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sohnric · 3 months

Text

gold stars – e. sohn

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: friends (idiots) to lovers au. fluff. a sprinkle of hurt/comfort in some parts, a hint of college au!!

wc: 9.3k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, swearing, mention of toxic family behaviors, a joke about a praise kink. eric is an embarrassing loserboy but i love him sm

listen to: risk by gracie abrams

where everything eric sohn does is search for your approval, and where you reward him with a gold star sticker for every act of kindness. will you ever see him as more than just a friend?

a/n: thank you best friend @csenke for beta reading as always (i miss you deeply btw</33). also thank you @from-izzy for brainstorming with me and listening to me while i gushed about this silly fic idea. thanks @strayed-quokka lennon for giving me eric's insta username idea i will keep using it from now on in all fics AHAHA TT

If Eric was asked to pinpoint the exact moment where he started to rely on your validation, he wouldn’t really be sure of his answer. The truth is, somewhere deep inside of his soul, he knows the yearning has been there ever since he can remember, but the instance that is rooted in his memory as the core one– the one that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like a teenager in love for the first time (which he wasn’t! Nor a teenager, not in love for the first time… right..?) – was one Thursday afternoon after he came home from taking his last exam of the semester to find a message from you waiting in his Instagram DMs.

Breathlessly clicking at the notification (and now, this should’ve been a sign of his growing feelings for you), he is welcomed with the sight of you sharing a post with him. Wholesome, but still a little silly, a picture of a yellow star poorly drawn onto a white background waves at him, the words ‘congratulation the stress didnt abolsultly kill u’ written in the Comic Sans font on the inside, making him giggle. Despite the typos and the poor grammar, his heart squeezes on itself, shaking his head at your adorable antics as he shoots you a quick message as a thank you. You’ve been helping him with the studies for the last couple of weeks (if constantly yelling out “you will murder this exam, Sohn’ and laughing at his miserable face counts as support), so it’s even more heartwarming to see his friend still be so supportive of him even after the hell already ended.

@ damnsohn [5:11 PM]: thank u i will now need to receive gold stars for everything tho

And see, he wasn’t really thinking before sending that message. He just needed to convey his gratitude without sounding too overly eager– without sounding too infatuated with your sheer existence and the validation of his efforts. (Failed)

What he didn’t expect was for you to actually follow up on his request.

To make things even better, you pulled through with physical reminders. The poorly drawn golden star landing into his Instagram DMs was just the start of the habit you fall into with Eric Sohn, the man whose love language is words of affirmation– without him even realizing it. And so, what started out as a wholesome, innocent joke, now turned into a recurring thing that is slowly, but surely making the boy go absolutely insane.

The first time he receives a physical golden star sticker is one day when he comes over to your place to watch a movie with you. You made a list full of iconic films you haven’t seen before– a list you get clowned for at first dates with any man that is pretentious enough to talk about his love for Quentin Tarantino (Eric told you to stop going on dates with the aesthetic, ‘indie’ looking men you find on Tinder) – and little by little, you try to get through it with the help of the rest of your friend group. Since everyone gets bored easily of mediocre films they’ve seen before, Eric is the one that spends the majority of movie nights with you– and that’s only because he’s the only one that doesn’t mind watching the Titanic for the fifth time already, if it means he can spend some time with you.

“You brought popcorn?” you gasp upon his arrival, gazing at the plastic bag in his hold, eyes big and full of stars– one would say you were looking at your first love. You weren’t– it was just a salty treat. Isn’t that every girl’s first love, though?

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Pre-popped?”

“Pre-popped,” he agrees as he takes off his shoes behind the door, watching as you jump up and down in excitement, taking the big bag out of his hands.

“I like it pre-popped the best, oh my god,” you hum, hugging the huge bag like it’s a teddy bear, going as far as pushing your cheek against it, making your face turn into an adorable pout. “They are a little stale and softer and–”

“And the salt is really settled into it’, yeah, I know, Y/N,” he snickers, finishing the sentence he’s heard you say about a million times already– he starts to wonder if you have short-term memory loss and don’t remember telling him every time you walk by the cinema. (And that’s a lot of times, since Sunwoo’s dad owns the place. Sometimes, Sunwoo makes Eric be his own delivery man– he would deny on most occasions, but ever since he learned that bringing Sunwoo his lunch to work means he can take home a bag of cinema popcorn, the one that admittedly, always tastes the best, he doesn’t complain much– he can use the stale bag as a leverage to make you do about anything.)

“Oh man,” you sigh, “aren’t you a dream. I was going to wait for a more serious occasion, but wait, let me just–” you say, running quickly into your room. Eric doesn’t question your antics, figuring out that he will know the reason for your disappearance soon enough anyway, and allows himself into the living room. Two cans of coca cola and a chocolate bar are already waiting on the coffee table, alongside the TV remote, and while he passes the couch and opens one of your kitchen cabinets to fish for a bowl to put the popcorn in, he hears your socked feet rumble against the floor, announcing your arrival.

Once he takes the big bowl he’s sure he’s seen you puke in before after a wild night out and settles it onto the kitchen counter, the bag of popcorn comes back into his view as you lazily throw it into the white plastic, still closed and sealed, waiting to be opened. As his hands move and go to rip it open, meaning to pour the snack in so you two can share while you watch the next movie on your list– which, just for the record, Eric never asks the title of before, afraid it might make him less excited for the movie night– you put something onto the back of his hand, giggling.

Eric curiously stops his movements, gazing at his own skin. There, shiny and glittery, is a sticker attached to his limb– a yellow star sticker, to be exact, making him look at you with a dumbfounded look, eyebrows furrowed, but lips still sealed into a wide grin.

“That’s a gold star for remembering my favorite snack,” you point, flicking his forehead as a way of swatting him away from you so you can open the bag yourself, “and for bringing it.”

When Eric doesn’t give you any coherent reply– despite his brain operating on a thousand miles per hour, thoughts just swirling around and silencing any rational words– you only laugh at his face, your nose scrunching in that adorable way that makes him want to reach over and squish both of your cheeks in between his fingers, crying out.

“Wow, I didn’t know you were so serious about this,” you sigh, snickering. Eric was going to bring up the fact that you were the one serious enough about the sentiment to buy a full roll of star stickers to give him on various occasions, some more serious than others, but he kept his silence in fear of getting this advantage taken away from him. He doesn’t think he’d survive it. “If you manage to not eat the entire bowl before the movie starts, I’ll give you another one. Come on,” you call for him, body already disappearing back into the living room.

Eric follows you like a lost puppy. If he had a tail, at this moment, he would’ve been waggling it. After he drops to the sofa, he notices the movie paused on the TV in front of him to be none other than Dirty dancing. With a sigh, he recognises that he’s seen it about five times already with his mother and sister, and so he spends the hour and a half gazing at the star on his hand instead.

The next few stars he receives are gifts of a similar manner. Half-serious, but still enough to make Eric’s heart leap in his chest at your recognition.

One day, he says a joke in the middle of the conversation that nobody really appreciates. And see, it’s not really unexpected– he was already aware that his friend group doesn’t appreciate good humor– but the dead silence he receives after the lame joke still makes him feel kind of awkward. That’s only until he is greeted with the sound of your muffled chuckle, though– which is of amusement at the situation, and not his joke, just for the record– and the sight of you ruffling around your pockets. You take a roll of stickers out of your jean jacket, and before he knows it, a star sticker is glued onto his phone case, right in the corner of his phone laying screen down on the table.

“A gold star for trying,” you hum, making the rest of the group holler out a laugh at the casual bullying, “not as bad as last time, keep it up, buddy.”

Eric gets red in his cheeks. When he looks up from the dark wood of the dinner table, he is met with the sight of Sunwoo and Juyeon looking at him with shit-eating grins on his faces, wiggling their eyebrows at the very obvious reaction Eric has at the half-assed praise. The boy wonders if you’re the only one that hasn’t noticed yet, or if you just don’t really care about the effect you have on him. The star sticker stays glued to his phone case at all times, though, even when it’s worn-down and peeling off at the edges.

Another gold star is won from you one day when the semester starts again and you two meet up in the library, working on your respective essays. Each of you major in a different thing, so there is not much actual help shared other than underlying emotional support, and despite the coffee Eric brings you upon his arrival and the bag of chips resting on the table waiting for you to munch on them, which you refuse to touch before you finish a segment of your essay to ‘motivate yourself’, as you say, he can see you’re still a bit stressed out.

The suspicion is only proven to be true when he speaks up suddenly, lost in thought and a little overwhelmed himself. “How do you spell ‘accommodate’?” he asks, scratching the back of his head.

He now admits that it’s a stupid question to ask, but somehow, getting advice from you is much easier than looking it up himself, or simply writing the word down to let Google docs do the editing. The answer you give him is short, sharp, and the tone of your voice stings the boy the tiniest bit. “Are you 5 years old, or something?”

“I–”

“I’m in the middle of writing an important paragraph, Eric, just Google it–”

“Jeez, okay,” he hums, rolling his eyes at your snappy composure. When your eyes meet only two seconds after, you look a little guilty. You say nothing, though, only continuing to focus on your essay– and Eric does the same, for the most part. (While he also tries to take his mind off the fact that you might think he’s a little bit stupid. You are a STEM major, after all– he’s the one studying media.)

After a while of typing away on your computer, though, you look at him with big eyes, chewing on the bottom of your lip. The subtle nerves and desperation in your face are enough to leave the man weak in his knees, and even though he’d like to reply to you in a similar manner to show you his disapproval with your previous tone, he can’t find it in himself to ever reject you as you mumble out a soft: “Switch?” having the man instantly nod, offering you his laptop.

This is standard practice for the two of you. While he doesn’t really know what you’re talking about in your essays– for all he knows, you could be pulling everything out of your ass– he enjoys reading the words you’ve written. You two often work on your essays together and switch from time to time to reread what the other one has so far– on a lookout for wrong word order, grammar, or anything sounding weird. It’s hard to rationally evaluate your work and find flaws in it after spending hours and hours on it, your brain desensitized to the content you’re writing. Having a helping pair of eyes is always for the better.

When the both of you are done and you switch the laptops back, there’s a gold sticker smiling back at him from the device settled right next to the Kirby sticker you’ve given him once after hearing him gushing about the game one night (Yes, he was tipsy and sentimental). He didn’t even notice you putting it on, and when he looks up at you with questioning eyes, you shrug at him, averting eye contact.

“A gold star for spelling ‘accommodate’ right,” you say, making the boy roll his eyes, snickering.

He doesn’t really question you further. Just the star sticker is enough for him now, if he’s being totally honest– even as unserious as they come. Had he pried more, though, maybe he’d find out that the gold star wasn’t just the prize for his spelling– but also for his patience and silent support he’s been sending you every single day.

