a whirlwind career, even if it was short lived. Meanwhile, your naivety led to you essentially being traumatized at work, so green to the dangers of city life despite considering yourself capable and independent before. When you commented how late it was, that you still had to work in just a few hours, Elvis offered the spare bedroom–or his. You felt your face heat up when you timidly told him that you wanted to sleep with him, and he teased you for your embarrassment, assuring you nothing would happen.

Of course, fifteen minutes into sharing a bed, half-naked with a man you were incredibly attracted to, so much happened, too much. You found yourself almost overwhelmed by his intensity, and though he certainly did take care of you, he did so like a man possessed, as if he were taking what he was owed, entitled to even. You supposed, in your dazed state afterward, it was the least you could do after everything he’d been through and had done for you. You both called out sick from your respective jobs in the morning, and you spent the rest of the weekend at his place.

Within a month, you’d completely moved into Elvis’ house, subletting your apartment until your lease was up and the new tenant could take it over for you. You felt safer living with Elvis, especially since he’d drive you to and from work, and you’d still have lunch every day with him. It didn’t take much convincing for you to agree to sell your own car. You didn’t go anywhere by yourself anymore, you didn’t want to. When you’d brought it up the first few weeks of living with him, he’d remind you of the dangers that await you in the world on your own, and you were quick to change your mind.

You were still a nervous wreck from work, even though the editor-in-chief had agreed to stop having you work with Lara and Hugh so closely—at Elvis’ request, of course. In your free moments, you were practically glued to Elvis’ side, whether at the grocery store or when he’d perform at the occasional open mic night in Memphis. Every time you thought things weren’t so bad, got a little too comfortable on your own, something would happen that’d leave you as terrified as ever, crying in Elvis’ arms as he’d softly scold you for not being with him, reminding you that not everyone was as good of a person as he was, that he was the only person you could really trust. As long as he could do anything about it, it would stay that way.

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#austin!elvis x reader #elvis x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis #elvis 2022 #austin!elvis

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gulfjobindians · 2 years

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Free Visa Gulf Job vacancy | Assignment abroad Times paper today pdf download | Job in Dubai.

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gulf-job-indians-posts · 2 years

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jobscirculars · 2 years

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myzzjolanda · 9 months

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Biggest fears

So eh, I might have done a thing again. Not sure if it's any good, but I loved writing it. This idea had been in my head for a while now and I wanted to share this. Might have some language mistakes because English isn't my first language, it's late and I'm tired. Enjoy!

Pairing: Larissa Weems x reader

Show: Wednesday

Warnings: none, but a bit of angst and fear of rejection I guess?

You've always sucked at love. The short story about it was that you were scared of it. Scared of being happy and being loved and then being hurt. Long story was that you were bullied for a long time untill you were 17, and in that period never dared to ask someone out. What if they just laughed at you and tell every person they knew of about that ridiculous thing you asked? And then the next day, the bullying at school would be even worse. You decided to save yourself from the embarrasment. After you were 17, things got better. You weren’t bullied as much anymore, but you still did have a lot of shame in you. Your selfworth was low, you still hadn’t had a boyfriend or girlfriend and you were just feeling not that pretty or interesting at the age of 25 you had your very first ‘boyfriend’, who, looking back at it, just did things for sex so that ended quickly. He was trying to hide you a lot and while you were together it was just sex. You both decided this wasn’t going to get better the best thing was to end things. You were quite angry with him for this, since you trusted him with being a virgin and all and you felt used. He didn’t seem to care much. In the 2 years that followed, you dated a bit more but it ended all in nothing. At that point, you decided to quit love. The hurt wasn’t worth it, if everyone decided not to want you.

And here you are, at 30, being in love with a tall, blonde woman who is so pretty she could be a godess. You didn’t know how it exactly happened. You had decided to do your masters abroad and choose a small university in the United States. The masters suited your bachelor well and you loved that you could experience this in another place than your own country. You had decided to take a part-time job in a bookshop in Jericho to earn some extra money, and that was where you met her. She walked in on your first day at work, which happened to be a rainy Saturday, with so much grace and the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. Appereantly she always bought her weekly newspaper from the UK there, since it was obvious that that was where she was from. You noticed that after some weeks, you started to look forward to her visits to the shop. Although you decided a good while back not to do love again, you did decide it wouldn’t hurt to befriend her right? She seemed really sweet and you’ve noticed you both had some similar tastes. Both loved reading, history and classical music. You found out her name was Larissa Weems and that she was the headmistress of the school for outcasts. She was well respected in the city, but still down to earth and really sweet and friendly. You could be easily just friends with her. Although you were madly in in love with her, you’d rather be just friends. You were too afraid that telling her your feelings and/or becoming a couple would ruin what you had build up with her. You figured that as long as you could just be friends, you could manage.

That was untill the moment at your weekly coffeemeeting after your work, when Larissa started to look a bit more serious. “Y/n? I want to ask you something.”. She looked around, almost to see how many people there still were in the Weathervane. Since it was near closingtime, it was almost empy, just the barista and the two of you. Your heart sank when you saw Larissa’s face. She looked really worried, but also hopefull. You put on a brave smile. “Go ahead!”, you answered cheerfully. She took your hand. She stayed silent for a terrifying long moment. “I think I’m starting to like you.”, she said with a soft voice. You felt the sensation of panick rise in your stomach. It was so much, it almost hurt. Your mouth felt dry. “Y-you like me.”, you answered. She nodded, almost afraid. You freaked out. You were scared, you had decided not to do this anymore, because you were always scared. “I got to go.”, you said, standing up and almost running away from Larissa. “y/n!”, she tried yelling out you. If you had looked back, you could’ve seen how scared Larissa looked when yelling for you, and then sad after you run out of Weathervane. But you didn’t look back. You were to scared of what you would see. In your mind, you’d know this would be bullshit, but you’d still have a guttfeeling that someone would be lauging at you, because of the way you've just behaved. Perhaps Larissa was laughing because of you. Perhaps she thought you were weird because of today. She wouldn’t be the first one to think so. When you got home, you were brave for a few mlre minutes. You quickly changed into your comfy pyjama’s, put your phone into your charger and then ran to your bed. You hugged your teddybear tightly, and then cried. You just cried long untill you fell asleep.