And so, the habit preserves itself at first in a joking, half-serious manner. A gold star sticker for him when he reminds you to water your plants (‘for having a good memory’). A gold sticker for him when he carries you home on his back after you get too drunk at the bar with your friends (‘for having strong muscles’). A star sticker for him when he picks you up after work and drives you home (‘for having a cool car’). Another one when he cooks you ramen when you’re sick and don’t have enough energy to make yourself something warm for dinner (‘for being a 5* Michelin cook’). For his birthday, alongside with other things, you give him a strip of the gold star stickers, 5 in a row all next to each other– ‘for bearing the old age well’. He’s not even that much older than you in the first place, but he takes the external validation and praise with open arms, not really dwelling deeper into the sentiment underlying your joking, unserious reasonings.

He doesn’t really realize the stickers were a sign of gratitude for the fact that he listens to you and remembers what you have to say– not for having a good memory. They are for taking care of you on your lowest– not for having strong arms and a ‘fat ass’. They are a wordless thank you for his acts of service and protection of you, not for having a cool car and getting his driver’s license– although, the pride is the common undertone in some of the gold stars you give him. You give him gold stars on his birthday to tell him you’re proud of the man he’s growing into, not to make fun of him growing old. The boy is just too oblivious to realize it, it seems.

Some days are more difficult than others, though, and that’s when your star stickers gain more value and seriousness.

The day after he has a family reunion with the distant relatives that always pry too much into his business– ‘Do you have a girlfriend yet?’, ‘What will you end up doing with that useless degree of yours?’, ‘Do you still share a flat with that friend of yours? What about getting your own place?’ – he is met with the sight of you waiting for him after class, on one of the bean bags outside of the lecture room. His department is a solid 20 minute walk away from yours, so the sight of you there surprises him, but the shock is only intensified when you call him over with a wave of your hand and present him with a pack of M&M’s with a gold star stuck to the packaging.

“What’s that for?” he says, but opens the candy nonetheless. After he takes a few into his mouth, he offers you some– to which you shake your head and shrug.

“For being the coolest one out of your family,” you say close to his ear, like it’s a secret, before you ruffle his hair and stand up from the bean bag, strutting towards the exit. “Come on, I have beer over at my place. You can come over and rant about them being stupid, if you want.”

Eric smiles at your sincerity. Trying hard to tame his hair back into place, he follows you with his backpack hanging off one of his shoulders, and even though he’d love to finish the candy you’ve given him, he forces himself to leave at least three pieces inside of the bag, saving it for later– just so he can keep holding on to the star-adorning wrapper for some more.

One day is particularly hard for the boy as he locks himself out of the apartment, having to wait for his roommate Jake to come back from his hometown the other day, leaving him no place to stay– before you invite him over and force him to sleep over on the couch. You can tell there is something more bugging him, though– and so you push the boy for answers.

“What’s up? Locking yourself out is not the end of the world, y’know,” you say, trying to lighten up the situation.

Eric looks at you with tired eyes, shrugging. Truth be told, his mood has been gradually falling over the last couple of days– this incident was just what really tipped him over the edge and nudged him closer to a nervous breakdown. He’s been overwhelmed with work (too many people having high expectations of him that he is scared he cannot meet), with school (too many assignments he is afraid he can’t manage to get done in time) and also with his family constantly being at his neck about everything he does and chooses for his future– only fueling the burning pit of anxiety and insecurity crawling outside of the big hole inside of his chest.

“It’s nothing,” still, he notes. “I’ve just been having a bit of a rough time, really, ‘s all.”

You answer him with a slight pout of your lips, a saddened expression taking over your face. There is sympathy oozing off your presence, and Eric can’t tell if he dislikes it, or yearns too much for your caring words and gentle encouragement. He can’t tell if it’s natural or pathetic, to want, to need your compliments and validation so much– or if he’s just fallen into a hole he can’t crawl back out of, too hungry after every bit of your attention. You’ve completely enchanted the boy, made his heart both soft and erratically running whenever you’re around, and the things he constantly does for you are not only because he wants you to tell him he’s doing well, but also because he wants you to think of him as someone that you can lean on. He wants you to think of him as someone good enough for you.

Today, though, maybe he just needs a bit of validation. Maybe he just selfishly strives for your encouragement. It’s okay to just want to be loved on from time to time, no?

You coo, taking a seat next to him on the sofa you’ve spent countless movie nights on together, slotted side by side. Eric plays with his fingers in his lap, a heavy cloud hanging over his face. You know your friend isn’t really good at talking about his emotions– something akin to a mental block inside of him preventing him from ever fully opening up– but despite it all, it seems like he’s completely see-through in your eyes, handling you all the unspoken words on a silver platter. You know him too well.

“You’re doing well, Eric. Don’t let the doubts get into your head, yeah?” you hum, meeting eyes with the boy.

“Am I, though?”

The face you give him is stern, acting upset with him. “Of course you are! Stop saying that,” you shake your head at him, sighing when he doesn’t comply with your hard love. After a heartbeat of silence, you turn your head away from him and face the turned-off TV, instinctively wrapping your arm around the boy first, tucking him to your side, before you cradle his head and move it so it sits in the crook of your shoulder.

Patting his hair, ruffling it and gently playing with the strands before you move to scratch on his scalp, the actions all unarm the poor boy. He almost feels like he could cry and fall apart right there in front of you, right there in your hold, but his pride is oftentimes bigger than his need to let it all out– so he just stares ahead of him, teething at his bottom lip in silence.

After a moment, you rustle around your pocket with your free hand, seemingly searching for something. Eric watches you with curious eyes, big eyes reminiscent of ponds of water waiting to overflow when you take out a strip of star stickers from the inside of your sweatpants, gently taking one of them and sticking the golden star onto the fabric of his pants, right on his knee, before patting it affectionately.

“What’s that for?” he asks, voice a bit hoarse. He’s glad you don’t mention it.

“Just in general,” you shrug, hand coming back up to play with his hair, “a gold star because I’m proud of you.”

“There’s nothing to be proud of, though..?”

“Of course there is!” you argue, raising your voice at him. He doesn’t make much effort to show you that he agrees or understands your point, so you gently take his hand into yours and wave it around in mock-joy– although you’re kind of serious about the sentiment. “Proud of you, because you’re alive and surviving! Yay!”

Eric snorts. It’s not enough to cure his mood completely, but it warms his heart up enough to make him forget about his tears.

“Do you just carry these on you at all times?” he asks, pointing towards the sticker on his leg.

“You never know when you need them,” you innocently agree. After your continuous doting, the boy finds himself falling asleep on your shoulder. When he wakes up in the morning, there’s a blanket thrown over his body he didn’t see in the room before, and he feels a thousand times better.

So far, Eric’s never asked for the gold star stickers. They always come to him by your initiative– and although he has to admit that sometimes he does stuff for you and expects a reward for it (in the form of the sticker, of course) – he never once begged to receive one himself. Sometimes, you surprise him. Sometimes, it’s obvious there is one coming– like after he helps you send out your psychology survey to every single person he knows (and he knows a lot of them. He is a born extrovert, after all.).

Much like the day of his football match.

He’s not really the biggest fan of the sport– he much prefers baseball, but his university no longer has a baseball team and he needs to get additional credit somehow– but when you add up the fact that it makes him popular with the fact that he ends up spending time playing around the field with his friends and over the course of the season gets actually better at the sport the more he practices, it’s not as bad as he expected.

The last match of the season turned out well– with their team winning– and although Eric wasn’t the one in charge of the winning goal (damn Kim Sunwoo and Jake Sim for collectively beating him to the victory), he was still ecstatic about the whole thing. After celebrating with his teammates, dubbing them up and screaming in victory, his eyes scan the crowd to find the rest of his friend group that he knows is there, watching him and Sunwoo play. (In reality, he’s just looking for you– he won’t admit that out loud, though.)

Running up to you with sparkles in his eyes, he watches as you cheer on your other friend, Sunwoo, when he beats him to the bleachers. (Not cool of him, if you ask Eric. His crush is literally right there.)

The taller boy enthusiastically talks about the match– as if you, Jihoon, Ryujin and Jay haven’t been on the bleachers the whole time, watching– and after a while, Eric hears your enthusiastic praise aimed towards his best friend, making his blood turn green in envy.

“Yo, that goal was so good, though!” you gush, patting Sunwoo on the shoulder.

“I know, right? Jake passed the ball to me in the perfect time, that other guy couldn’t even register what was happening,” he boosts, grinning to himself.

All attention is drawn on Kim Sunwoo, and Eric doesn’t like it. Not when it’s your attention we’re talking about. He doesn’t care if the whole university drools over the handsome fire sign (as if he doesn’t have a girlfriend anyway– although Eric is still surprised by the fact, after the way he treated the part-timer at his father’s movie theater in the first few weeks of their acquaintance). Believe me, Eric is completely content standing in the shadow whenever someone gushes about Kim Sunwoo, the star player of the team– until you’re involved, of course.

So, he sulks. And it’s apparent– or at least he thinks so. It doesn’t seem to clock in with any of his friends, though, as they all walk away from the football field, aiming to celebrate together in the cheap restaurant downtown. Eric walks behind the group like a lost puppy, and it takes exactly 5 minutes and 35 seconds (not that he’s counting) for you to finally notice the absence of his lame jokes and loud comments to just about everything.

“What’s up?” you ask when you trail behind the group to join his side, laughing at the pout on his face. “You look like you just lost the match. Which you didn’t. Not sure if you caught that…” you joke, bumping your hips with him.

“Well, you seem to be acting like it,” he comments, his words leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

“Huh?” you ask, genuine confusion tinting your expression. “We’re literally going to celebrate, I don’t get what you– is this because you want that stupid star sticker?” you cut yourself off mid-sentence, the boy already too readable to you after so much time.

Eric gasps in shock. He’s not really sure what he wanted out of mentioning it so openly to you, but to be called out like this surely wasn’t on the list. He feels heat rising to his cheeks with lightning speed, his eyes averting your gaze in the instant. Maybe the voices inside of his head were right. Maybe he is embarrassing.

“Well,” he shrugs, only digging the hole under himself deeper, “did I not do well too?” he mutters under his breath, the humiliation fully settling into his bones after you laugh straight at his face.

“Wow…” you hum, shaking your head in disbelief. “If I knew I was fueling your praise kink this much with the stickers, I would’ve stopped a long time ago–”

“I don’t have a praise kink–” he screams, battling you as you suddenly scramble after him with the sticker on your finger, waiting to be plastered somewhere onto his figure. He’s sure the whole commotion heard his poor attempt at defending himself, but he’s not willing to back down without a fight– anything to prove that he doesn’t depend on the stickers as much as one would think. He doesn’t want the sticker anymore. He doesn’t need it.

As you fight him and womanhandle him on the street, though, hands all over him, trying to get close as he desperately tries to push you away and fight the allegations, he finds himself unarmed when you get in close proximity of his body, pushing him against the wall. He’s sure he has more muscle power than you do, but the mental power in him is lacking– he just can’t make himself push you away from him. Your face is close to his, your breathing tickling his nose. His heart is stammering hard against his chest, your hands still clutching his wrists against the wall, making him feel like a horny teenager. His breathing is heavy– he doesn’t think he’s done much physical labor, though?

Before he has a chance to collect himself and physically unglue his eyes off your lips– glossy and pink, inviting him in– you make the boy’s brain short circuit even further when you lean close to his ear, whispering so no one else can hear.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, by the way.”

You know just which buttons to push. Maybe you’re a bit sadistic– with how knowledgeable you are of his feelings, but of how much you’re enjoying him being completely oblivious to the fact that you’re aware. You have him at your mercy, all yours to keep, his heart all yours to play with and scan in the palm of your hands.

A star sticker is pressed into the skin below his ear, right at the pulse point. With that, you unstick yourself from the boy, running back to the rest of the group. It takes Eric a moment to collect himself enough to rejoin his friends– so much he has to run (which is good, in hindsight– at least he has something to blame for his breathlessness)– but after this, he swears he’s never asking for validation from you ever again.

It’s too dangerous.

Almost as dangerous as you trying to ride his skateboard for the first time, it seems. He’s met with the fact only two weeks after the football match. When you texted him and convinced him you’re going to be fine and that he should definitely bring the board with him when you hang out later in the day– ‘I’m not a five year old, I can handle it! I bet it’s going to be fun!’ – he didn’t really expect you to be this bad at it. You seemed a little too confident for him to believe otherwise, and, well, in Eric’s eyes, you are perfect at just about everything.

This really shattered the image of you he had in his mind. Not in a bad way, no– the man has and always will worship the sheer ground you walk on– it’s just that more than admiration, the feeling flowing through his veins right now seems to be adoration. Eric always admired your every move, every single sentence that ever came out of your mouth. But now, he just can’t seem to contain himself as he watches you stumble over your own feet and try to balance yourself on the unmoving skateboard in the middle of the empty park, hands waving around your figure in a desperate need to not fall over and break your neck. (Which would never happen under Eric’s watch anyway. His reflexes are fast.)

“You look like a baby learning how to walk for the first time,” he gushes from the bench, your bags waiting at his feet. A wide grin is plastered onto his face as he watches you, his cheeks beginning to hurt from the constant stretch of the muscles.

“Very funny,” you sigh, stumbling over once again, making the board move with the kinetic motion of you stepping off of it, leaving Eric to stop it with his outstretched leg.

“You were so confident before,” he shakes his head, mocking you.

“Well, I tend to overestimate my abilities sometimes,” you shrug, a pout slowly appearing on your face as you move closer towards the male, obviously going to sit at the bench next to him. “It’s whatever, I don’t feel like skateboarding anymore–”

“You’re giving up already?”

“Yes.”

“No, you’re not,” he shakes his head, standing up and offering you his hand to take so he can bring you back up to your feet, “never back down, never what?”

“Eric, I’m not going to finish your TikTok references right now–”

“I said never back down never what?!” he hollers, forcefully tugging you to a standing position, the sigh escaping your lips only fueling him further with his ridiculous antics. “Never give up! That’s right, Y/N, very well. Now, let me help you, I promise it’s not as hard as it seems.”

“I mean, given the fact that even you can do it–”

Eric flashes you a stone cold look as a warning. He doesn’t really think the teasing is at place right now– you’re the one not capable of keeping balance on the skateboard. It’s not like you have any right to joke right now.

“Okay, I take it back.”

“Leave the jokes for when your legs don’t look like a freshy born horse’s with how much they’re shaking when you’re up on this thing, yeah?” he chuckles, hearing you snort out a laugh at the accuracy of his comment.

Eric should’ve known he was the one miscalculating his abilities to efficiently teach you how to skateboard before the act itself happened. He didn’t, though, and the thought only occurred to him the moment you started latching onto him like a koala to its favorite tree– all just so you could hold balance on the board beneath your feet.

Your legs are a little shaky– and so are Eric’s hands when they instinctively land on your waist as you latch onto his shoulders, steadying yourself. The boy is painfully aware of the layers of clothing preventing him from touching your bare skin, yet, his fingertips still tingle as they bear into your midriff, holding you steady and preventing you from falling.

“Now, this isn’t so hard,” you conclude, chuckling. Eric doesn’t find it in himself to look up at your face, knowing he’d go painfully red the second your eyes would meet. The close proximity of your body still makes him shy sometimes, despite the years of friendship you share, and so he keeps his gaze glued to the ground instead, clearing his throat before he speaks up again, trying to seem nonchalant and casual.

“I’ll move now, yeah?”

Without really waiting for your reply, his feet shift their position on the ground, dragging you across the road with him. Gentle steps at first, making sure you’re not too overwhelmed, then picking up speed so you move a little faster on the board. “Will you be okay if I let go?”

“I don’t know..? Hopefully…?” you say, voice wavering a little, nerves seeping through your tone.

“I’ll catch you if you fall, don’t worry,” he hums, feeling how you squeeze his shoulders for one last time before he lets go of your waist, watching the way you slide away on the skateboard. The pace isn’t too fast, yet, it’s still enough to make you grin widely at the boy, your body now used to the feeling, balance finally finding its way to you.

“Do you want me to push you around for a bit?” he offers, relishing in the way you nod eagerly at him, the grin on your face making his heart squeeze on itself. If he could carve the muscle out of his chest and offer it to you, he would. In his eyes, you deserve everything in this world– how could he not just try and give it to you, little by little, all by himself?

Light steps nearing your figure, he gently pushes you in the back, watching as you slide farther and farther away from him. Every time he gently nudges you in the right direction, he earns himself a hearty giggle from you, the motion making you feel free and reckless– just like teenagers do when discovering the activity for the first time. “I was right! It’s fun!”

Eric can feel himself relishing in the moment fully. Your smile is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and he wishes he could engrave the sight of it into his memory forever. He knows that’s not possible, though, and so he pledges to try his hardest to make it appear on your face so much and so often that he has no chance to forget how it looks.

After you’re done and exhausted with the day, Eric makes it his quest to get you home safely before heading to his place. You complain about your feet hurting, and although the boy is doubtful of your whining, he still offers to drag you home as you stand on the skateboard, holding your hand the whole way. When he’s almost at your apartment complex, he feels the familiar star sticker glued to the back of his hand before you intertwine your fingers with his, running a thumb proudly over the gold plastic.

“A gold star for being a good teacher,” you note when your eyes meet, making the boy chuckle.

“Shouldn’t I be giving you one for being a good student? Is that not how things usually work?”

“I give credit where credit is due,” you hum, nodding to yourself. “Besides, that’s not only for that. I just…” you trail off, as if too nervous to say the next words. “I just wanted to show gratitude to you, ‘cause I had a really good time today,” you say nonchalantly, still, shrugging. Eric feels his stomach churning. How can you be so casual with saying words that make his heart skip a beat?

“I should show my gratitude to you more often too, y’know.”

You shake your head at him, laughing like it’s funny. “Oh, Eric. You do it so often you don’t even realize it. You just have a different way of showing it than I do.”

Eric averts his gaze from you, chewing on his bottom lip in nervousness. He starts to wonder if he’s been too obvious with his feelings. Do you see him differently now?

The questions almost drown him out on the way towards your house. Somewhere along the way, he realizes the act of holding your hand feels natural to him now. Gazing at your interlocked fingers, he smiles to himself. He could get used to it– all of it.

He could get used to the people smiling at him and you on the street when they see you with fingers interlocked. He could get used to holding your hand every day, keeping you close. He could get used to your touches, hugs and skinship. He could get used to waking up to you in the same apartment as him, like that one time he locked himself out and you let him sleep over at your place. And to a certain extent, he already has gotten used to you– all of you.

He’s used to texting you every day. He’s used to seeing you multiple times a week– because if he doesn’t, he misses you a little too much. He’s used to your movie nights and dancing with you in bars, shielding you from the looks of other greedy men wanting to get a piece of you. He’s used to the gold stickers you constantly provide him with as a gentle reminder of the unsaid feelings shared between the two of you. He’s used to your presence and your energy, he’s used to your teasing words and the memes you send in his Instagram DMs. If you were suddenly removed out of his life, he knows he’ll find it hard. It would feel like a piece of him was missing.

Some days, he tries to make himself believe that he’s content with what you two have right now. And he is, for the most part– but deep down, he knows he wants more. He always wanted something a bit more.

It shines through his actions on most days. It’s visible to everyone– the longing looks, the gentle touches. Jake once said Eric would jump out of a window if you asked him to, and after careful consideration, the boy had to shamefully agree with his roommate. Eric gets laughed at every time his cheeks blush when you give him too much special attention. He’s used to being called the ‘lover boy’ whenever you’re around.

In front of you, he tries to hide his feelings as much as possible, though.

Sometimes, it slips out of him, though. In moments where the day slowly comes to its end and the atmosphere turns more tender. On days when the movie nights get moved to his apartment, because it’s closer to your university and you claim you’re too tired to walk all the way back to your place. Eric claims you’re just lazy, but the pout on your face tells him otherwise.

On days when there is no one else in the apartment, just you two, and your conversation dies down. The boy is usually a chatterbox when it comes to watching movies with you– commenting on every single scene, making fun of the characters, teasingly spoiling bits and chunks of the plot for you– but it was a Friday night and you were snuggled up in your favorite hoodie, your bodies stuck tightly to each other on the sofa. There is a cloud of comfort, a huge curtain of intimacy falling over you two, and Eric is afraid that speaking up would ruin the sentiment.

After a few minutes, he feels your head lay on his shoulder. The crown of your head is instantly more interesting than the movie playing on the TV, his eyes glossing over your relaxed expression. There is hair falling into your face and your eyelashes are kissing your cheekbones, your brain no longer focusing on the movie, but slowly dozing off instead. Eric mentally coos– it’s not often you fall asleep next to him, and so he somehow finds himself treasuring the moment. You look so peaceful, so beautiful– yet so unaware of it. His heart squeezes with tenderness, making sink a little into the sofa cushions so you’re more comfortable in using him as your head rest. He knows waking you up or moving you so you’re resting against the back of the sofa would be more convenient for your neck, but he selfishly relishes in the fact that you found comfort in the crook of his shoulder instead.

He can’t help but smile widely at your composure. You look small and vulnerable. You look like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Eric indulges in the fact that he’s not watched right now, letting himself fully enjoy and admire your sheer existence.

He acts on impulse when his lips softly land onto your forehead. Not much thought goes into the sentiment– he just sheerly answered his heart’s calling.

You look dreamy. You look lovely. He’s in love with you, he thinks.

He lets himself settle deeper into the couch cushions. After no longer having to entertain you with his comments on the movie he’s seen 4 times already– The matrix– he finds himself bored enough of the familiar plot to doze off himself, forgetting about the promise he made to you to drive you home after the movie is over.

He sleeps through your smile and the shake of your head, as well as you detaching your head off his shoulder, smiling at the unaware boy. Not yet asleep– just resting your eyes for a bit– you were a witness of the boy’s tender, loving ministrations. You disappear out of the apartment after the movie is over, crossing paths with Jake in the entrance hall giving you a quiet wave and a point towards his roommate sitting on the sofa, a gold star adorning the tip of his nose.

You just shrug before leaving. Jake just shakes his head at both of you, wondering when your time will finally come. Eric wakes up in the middle of the night to the TV off, asking himself if he should consider the sticker a silent invitation.

And after a while of careful consideration– laying awake and wondering of all the what-ifs, replaying every moment spent with you over and over in his mind, looking for the very obvious signs of reciprocation– he decides to just go for it. He decides to be the brave man he claims he is, and finally makes the first step.