Larissa felt the urge to call you quite often for the next couple of days, but she couldn’t do it. You looked so scared when she admitted her feelings to you. Did she say something wrong? She never ment to hurt or scare you. She decided she’d leave you be for the moment. Perhaps you’d just wanted someone else than her. Someone better or so.

In the next couple of weeks, you noticed that Larissa wouldn’t come over for her weekly newspaper anymore. Instead, she always asked one of her teachers to pick it up for her. Although you didn’t like to admit this, but this probably even hurt just as much as getting your heart broken after a relationship. You wanted to make it up to her, but you didn’t know how. Perhaps she didn’t want to have anything to do with you anymore. You just ran away from her, no explanation, no nothing. If she still wanted you, she would’ve visited the shop again, wouldn’t she? On the other hand, perhaps she was just as hurt and scared as you are. You made a mental note to text her when you were of from work. That gave you a bit of time to think wha you wanted to text her. You decided you’d rather text Larissa than to call her, because you were still scared of her reaction. You’d rather read her reaction than hear her angry or upset reaction.

That night, you still didn’t know what you wanted to text Larissa. You sighted. “I messed up, didn’t I?”, that would be short. But isn’t it a weird message to send, after all this time? For the time being, you couldn’t think of anything better, so you just pressed send. You were worried that if you’d wait any longer, she wouldn’t read the message anymore. And then the scared waiting began. And then all of a sudden, Larissa her status changed to ‘online’, and the status of the message changed to ‘read’. You panicked even more. You started to breathe more heavily. You layed down in bed, pressed your teddybear close to you again, and started typing again. Hopefully to make things better again.

“I’m sorry I messed up, I didn’t want to hurt you. I got scared. Not scared of you, but I’m scared of love. I didn’t want to mess up. I think I like you too. I miss you and I’m sorry.”, you typed, and pressed ‘send’ again. You waited again. Larissa was typing now.

“Are you home now?”

“Yes. But I look like shit now.”

“I don’t care, so do I. I’m coming over.”.

Your eyes got wide. What did this mean? Is Larissa angry with you now? Was she going to yell at you? She was so tall, she could tower over you so easily and when she would yell… or was she just happy that you said you liked her too? Different scenario’s were happening in your head now, one even worse than the other. You didn’t want to think of the positive scenario’s. What if the end was bad anyways?

Your doorbell rang way too early to your liking. You carefully opened the door, and saw Larissa. Despite the situation, you were so glad you saw her. You noticed she didn’t look happy, nor angry, but she looked… sad? You never saw anyone look so sad towards you. “Hi.”, she said. She tried to smile. “can I come in? I did bring that wine you liked with me.”, she continued. That cought you of guard. You knew she was sweet, but in those weeks without her, you forgot hów sweet she was. You just simply noddrd and made way for her to get in. You walked her to your kitchen and grabbed two wineglasses. You watched as Larissa poured the both of you a glass lf wine. You decided to break the silence. “Larissa, I-“ “No, wait. Sit.”, she demanded. Oh. Yeah. That would be handy. You sat down and played with your wineglass a bit. Suprisingly to you, Larissa’s face softened a bit. “I can tell you are nervous, y/n. Can you tell me a bit what scares you?”. You shrugged. You didn’t even know where to start. Slowly, you answered: “Love, I guess. Never had much friends in school, got bullied, had my first boyfriend at 25 who took my virginity and left me shortly after, dated a bit afterwards but no one wanted me. I think I always felt unlovable and those things didn’t make anything better.”. You felt your eyes sting. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”, you added softly. Larissa remained silent for a few minutes. You didn’t dare to look her in her eyes. Eventually, she took your hand “did you mean it? In that tekst? That you liked me back.” You looked up again. You felt a weird hopefull feeling in your belly. You couldn’t supress a smile while you nodded. Larissa smiled back while she squeezef your hand. “Good. Because to me, you’re not unlovable. You are the sweetest, prettiest, purest person I’ve met and I’d love to have you in my live.”, she said. “Really?”, you answered, ashamed almost immediatly of how happy you sounded. “yes.”, Larissa answered, while she pulled you onto her lap. “And I know you’re still a bit scared, I can see it in those pretty eyes of yours. But I don’t care. We can do things as slowly as you want this to be. I want to wait for you. Because that is what you do when you love someone. As long as you allow me to call you mine. I love you, y/n y/l/n.”. You felt like you could cry. You admitted your biggest fear to Larissa, and she still loved you. She was even willing to wait for you. “I love you too, Larissa Weems.”, you answered, and then kissed those beautifull, red lips. “but indeed, please wait for me if I get scared again.”, you hummed after the two of you let go of each other again. Larissa smiled her prettiest smile at you. “I will, my love, I’ll always wait for you.”.

#larissa weems #wednesday #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems fanfic #gwendoline christie

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