Well, at least tries to. Because as it turns out, it’s much more difficult to invite someone out on a date if you’re already friends with them for a prolonged amount of time. Not only is it more nerve-wrecking, but also much more confusing to the other party– and after inviting you out to get boba in the new place downtown, he’s not so sure you are aware that you’re on a date with him.

Not that Eric expected anything to change between the two of you instantly after going on a date– no, he’s completely fine with the dynamic you two have, and it’s one of the things he values the most about your friendship– he just thought the atmosphere would be… a little different.

Which is why he decides to start dropping not so subtle hints about his intentions. Brave, isn’t he?

First of all, he pays for your order. All after the 20 minutes you take standing outside of the boba store searching through the menu to find out what you’re going to get– and although Eric finds it endearing, he is also starting to get a little nervous.

“Didn’t know you were so indecisive,” he hums, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m not!” you grunt, shaking your head at your own antics. “I just don’t know what tastes good together. Should I just get one of the premade drinks on the menu? But I’m not really in the mood for any of these–”

“I’ll just get you a random one,” he sighs, “and you will have no other choice than to drink it.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Then at least you have someone to blame,” he snickers, pushing the glass door open and entering the quiet boba store. He orders you a kiwi bubble tea with strawberry popping pearls– because he knows you enjoy how they come apart in your mouth– and after he comes outside with both of the drinks in either of his hands, he waves you off when you ask him how much yours was so you can pay him back.

“It’s on me,” he hums.

An over-exaggerated sigh escapes your mouth at that. “You’re paying? You never pay,” you exclaim and take the straw in between your lips, ready to taste the drink. You and Eric both know that what you said is a lie– he has no issue with paying for you, and he brings you random treats all the time– but for the sake of the next line, he decides to go along with it.

“Well, today is a different occasion, I guess,” he shrugs.

With that, you stop and stare at him with stars in your eyes, a teasing smile slowly overtaking your lips. You’re not stupid– you’re not oblivious the way he is– and so Eric thinks you finally got the hint. Or, at least he hopes so. “Is it?”

Suddenly too shy under your gaze, cheeks tinting light pink, the boy averts his gaze from you and walks down the street, expecting you to follow him. He might be brave enough to drop hints, but still not brave enough to admit to it explicitly.

Not when he drags you to the park and sits with you on the bench, people watching. Not when he casually drops his arm on the back of the bench behind you, gluing himself particularly close to your body. Not when he lets you try his drink, battling away the annoying voice inside of his head telling him that you just shared an indirect kiss. (‘Come on, Eric. You’re not a teenager anymore. Get it together.’)

He doesn’t admit to it in words, but he sure does in actions when he gives you his jacket when the evening gets chilly. He swears you look the most adorable in his red windbreaker, and in a moment of weakness, he puts his arm around your shoulders as you walk down the street, a selfish need of having you close to him winning above everything else.

“And what was so different about today, Eric?” you ask on the way to your apartment, gazing up at the beaming boy next to you. Are you teasing him again? Do you enjoy watching his misery?

Eric figures it’s for the best to tell you, though. He thinks it’s important to set the tone– because after today, it’s almost like nothing changed at all. The dynamic stays the same– and while he doesn’t think he hates it, he admits he’d just rather call you his.

So, despite the embarrassment, he chews on the bottom of his lip. You’re almost at your place already, and so he thinks it won’t hurt to talk about it now. If things go wrong, you can just go home and he can run to his apartment and violently cry into his pillow.

“Well, I was thinking…” he starts, clearing his throat to buy himself some time and also trying to bite down the excessive nerves clawing at him from the inside, “I… you… I was hoping this wasn’t just like… a regular day out, you know…?”

Blinking at him a few times– because you must love to torture him, there is no other explanation– you shake you head at him. “No, Eric. I don’t know what you mean by that.”

Eric physically tears himself off you, your apartment complex now directly in front of him. Cracking his knuckles and taking a deep breath in to calm himself, he tries again. “I meant to… invite you out on a date today,” he proposes simply.

And in that moment, it’s like the whole world stops turning for a minute. Not only do you not give him any verbal answer, but your expression also stays the same as before– completely stoic and neutral, giving him no window into the way you feel about his suggestion. And you know what they say about Eric Sohn– he talks too much. Not only in situations where it’s inappropriate, but also in moments where he feels like there is nothing better to do than to fill the suffocating void that is the silence hanging over him– much like right now.

Eric rambles. “And- and I know I should’ve said that before making you go with me, but god, you don’t know how hard it is to make it clear to you that I’m trying to be more than friends with you without sounding absolutely fucking awkward!” he sighs, wetting his dry, chapped lips.

“And I’m sorry if this changes your view of me, or something, but trust me, our friendship means to me so much more than just trying to make you date me, that was never my intention behind things, I do everything out of care for you, because you’re– you’re just everything to me–”

After the last line, he hears you chuckle. Your eyes finally meet, and he feels like he wants a car to run him over approximately 15 times to make sure all his bones are broken and his skull is smashed into pieces– he’s sure it would be more comfortable than the situation he put himself in right now.

“That was so cheesy,” you say, Eric’s stomach making a flip that might as well force acid up his throat. He won’t throw up, he won’t throw up, he won’t embarrass himself even more–

His hands shake. Suddenly, you take them into yours.

He watches you carefully, ready to be let down. You step closer to him– surely, you’re going to give him a comforting hug as you tell him he read all the signs wrong and you don’t feel the same– before you lean into him, face inches away from his. Blinking, Eric suddenly registers your lips locking with his for a mere second, a soft, sweet caress of your mouth on his not giving him a chance to react– a chance to reciprocate– before you pull away, making him freeze.

“You always make things more complicated than they need to be,” you laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Uh…” he lets out, like he lost all the words in his vocabulary. It’s the first time Eric Sohn has nothing to say– and it feels like a miracle. In reality, he’s taken aback and still processing.

The sight of him like this only makes you grin wider. It’s no question that you find him adorable like this, so bashful and surprised, cheeks turning red and lips slightly ajar, big eyes staring into yours. “Cat got your tongue?” you tease, letting go off his hands and placing your palms onto his cheeks instead, thumbs tracing his cheekbones. His brain might be blank right now, but his orbs still hold so many emotions– ones that make you soften and cave in on yourself, overflowing with tenderness. Hands automatically resting on your waist, Eric holds you close to his chest.

“Put your mouth to use in a different way, then,” you joke, watching the boy in front of you go into factory reset.

Lips crashing against yours, the boy kisses you like you’re his lifeline. Chasing after you, he puts all the words he’s said before and the ones he keeps hidden inside for now into the action, having you melt in his hold. He feels your breathing on his face, making him deeply aware of every detail, of every miniscule shift of your figure, every tiniest movement of your lips and the almost inaudible sound you let out when his teeth tug on your bottom lip as he pulls away for air, being a little overly-excited.

Foreheads resting together, the two of you in your own little bubble no one gets to peer into even on the busy street, Eric watches as you look down and take something out of your pocket– something he so deeply recognises, making his heart thump a thousand miles an hour, if it wasn’t already.

Another kiss is given to his lips– for good measure– before you press another one to the tip of his nose and one more peck into the middle of his forehead, making his legs feel like jelly. You follow your lips with the star sticker attached to your thumb, sticking it to your lover’s skin.

“That’s a gold star for being adorable,” you say, making him roll his eyes. “And for the nice date.”

“Don’t I get one for being a good kisser too?” he pries, watching as you scoff at his prideful question.

“I don’t know, Sohn,” you shrug, “I’m not sure yet, but I could be convinced–”

He cuts you off by locking your lips again, ready to prove you of his abilities. With the gold sticker proudly glimmering on his forehead, he realizes that maybe you were right– and all along, it has always been this simple.

#deoboyznet #bjnet #the boyz #eric sohn #the boyz x reader #tbz x reader #tbz fluff #eric sohn fluff #eric fluff #eric x reader #eric sohn x reader #tbz scenario #tbz fic #the boyz scenario #the boyz fluff #the boyz imagines #sohn youngjae #youngjae x reader

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m1ssunderstanding · 5 months

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Let it Be Close-watch

Paul, sweety, it's beautiful, but it's killing the vibe.

Ringo looks like a very old, very tired lab rat whose been put through the maze a few too many times

Somehow the air-brown mostly eaten apple is very appropriate.

She looks far too sweet here to ever let John down. Yoko has very kind eyes.

I love how it makes it seem like Paul and John are calling Maxwell “the corny one” but really we know from Get Back that they're talking about a particular arrangement they were trying out for Don't Let me Down.

I swear he's saying “John” there, not “Joan” and also he said “came down upon His head” so… Oh! And Max died in the end in this version? “Sure that Max was dead” Okay. So Paul kills John and then himself. Murder suicide story. Yeah, Paul, you're doing great mentally, we can all tell.

I love how George getting electrocuted was important enough to make the cut for both films. Poor baby. “If this boy dies you're gonna cop it” from the guy who was just singing about a serial killer.

They're so silly

Yoko does not agree with me

Paul: stealing your man, sweetheart. John: oh no I'm being stolen teehee!

They're so silly

Oh wait, were those bitchy looks at George??? Because there he is. Idk could easily be him or Yoko.

this poor autistic baby trying to use words (not his language) to explain music (his language)

“Good MoOornin! Wooah!” I think I just … You know how Mike said people were booing Paul in the theater watching this? Yeah it's because they were pissed he didn't step out of the screen and onto their necks.

Oh Michael put himself in his own movie too? Huh, cool.

They are always in my heart

The way Paul says “get on the mic” to John??? I would've thrown something, that was so fucking bossy! Just his tone and his face and his angry pointing fingers. So mean. And John just goes “okaaay”. Oof.

Ringo covering his eyes like a little kid watching a scary movie during the orange sweater fight. Same, babe.

Sounds like the original lyric John's going for is something long “All I want is you. Nothing else is gonna do.” But that obviously didn't fit with the tune. I wonder if there was a particular conversation with Paul being controlling that made the “everything has got to be the way you want it to” line click in.

Oh my gosh! So George is showing I Me Mine to Ringo and Paul and he says the “I don't give a fuck it can go in musical” line before he even plays it. Not after John's making fun of him like he does in Get Back. Nagra reels experts: which one is correct??

George: it's a heavy waltz. Ringo:*claps hands angrily and punches the air to a ¾ beat. I love him, he's like the core of “Beatle humor” to me.

Woah there! Okay this is the John/Yoko pda Peter Jackson cut, I see. I wonder if there's a lot more footage of them swapping spit that might make the “oh John was just so in love” theory more reasonable.

It's extremely impressive that George just wrote this whole thing last night. You know? John and Paul have brought in all fragments from what I can tell. He's the only one to come in with a basically finished product.

LMAO and we're just going to Apple now. No reason. Nothing happened. Nothing to see. Moving on.

Ringo is so so cute pretending to hide from the cameras. Really he should've been the cute one.

Is it just me or does Paul drop the sillies and get sad when he sings “always be mine” at John? It's his regular voice, too, for a minute, if I'm not mistaken.

Silly cuties. But John's grin and little sexy tongue action happens the second time Paul sings always be mine, so…

What friendly artistic collaboration looks like when it's not psychosexual

Paul: have you played the dubs? George: yeah. Terrible. Paul: Great! Ringo: terrible. John: laughs Paul: (sarcastic) oh, so dreadful. …. John: where's my guitar? Paul: (still sarcastic) well we're just the greatest band ever. Idk I just like this dialogue. It's very them, you know?

This is adorable.

But I also love how they're already communicating with eyebrows, you know? They just bonded so fast and I find that beautiful.

And then Heather ups their game from taking turns going “chchchchch” into the mic to meowing into the mic. She looks at Paul like “okay your turn” and he sets her down lol he's thinking ‘if I meow into the mic right now after John already had a sex dream last night about me, he might actually cream his pants and we can't have that on camera’

Lol Billy just magically appeared!

Paul you're literally so annoying. You started the goofing off and now you're like “alright lads, that's enough.” Mkay.

He is unbelievably sexy and talented though so you know he does have those little things going for him. Someone write me a Paul/Billy fic please!!

Kinda crazy how they all four just slide straight from “Kansas City” to “Miss Ann” to “Lawdy Miss Claudy”. Makes me think of something they might've done in Hamburg.

I'm sorry but Paul finishes “please don't excite me baby. I'm down in misery.” And John's immediate answer is, “well you can get it if you want it, and if you want it you can get it!” And Paul ends up singing “I want it I want it I want it I want it”. Nice. Very subtle, boys. And that's before John gets kinky.

I love how Heather just forces a hug from George and then immediately runs away. What a cutie.

But really. How did anyone watching this get the idea that John hated Paul? Just confirmation bias I guess?

All the cut off conversations kill me but especially the one where John's working though Paul's anxieties. They're just in the middle of it and then cut. “two of us Sunday driving…”

Someone should do a study of whistling in their songs. I feel like it's another one of their tip offs that “hey this one is about us” Anyway I love John's whistling here. He's so good at it. I can just imagine him as some farm boy picking apples, you know?

Imagine booing this poor stay puppy though, like. What? I mean, what if Johann Weiner was wrong and John wasn't crying at the sight of him and Paul playing triumphant together on the rooftop, but at Paul playing his little heart out about their doomed love. Idk it's probably both. Let's be real, John was bawling through the whole thing.

What is George laughing at? Picture quality is garbage because evil corporations don't let you take screenshots of their content, but he looks like that one kid in your elementary school class that just dumped Cheetos all over his crushes desk and thinks he's a criminal mastermind.

Also I do appreciate all the attention given in the chosen shots to the musicianship. I bet they liked that at least if they had the heart to like anything about the movie at the time.

I'm sorry but I love how in sync Mo and Paul are. With this ducking and later the shimmying. I know it's wrong to ship Ringo’s wife with one of the Beatles she didn't sleep with, but… idk I really want her to have bedded all four at one point, you know? She deserves it, being an og.

Okay but yeah I'd be having a public meltdown if I fumbled that too holy fucking shit

Ringo feeling himself as he should

George just looks like he smells nice. Unlike the others. You know?

John has such a beautiful smile. If somebody looked at me like that I'd put him up on a giant screen behind me on my world tour after he'd been dead for forty years too.

That pleeeaaaheeeaaase though. Looking at Paul. How did he survive I'll never know.

The cut from screaming Paul to grouchy nap lady is extremely painful.

John was so cool in this concert. Like the epitome of cool.

Kevin, my love, thank you for your service

I love Yoko leaning so far and craning her neck. She's like a mom at a school talent show. Like “I only came to see my baby.” Type vibe. Which is exactly what she's doing, unlike Mo, and honestly I find both of them extremely valid

You know in movies where the romantic leads are never looking at each other at the same time?

I think I watched George and John switching back on their amps like fifty times because I just love it so much. And from this angle, you can see John's saying something to Paul about it. He looks serious and he's shaking his head. I wonder what he's saying.

Mal Evans I love you forever for this. Look at his hand on the rail, just blocking them off completely, so protective.

Them turning to each other at the end always gets me. It's automatic, like second nature, and it's the last time ever. They deserved better.

Oh Darling duet in the credits are you fucking kidding me??? Was that in the original? “Believe me, when I tell you.” “Oh I do.” That's the second time that they gave away in this footage that they know they're talking to each other in their music.

Alright, that's it, I guess. And then MLH is haunted by this experience for forty years until he makes Two of Us to purge the demons.

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #let it be

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nicosraf · 1 year

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i talked to my ex professor two days ago about shock value and violence and offensive art and he did a really good job of reminding me that graphic (violence, sex, and all) is good, it's unafraid, "those most offended by your work are those it struck the hardest," it's emotionally evocative, art is nothing if it doesn't make you feel, you have to disturb the comfortable, comfort the disturbed — and shock is no lesser of an emotion than love or curiosity, and art that exists to shock is not lesser than art that exists to love

And shock is power. terrorists and paramilitaries build themselves on shock, they behead in public and send you home to your parents in pieces tucked into a small cardboard box, and they leave bodies hanging from overpasses for the town to see, and this is how they keep you quiet. and when they recruit you, the first thing they do is hand you a knife and make you kill to horrify you, to shock you (change you)

and my prof says "for those of us on the margins of society, everything about living is a shock" and "these are real things that happen to real victims, and the least you can do is read a book about it, watch a movie about it," in the comfort of your home, with a cup of hot tea, wrapped in a blanket, and watch someone get cut open, someone who really felt that blade in their gut; and you have what they don't — the pause button, and you click it if you wish but try not to look away, do not be afraid

they say the best anti war film ever made is 1985's Come and See, because it's unrelenting, it never cuts away, never turns the camera away from the horrors of war. it tells you to come and see, do not look away — and the title is a reference to Chapter 6 of the Book of Revelation: I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, "Come and see!" And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. But you can pause, and you can step away, and you can return when you are ready to be shocked. you have to be shocked. you will not understand violence unless you are shocked so deep that it reaches your soul

and there is no tasteful violence. you can't write about death or war or assault tastefully. the more tasteful you frame it, the further removed from reality it becomes. there is nothing but shock about violence. there will never be meaning to it, but there is religion and there's delusion, and you will find a meaning for violence when it is over. but some people will live in violence forever, live in shock forever, in the margins of society. displaced in warring states or in a house of abuse or standing in the most contaminated rivers in colonized nations.

victorian england loved comfort literature. the imperial cores always have, always will. they see shock and see themselves in it. we all see ourselves in shock — but do you see the violence you've suffered or the violence you've committed. are you angry because you remember the hands at your neck or are you angry because you have been the hands.

#mine

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jxckchxmpi0n · 1 year

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Press tour

Jack Champion x Actress reader || m.list

Summary : You and Jack have been on a press tour for a few weeks as scream vi was just released. An interview with MTV leads to the realization someone's in love

Word count 1.6k

Tag list: @chaethewriter @demausbreaux

Warning: spoilers for scream vi

It was the last interview of the day. Answering fan questions with Jack for MTV. Both of you were tired and ready to call it a day. As you sat down, the producer came over to explain how it works. "So what will happen I will read you guys the question, answer however long you want keep it flowing simple easy and your done" the costume director came over fixing Jack's clothes and your hair was being fixed.

"What do you say after this wanna get food?" You couldn't turn your head, but out of the corner of your eye, you could see him staring at you. A soft blush came to your cheeks as you hummed a yes. Satisfied with your answer, he turned back "good"

"Alright, we're on in 5, 4, 3" the producer stood behind the camera as they finished the countdown.

"Hi, I'm y/n l/n," you waved and smiled at the camera.

"I'm Jack champion, and we are here with MTV to answer fan questions about Screamvi." he winked at the camera.

'What's your favorite memory while filming scream?'

Jack held a bright smile on his face as he flashed through all the memories of you and the other cast members on set. As you both sat there making comments about how hard it was to choose, Jack was the first to settle on his favorite.

"I would have to say my favorite memories would be when- and well spoilers if you haven't seen it yet- but umm definitely the whole wiping the knife in sync with Liana" you watch him in awe as he explained it was so satisfying yet hard to film. "Overall, it was just very fun to experience the whole scream and ghostface." he turned towards you after he rambled on, a soft blush creeped on his cheeks as he realized.

"You're adorable." You turned to the camera, but your body was still facing Jack, "I would have to say the frat party. There was this scene that we filmed. I don't know if it will ever see light- but it was Chad he was hyping up Ethan to talk to a girl. Which is in the movie - but there's a snippet where we see Ethan actually trying to make the moves on Scarlett, my character look at him so confused because she sees Chad behind him jumping up and down like a little school girl."

"Who are you close with on set?

You both laughed as you thought about the times the cast would just hang out and mess around. The first to come to your mind was Jack. You guys were and are always attached to each others hip. There were many times when filming went late, and the amount of energy that went into filming had finally caught up to both of you.

Mason had found both you and Jack sleeping on the apartment couch while they were filming the "core four scenes" you laid on the inside while Jack laid halfway on you. Mason saw a blanket on the end and just threw it over you two. But what you don't know is Jack woke up and saw Masons' actions. He smiled and saw Mason giving him a thumbs up.

He felt you move underneath him, worried you'd wake up he stayed still. Mason already walked away, and Jack was slowly falling back asleep, his arm laced around your waist as he laid on you. Your arm laid over his back as if you were trying to pull him close if possible.

"I would say y/n, we spent a lot of time together on set and off when we weren't filming," he felt himself get warm, his ears slowly turning red. Shifting in his seat, he made eye contact with you and saw the soft smile you always wore. The one he loved, the one that means he had your full attention.

"That's a good point. There were days they called us in, but we didn't film anything. We were just there to be there if they needed us. So that resulted in us hanging around set trying to find stuff to do. " You saw Jack in the corner of your eye messing with the hem of his shirt, something he always did when anxious.

Your eyes softened at the sight of him, his curls loosely sat on his head, some falling in his eyes. The freckles that were sprinkled around his face - shit. You were madly in love with him! How could you not be? He's a gentleman. He pays attention he's funny he's sweet, he's caring - he's Jack.

"Are you guys aware that many of the fan ship both of your characters together, as well as you in real life?"

Your face grew a shape of red so fast, giggling you quickly jumped in before anything could be said. "I think it's adorable to see what the Fandom creates."

Jack was still on the idea of people out there saying you guys should be together. Well, they aren't wrong. You and Jack are basically a couple, just without the tile. He liked you a lot, and he liked the idea of being with you. But his heart sank at the thought of you not feeling the same way.

Without thinking, Jack quickly jumped in, "I agree with the fans. Maybe in a different universe or something, uh, you know, " an awkward laugh went through his body as he just realized what he had said.

You, as well, very confused awkwardly laughed. On the other side of the camera, the producer motioned for you to do an outtro. Smiling at the camera, you said your name as well as Jack's as he was stuck in thoughts.

"Screamvi is out now in theater." You blew a kiss to the camera, and Jack did a little wave.

"CUT" beautiful guys, we'll get makeup and costumes to take you back, and you guys are free.

Awkwardly, you stood up, taking your mic as well as Jack. "Did you still want to get some food?" He couldn't even look at you. He was so red. Thank god his hair covered his face for once.

"Yeah, uhh, that sounds good. I'm just gonna go change and meet you at the car. " Before any more, he could be said he sped off towards his dressing room.

Twenty minutes passed by, and he finally pulled himself together. He paced I'm his room debating is he wanted to tell you about you feelings.

His stomach was doing flips as he was walking to you. His hands became clammy as he got closer. He saw you standing on the wall looking through your phone. Do it while we're out.

You looked up and saw him walking towards you. He looked like a lost puppy. Looking around, trying to understand where he was, the dark brown of his eyes found yours, and for a second, you saw a calmness take over his body.

"Ready to go?" He nodded his head, and you made your way to the car.

There was a cafe on the corner near your place that both of you loved. It was your favorite place. "What you gonna get?" You continued looking at the list as he looked at you. He noticed the shine in your hair, the glow in your skin, the way you bit your lip as you debated what to eat.

"I think I'm just gonna get the club sandwich. Something simple and easy. What about you?" He looked down to remember what he even chose.

"The pasta sounds pretty good. I might just get that." Satisfied with his answer, he closed the menu. The waitress came out and took our order. Food was out in a matter of minutes.

Once the bill was paid, you made your way to your apartment. You were raving on about a story on your upcoming role in a movie, while Jack was stuck in his head.

"Y/n, I need to tell you something." Stopping in the middle of the stairway to your door, you looked at him confused.

"You finally gonna tell me what's been going on in that pretty head of yours?" He smiled. He knew you noticed it.

"Listen, I love you, and I love our friendship - but this," he motioned between you and him. "I want more. I want it all. I want to hold your hand. I want to hug you. I want to be able to look at you and adore you - well, even though I do that already - but god y/n, I'm like in love with you. "

You stood there mouth ajar as he just confessed his love you you. Jack champion said he loved you. A wide smile took display on your face as you stepped forward. Grabbing his shirt, you pulled him into you, and your lips met his.

They were so soft, yet chapped. It took him a second yo realize what was happening, but the second it clicked, he grabbed your waist, pulling your body into his. Smiling into the kiss, your hands made their way to his hair.

He groaned as your hand pulled on it, and your lungs burned as the kiss continued. You felt him pulling away but wanted to keep going. His eyes hazed with lust as he looked at you. His lips swollen and red, your matching his.

"I want it all as well, trust me. I love you," he reached up and tucked a hair behind your ear and kissed you again.

#jack champion #jack champion x reader #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #scream vi #spider avatar #ethan landry smut #ghost face x reader #ethan landry imagine #jack champion imagine

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localkiss · 6 months

Text

Princess Sprinkles!

Vendetta Chris Redfield x fem reader!

cw: dd/lg, creampie, squirting (guys idk how squirting feels like....), multiple orgasms (reader), fingering, pet names, praise kink, oral fixation (reader obv), light mentions of breeding, soft dom!Chris!!, afab terms used, size kink ish.., Chris being silly, Chris being a lil mean one time, and some fluff :3 !! — Lmk if I missed anything.

wc: 2005 !! (🤭 birth year go crazyy LOL!)

notes: if you don't like ddlg just um. Idk don't read 💀!! I fr try not to make the reader teeny tiny but like dude Chris is huge asf.. size kink go brrr 🧎🏻‍♀️! I'll be making reader a lil squishy from now on bc I'm not skinny either ☝🏻.Also I used to watch the Bratz babyz movie on repeat sm that the disc got ruined 😭😭 soo.. yes that part is directly from yours truly! Not proof read 😵‍💫

tags: @argreion, @rigorwhoring bc ily guys 😇!!

"Daddy!" You squeal as soon as Chris picks you up and spins you around. Making your fluffy mini pleated skirt twirl upwards.

Chris hoists your pretty body over his shoulders and pats you on the butt, practically skipping towards your shared bedroom. It looks like someone dumped all the squishmallows possible into the master bedroom. He can't help but think of you every time he sees a stuffed animal. Shits rooted in his brain. Stuffies = his angel!

Yeah, he might have to fight with them to make room for himself, but he wouldn't trade it for any other way. He doesn't actually fight them, knowing you'd throw a hissy fit and say "Hate daddy! Forever 'n ever!" Chris's heart shatters like glass whenever you say that.

He's grown softer because of you and those little threats of yours make his heart drop down to the core of the Earth. Would he admit it to team Alpha? No. Never in a million years. But they've got eyes and ears, they're not Patrick Star. Dumb and living under a rock.

Lately he's been covered in hickeys and cute little doodles that're supposed to be like tattoos by yours truly. Goes to work and gets teased by his squad, telling him how you've got him wrapped around your pretty little finger. How much you've changed him, for the better. He always shrugs them off, putting them back to work.

You for sure made Chris cut back on smoking a fuck ton. Constantly crying about how the stench will ruin your stuffies and the coat the walls of the house with a film. You're right, that's for sure. And the fact that second hand smoke is even worse is what clicks it into his head for him. His baby. His sweetheart, could end up dying because of his stupid ass habits.

Chris has lost too many of his men because of his habits. Too many good men. You are his savior. He pounds away the guilt into your needy little cunt. Constantly craving him. Needing him. Loving him. Honest to God, he needs that more than anything in this lifetime.

"Sweetheart," he sighs and sets you down onto the bed. "I missed you. Whatcha been up to?"

"Slept 'n colored and um... Ate some snackies, watch movie, 'n had lotsa juice!" You mumble, eyes glancing around the entire room. Using your hands to talk, as your words get slurred when you're in this state of mind.

Chris presses a faint kiss to your temple and noses down to the underside of your ear. Carefully holding the back of your head with his hand. He gives you more kisses and blows raspberries into your ear, making you squeal and swat at him.

"That's good baby. Glad you had a productive day." Chris smiles at you lovingly.

Your heart then swoons, making you feel all mushy inside. Praise gets him everything from you. Just like you crying out for daddy gets you everything from him!

He lazily starts to unbuckle his belt, pulling it through the loops. Setting it down on the bedside table with a thud. He starts to undo his fly, pushing his pants all the way down, kicking out of them.

Only dressed in his boxers and shirt, he engulfs you with a hug. Nuzzling into your neck, feeling your hands grab ahold of his shirt.

"Daddy?"

"Just recharging honey, hold on." His voice is deep and gruffy, sending chills up your spine.

You lay there, body buzzing with warmth as his figure presses you into the mattress. His hips shift and move against yours, causing you to gasp.

Thighs squeezing against his fit waist and he sighs into your neck. "Daddy's not charge. He excited..." Your fingers tug on his shirt and he sits up.

"Off?" Pointing to his shirt and you clumsily remove your own shirt and skirt. Now both of you are only in your underwear. Well, you still have your white thigh highs on, but still.

He presses your thighs up to your chest and settles in the middle as best as he can. Feeling his skin on your skin feels like heaven. Makes your panties wet, which he's noticed but doesn't want to say anything about it. Knowing you get all shy and embarrassed when he points things out like that. He likes it. Thinks it's cute that you want skin ship.

"So pretty baby," he pushes his hips forward. His cock catching onto your clit with each slow roll. "Pretty pussy, pretty tits. Pretty girl. My pretty girl."

Chris leans back and gets rid of his boxers. Pulling your panties up to slip his cock between your folds. Laying back down on top of you. Humping you instead of fucking you.

You can't complain, his tip his pressing against your clit nicely. Your hips rolling up to meet his and his dick slips inside.

He bottoms out immediately with a growl. "Baby. Did I say you could put it in?" Chastising you with a rough thrust, acting like it's your fault his dick slipped inside of your tiny hole.

"Daddy, didn't mean to. Not m'fault," you whine out, kicking your legs.

"S'okay. Daddy will make it all better." Chris presses a kiss to your forehead and acts like he's going to pull it out. Only to harshly thrust it back into you. "Fuck, princess. She's not wanting to let me go. You hear her crying for me?"

Moaning, you dig your nails into his back, "Daddy, daddy, never leave," you start babbling already.

He groans and rabbits his hips, making the bed rock against the wall.

"Wait, daddy, stuffies no want look, turn," you try to speak as he continues to fuck you like he hates you.

"Shit, okay baby. Hold on," he grunts and turns them around as best as he can. "Better now?"

You nod and go in for a kiss and he meets you halfway. Drooling into your mouth and your tongues swirl together before you suck on his. Moaning as he drives himself deeper inside of you. Squelching sounds and skin on skin echoing in the bedroom. Surely you guys won't get a noise complaint this time!

He spits into your mouth and smears it all over your lips with his thumb, pushing it into your mouth. Who needs a pacifier when you've got daddy's thumb?

Watching your eyes flutter shut and your lips wrapping around his thumb, it sets him off. His other hand driving down between you both and rubbing harshly at your puffy nub.

Biting down, you furrow your eyebrows. Breathing quickly and moaning softly. "Close," you hum around his digit. Sucking on it as you get closer and closer.

Chris's dick hits a special spot inside of you and your body shakes underneath him. Pussy trying to push out his cock as a clear liquid shoots out of you.

"Goddamn, baby, squirting on me, mmhh—fuck..." His hips falter and he dumps his cum inside of you. Resting his body on you, burying you into the bed. Making sure his cum never leaves you.

Chris pulls his thumb out of your mouth and kisses you feverishly. "Putting a baby in you, s'that alright princess?" Your pussy agrees by clenching around his thickness.

But he's acting like you've got a choice, since he's already done the deed. He pulls you up into his arms and you guys slowly make your way to the bath. Still connected and full.

Keeping you in his arms, he reaches down to turn on the water and put in the plug. You giggle and some of his cum starts to spurt out and drip down his balls. He settles in the tub with you on his lap, grabbing the soap to fill it with bubbles.

Chris slowly lifts you off of his length and sets you between his legs. Back pressed against his hairy chest. While his cum dribbles out of you.

His fingers make their way down to your sensitive cunt and slowly dips them inside. "Shh, I know baby," pressing soft kisses to your cheek as you whine and claw weakly at his forearms. The other one is keeping you pressed against him.

"Daddy's helping you baby," he starts to curl his fingers and your legs shake. Clearly overstimulated from earlier. But Chris starts to be a bit greedy, smacking his palm against your pretty little pearl.

Throwing your head back against his shoulder, he coaxes you into another orgasm. With the disguise of helping you get his cum out. If anything, he's trying to fuck it back into. Serious about putting a mini him or you inside of your tummy.

"Baby, almost there. Y'got it princess.. mmh.. cum one more time for daddy? Promise I'll clean you up and get us some donuts with sprinkles on 'em, just the way you like." Man, he's even bribing you! Daddy knows what you really want right now. So you whimper in response.

"Daddy, mmhhff... Daddy oh god! Please, please, please!" Your heels dig into the tub as the water fills it. His lips sucking and biting into your neck is what makes you cream around his digits.

Body convulsing and breath raggedy and higher as you come down from your second high of the night. Chris grabs your face and kisses you all over, mumbling praises into your skin. "Good girl, daddy's so proud of you."

Then, he takes his time washing you off, letting you play with the rubber duckies and splashing water onto him. Putting bubbles on his beard and making one for yourself.

"I daddy! See?" You pout and furrow your eyebrows, taking a drag of an imaginary cigarette. Chris rolls his brown eyes and takes the imaginary cigarette and puts it out.

"Babies can't do that stuff, remember? Only daddies can do that, silly baby girl." He wipes the bubbles off of your face and his, nibbling on your earlobe. Making chewing noises, "Om nom nom, my baby tastes so yummy!"

You squeal and press your face into your shoulder. "Daddy! Got wash so we can eat nummy donut! Donut sprinkle!"

He hums and gets to work. Gently washing your back and hair as you wash your front side and down to your toes. Chris hauls you up and he turns on the shower to wash your hair and his. God knows he needs this shower after training his new squad mates today.

Chris washes his own figure as you cup the water in your tiny hands and splash it up in the air. Watching you pretend you have powers as the water runs down your arms and to the tips of your fingers.

"Alright princess. Let's go get some sprinkled donuts," he pats your heart shaped ass with a chuckle. Wrapping you in a fuzzy towel, he gets to work drying you off. It reminds you of that Bratz babyz movie. Sure reminds him of it too. From how often you guys watched it, the CD stopped working and you threw a fit.

So of course, he bought a couple more, just in case. It's not like he doesn't have the money for it. So why not keep his baby sated with something so simple as a 2000s movie? He even bought you some Bratz dolls and monster high ones. Likes how you squeal and jump around in excitement every time he buys you something so simple as a doll. Makes him happy.

"Princess sprinkles and daddy sprinkles! Getting donut sprinkles! Sprinkles, sprinkles, sprinkles!" You laugh as he puts on your blue matching cinnamoroll pajamas that he spent fifty dollars on. Worth it in his opinion. Looks so cute on you, he can't help but press kisses all over your cheeks.

"Alright, alright, princess sprinkles. Let's go get in the car. Daddy'll buy you all the chocolate sprinkled donuts there is at the bakery." Chris's heart thumps in his chest. Yeah, there's a sprinkled shaped hole with a sprinkle version of you in his heart.

#resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #chris redfield smut #chris redfield x reader #chris resident evil #resident evil chris #chris smut #chris redfield #resident evil vendetta #resident evil fanfiction #fanfiction #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy smut #localkiss

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wangxianficrecs · 5 months

Text

💙 Caught in 4k by KizuKatana

🔒💙 Caught in 4k

by KizuKatana (@kizukatana)

E, Series, WIP, 184k, Wangxian

Summary: A night-hunt goes wrong, and Wei Wuxian is scapegoated for the death of the Jiang Sect Leader and the destroyed core of the Jiang Sect Heir. As punishment, his core is taken and given to Jiang Cheng, and he is stripped of his cultivation credentials and expelled from the sect. What everyone forgot was that Wei Wuxian was wearing the standard issue body camera that each cultivator wore on training missions and high-risk night-hunts. Struggling to make ends meet, Wei Wuxian finds his way to Caiyi Town with the doctor who performed the surgery, a partial core still secretly in place. His application to work at Cloud Recesses is summarily rejected by the hard-edged Second Jade of Lan after an unfortunate initial encounter. But things change when someone hacks into the Jiang systems and releases the footage of what happened. Kay's comments: The series is still a WIP, but the main story is complete! I am so weak for Kizu's modern AUs with cultivation, they are great. Especially the world building and how the cultivation society might function in a modern AU shines in this story. Definitely not a story for fans of the Jiang family, but a story for everyone who wants to see some retribution for the things Wei Wuxian went through. Here, Jiang Fengmian dies during a night-hunt accident where Jiang Cheng's golden core gets destroyed and Madam Yu makes Wei Wuxian give his golden core to him, unfortunately for her, his body-cam is still filming everything. Wei Wuxian finds himself taken in by Wen Qing and her family and we get the sweetest found family and Dadxian vibes here and then meets Lan Wangji as well, who's highly judgemental at first but soon finds himself drawn to Wei Wuxian as well. This story really got it all, the drama, the horny, the softness, the restitution & humor. Excerpt: Still Wei Wuxian forced himself to at least try one last time. “You could also interview me. Have me talk to your best talisman experts,” Wei Wuxian said, forcing himself to keep the desperation out of his voice. “Interviews are scheduled based on receipt of proper credentials and references.” “I don’t have any, at least not right now. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be a great teacher.” “No references, no interview.” “Come on. Look, ask me anything about talismans. You’re an experienced cultivator, right? So you must know enough to at least interview me to see if I know what I’m talking about.” “Simply ‘knowing about something’ is not sufficient. Our lecturers are renown cultivators, and masters in their fields. No references, no interview.” Wei Wuxian felt frustration well up in him, especially at the reminder that Lan Wangji didn’t see him as a cultivator. No one would, in his current condition. Why would they? He didn’t have a functional core, which was the main scale against which all cultivation efforts were measured. He thought he had done a good job of not getting his hopes up about the teaching position, but the suffocating feeling constricting his chest was calling him out for being a liar. He should have known better. Why did he never learn? Some people had luck on their said, but Wei Wuxian had never been one of them. “Right. Of course. Because it would be impossible for someone who wasn’t born to the fucking clan nobility to ever actually be good at something, and the cost of taking the mastery test makes sure that other people can’t do it!” Lan Wangji’s lips parted slightly, like he might say something, but his expression was as opaque and emotionless as before. Wei Wuxian didn’t need to sit around and listen to him defend the clan system. “Good to know that the Lan are just the same as all the other sects,” Wei Wuxian continued, his lips twisting into a sarcastic smile. “Thanks for making that clear.”

pov alternating, modern setting, modern with magic, yu ziyuan being an asshole, dysfunctional jiang family, jiang family bashing, canon divergence, golden core reveal, burial mounds ensemble as family, golden core transfer, golden core transfer fix-it, top lan wangji/bottom wei wuxian, dual cultivation, strangers to lovers, misunderstandings, meet ugly, families of choice, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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junkissed · 1 year

Text

behave!

member — jeonghan x f reader genre — smut word count — 2.1k synopsis — you like misbehaving, and jeonghan likes putting you in your place. even more so when you know you're being filmed. smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, mean dom jeonghan, hannie is a sadist but reader is a masochist so it works out, hate sex (spoiler: it's pretend!), heavy degredation mixed with praise, oral (reader receiving), some fingering, edging, one (1) ruined orgasm, sexual acts on camera, choking, marking, begging, spitting in reader's mouth, reader is a capital b Brat, some borderline pet play (??), maybe kinda bulge kink but only for a second, nicknames (slut, whore, bitch, puppy, angel, good girl), hannie is called sir a couple times, everything is shown to be consensual beforehand!! implied established relationship, aftercare, playful banter between hannie & reader, the ending is soft notes — this is payback for @duhnova and @onlymingyus because i love torturing you both. i wish i had more notes to say about this but i literally wrote it at 3am after i told yall i was going to sleep oopsies (also tagging @lovelyhan because you need to suffer too!!)

“smile for the camera, baby,” jeonghan grins mischievously, holding his phone in one hand as he traces his fingers over your stomach.

“fuck you, jeonghan!”

he tsks, index finger circling around your belly button. “you won’t get to, not with that attitude.”

you stay silent and give him a glare, watching as his fingers slowly travel lower, ghosting over your skin. he’s teasing, and both of you know it. but although there’s nothing you can do to stop it, you don’t even really want to.

he presses his hand flat against your stomach and automatically you let out a whimper, feeling the tension already beginning to build in your core and you’re not even halfway undressed yet. he relishes in your involuntary sounds, knowing that no matter how you pout and pretend to be angry with him and try to hide them from him, he knows your body like the back of his own hand and it won’t be long until he’s got you screaming his name.

he pushes harder and your hands grab at his wrist, unclear whether you’re trying to push him away or hold him in place to add even more pressure. you can’t help the way your legs slide further and further apart, wordlessly begging him to do more than he’s already doing, because it’s not enough.

“you feel that, baby?” he says, pressing the heel of his palm into your abdomen. “feel how empty you are?”

you keep your mouth shut, determined to continue being a brat as long as he’s got his camera out. you already know that watching this recording back the next time you’re horny will be a damn treat, and you’re enjoying riling him up just as much as he enjoys you doing it. misbehaving is half the fun, after all; and when the reward is so sweet, how could you resist?

jeonghan clicks his teeth, tsking at your lack of a response. “if you aren’t gonna talk, then i might as well just put this away and go on with my day. but i know my little whore wouldn’t like that, would they?”

“and why should i say anything to you?” you spit back at him, and your stomach jumps in anticipation when you see his eyes light up at your words.

his nostrils flare as he sets his phone down on the table, giving it no more than a half second of thought on whether or not he’s propped it up properly before he’s bending over you, face to face in a split second.

his hand is still flat against your stomach, and the tip of his nose presses against your cheek with how close he suddenly is to your face. his breath is warm on your lips, and your heart races as you try to guess what he’s about to say to you.

“because, i can just leave you here, soaking wet and painfully horny and it wouldn’t bother me one bit,” he says, “i know your adorable little panties are ruined right now and you’re dripping onto the fucking sheets. i could smell you a mile away like a bitch in heat, that’s how bad you want me. and if you keep acting like a fucking brat, you aren’t going to get any of me. is that clear?”

you nod without a word, knowing it’s not the reaction he wants and purposefully not giving it to him as a final act of defiance. you know him well enough to know he’s reaching the end of his patience, and you can’t keep up being a brat forever. not when you can see how thick the bulge in his pants is, not when you can see the veins popping out in his arms, not when you can see that look in his eyes when you know he’s going to fuck you so hard you’ll be feeling it for days afterward.

he sits up and his hand on your stomach flies to your chin, gripping it tightly. on instinct your lips part in compliance as he forces your jaw open and puckers his lips, violently spitting into your eagerly awaiting mouth.

he wipes the remnants of spit from around his mouth with the back of his free hand, still holding onto your jaw with his other. “when i say speak, i mean speak, bitch. if i say bark, you bark. use your words like a good puppy and i’ll reward you, but disobey me and i’ll make you regret every second of it.”

jeonghan lets go of your mouth and you exhale a shaky but excited breath, this time quick to give him an answer. “yes, sir.”

he leans over you to adjust his phone on the nightstand, eyes narrowing with a sly smile. “now that’s a good girl. see how easy that was?”

“yes, sir,” you answer again. you know this part of the routine; he doesn’t do rhetorical questions, and you know better than not to answer him now.

when he’s satisfied with the camera’s placement he leans back down over you, his lips just centimeters above yours. this time you can’t hide your whines, and he coos. “aw, sweetheart, did it hurt when i grabbed you? want me to kiss it better for you, my little angel?” there’s just enough sarcasm in his tone to know he doesn’t care whether or not it hurt, and he won’t kiss it better, no matter what your answer is.

again it’s a trick question, and again you know exactly what response he’s looking for. “no, sir,” you whisper, barely enough space between you and him for you to move your lips to speak. “i liked it. sir.”

he grins sadistically, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth anyways. “what a good whore,” he praises, “taking what i give you so well.”

he moves on to your neck, biting roughly at the skin below your jaw and sucking for so long you’re sure he can feel your pulse jump each time a new bruise begins to form.

“jeonghan—” you gasp out his name as he moves lower to your collarbones, teeth scratching along your skin as he stares up at you through his pretty long lashes, never breaking the eye contact despite how you writhe beneath him.

“that’s a good girl,” he says, his mouth hovering over your nipple as he looks up at you. “let me hear all those pretty sounds you make. need to hear how good i’m making you feel.”

his tongue laves over your breast and you arch your back up into him, struggling to keep your voice from breaking as you reply with another “yes, sir”.

you’re aware that he’s still teasing you as he works his way down your body, taking longer than necessary to get to where you really want him to be. but the feeling of his mouth covering every inch of your skin is too good to pass up, despite the way your cunt throbs and the uncomfortable feeling of your ruined panties sticking to your soaked folds.

but finally, mercifully, he must decide that even he’s had enough teasing for one night, because he slides down in between your legs, pressing a kiss to your clit over the fabric of your underwear.

you exhale as tears begin to form in your eyes, already exhausted from being edged and denied and he’s still barely done a thing. “god, fuck— hannie, please, more, please give me more, please—” you babble, your hands gripping the sheets below you until your fingers begin to numb.

usually when you piss him off it’ll take a lot more begging than that to get him to cave, but he must be feeling generous today because he just smiles, fingertips hooking into the waistband of your underwear as he slides them down your legs. “sound so nice when you beg, angel. now look at how you get rewarded when you behave.”

“wait, jeongha—”

and that’s all the warning you get before he dives in. his hands pry apart your thighs, roughly pinning your legs to the bed as his mouth wraps around your clit and he begins to suck as hard as he can. your vision goes black for a second as you struggle to process the sudden stimulation, and your brain can’t catch up quick enough with how fast and rough jeonghan’s tongue moves against you in unpredictable patterns and movements.

you open your mouth to tell him that you’re right at the edge, you’re close you’re so fucking close it feels like you might die, but your breath catches in your throat before you can say a word and you feel yourself start to crest into your orgasm without warning.

until jeonghan pulls away, and your pussy clenches hard around nothing but air. the sudden change in pace is jarring, but it’s already too late to stop yourself from falling over the edge; except the edge is gone, your orgasm ruined at just the right moment.

your chest tightens and your lungs burn, gasping for air as your orgasm crumbles away into nothingness. each pulse of your cunt sears through your entire body and your veins feel like they’re on fire, the usual pleasure from your high stopped short by jeonghan taking it away from you.

in the back of your mind you realize that of course he could tell you were close, of course he kept going and of course he knew exactly when to stop so that you wouldn’t get a single ounce of pleasure out of it, because he just knows you that well. even if you had tried to hide it, you wouldn’t have been able to: whatever jeonghan does, your body listens and obeys.

the tears finally spill down your cheeks, eyes squeezed shut as you scream in frustration, every nerve in your body on edge and every muscle tensed.

when you regain your breath enough to open your eyes again, you see jeonghan sitting below you looking smug. “oops,” he says nonchalantly, and if you had any energy left in your body you would’ve slapped him.

“god, i hate you so fucking much,” you rasp out, and he grins contentedly and presses a little kiss to the inside of your thigh before he sits up.

“you know you love me,” he giggles.

he reaches over to the table to turn off the camera and set his phone facedown before he moves out from between your legs. you close your eyes again and sigh, your whole body feeling like jelly as you breathe in and out, slowly coming back down to earth.

“you just wanna take a break, or are you done for tonight? that sounded rough,” jeonghan says, and when you open your eyes again he’s sitting next to you on the bed holding a glass of water. with a groan you force yourself to sit up as he holds the glass in front of your mouth to help you drink.

“if i could move my arms right now, i would splash this right in your face, hannie.”

he laughs, thoroughly used to your post-orgasmic insults by now. “and honestly, i’d deserve it. that was a little mean even for me, huh?”

you snort, leaning your head back against the headboard. “yeah, it was. asshole.”

he smiles, his eyes much softer now than before. “but it was hot, though,” he says excitedly. “i can’t fucking wait to watch that video. it might be my new favorite.”

you glare at him, eyebrows knitted into a pout. “i was literally on the verge of death and you thought it was hot?”

“oh, shut up. you thought it was hot, too, and you know it. that’s why you do your little brat routine every time i start recording, because you know you love it.”

you don’t have the brainpower to come up with a comeback for that, because he’s right. rough and nasty and fast is exactly the way you like it, maybe even more than he does at times. but once that feral side of you is satiated with an orgasm powerful enough to nearly knock you out, it leaves you to better appreciate the other things he’s good at: like holding you close and making you feel safe and loved, or kissing you all over and making sure he didn’t really hurt you with anything he did, or helping you drink water when your bones feel like mush.

you huff and roll your eyes at him. “can you just fuck me now, please? i’m still mad at you. start making up for it.”

he sets your empty glass down on the table and climbs back over you to gently kiss your lips, still dry from how much you were moaning. “mm, of course i can do that. your wish is my command, angel.”

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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#kflixnet #k-labels #[📌] — june.writes #jeonghan smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x you #jeonghan oneshot #svt fanfic #svt jeonghan

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you-were-alone-too · 3 months

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the aftermath of eddie's death & what it means for mike's arc in season 5

someone may have already posted a similar theory before, so i apologize if i'm super late to this, but i've had this theory in mind ever since the s5 set pictures of dustin and mike were dropped, and i've been wanting to make a post about it ever since. basically, we're going to take a look at eddie's respective relationships with dustin and mike and how his death will affect them both, but especially mike in s5.

in s4, the show made it super clear that eddie had a close relationship with the boys in the party, more specifically mike and dustin (since lucas is on a quest to be popular and joined the basketball team, we can guess this prevented them from being as close). although we don't get to see much of eddie's relationship with mike, his friendship with dustin is heavily established throughout the entirety of the season. while both mike and dustin value eddie for being a cooler, older high school boy that embraces their shared interests despite the fact that it makes him an outcast, the impact of these relationships, and ultimately, his death, will affect them in completely different ways.

while both mike and dustin value eddie's commitment to embracing his true self/interests, the difference in the impact of their respective relationships is that mike struggles with the fact that he's different whereas dustin is more comfortable in his own identity.

a great example of this is when eddie talks about how he remembers the first time that he met dustin and mike; he says dustin was wearing a weird al t-shirt, which he "thought was brave," while mike was wearing "whatever his mommy bought him from the goddamn gap". not to mention mike trying to "dress cool" when he visits el in california, being afraid of seeming childish by playing d&d and liking christmas presents, not to mention:

so what does this have to do with their arcs in s5, particularly mike's?

eddie's character represents one of the show's core themes: non-conformity. right before eddie dies, he makes dustin promise to never change. and when dustin tells wayne that he was with eddie when the earthquake hit, the main thing he emphasizes is that eddie never changed even as he was dying.

one of the first scenes that gaten filmed for s5 shows him wearing his hellfire club t-shirt, which is now faded and full of holes, and his hair is also grown out even longer (possibly to resemble eddie's hair, like mike in s4). in the picture of the party members' hands on top of each other, we can also see he's wearing (presumably) one of eddie's rings.

as for mike, one of the first pictures we see of him on set for s5 shows him with a haircut and outfit that nearly resembles his appearance in s1. after the beginning of s4 showed mike growing out his hair (which was confirmed to be inspired by eddie), playing d&d again, and saying he doesn't want to be popular, we now see him in s5 conforming back to how he used to dress. how his parents want him to look. normal.

in the aftermath of eddie's death, it's clear that as a symbol of non-conformity and self-acceptance, his death has impacted dustin and mike in completely different ways.

for dustin, he sees eddie's untimely death as a legacy he must continue. a vow he made to eddie in his dying breath to never change. and now, he's sticking to his word by embracing all that eddie did and stood for in life, almost as if he's trying to physically emulate eddie to become that symbol for himself and others.

as for mike, he's lost without that symbol. he saw eddie as a symbol of hope, safety, and bravery, a person that made him feel like it's okay to be different, to stand out, to not conform with what society wants him to be. without eddie, he's on the opposite trajectory; now that eddie's gone, that reassurance and safety he felt about standing out is gone too, and now he's regressing into the person that he thinks everyone expects him to be.

it's not that shocking since as soon as he's away from eddie in s4, he goes back to trying to fit in around el. but what's even more interesting is that mike seems to become himself again once it's just him and will in s4; although will carries himself in a much more subtle way than eddie, will also inspires mike to feel confident in himself, to feel like he can be different.

but before there was eddie as a symbol of non-conformity, there was jonathan byers. from the get-go in season 1, we see jonathan encouraging will to be himself, such as telling him "you shouldn't like things because people tell you you're supposed to." then we see mike get a similar, louder version of this encouragement in the form of eddie. both mike and will have role models that encourage them to be different. both mike and will feel like they can be themselves around each other in a way they can't with anyone else because they're the same kind of different. "i saw you on the swings, and you were alone too" "maybe i feel like i lost you or something" "hawkins, it's not the same with you." "you make [me] feel like [i'm] not a mistake at all, like [i'm] better for being different" "we'll go crazy together, right?"

even though will does make mike feel like it's okay to be himself, it's not enough to fully pull him out of his shell. eddie had that power as an older male role model that mike could look up to and admire. someone that could give him a look into the future and show him that being different on the outside isn't all that bad. but then, not only does eddie die, but even in death, he's still viewed as satanic and monstrous because he was openly different.

now in s5, mike is going to have to come to grips with eddie's death and the loss he associates with that. how he thinks that eddie being dead is proof that standing out is dangerous, that it's wrong, that it's sinful. he has a lot of fear to work through, but in the end, he's going to get there, and will is going to be there at his side the entire time, reminding him that they make each other feel like they're better for being different, so it must not be so bad after all.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things 5 #st analysis #analysis #theory #mike wheeler #will byers #dustin henderson #eddie munson #byler #byler analysis #byler theory #text post #mine

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island-in-the-shadows · 6 months

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On Felix Catton & Disgust/Desire

I had been waiting for a long while now to write this post. I wanted to do another full re-watch before I got into it because the ideas for this have been sitting in my mind for a long time. This is going to be a long post and, hopefully, not super pretentious. Most of us fans of Saltburn know, to some degree or another, that the core themes of the film revolve around disgust, desire, and obsession. And the biggest entry point to discuss this is the actions of our protagonist, Oliver Quick re the object of his disgust/desire/obsession Felix Catton.

I've written before that I believe that Oliver did know Felix and that Felix was emotionally vulnerable and candid with Oliver. I further stated that we, the audience, are forbidden from knowing the details of this intimacy because Oliver does not want us to truly know Felix. This means that the bits we get of Felix are small and very subtle. It means that we can interpret Felix's core personality, true intent, true desires in a litany of ways. My opinion is, realistically, no more valid than anyone else's. But for today, I wanted to discuss what I view, from the bits that we get, is Felix's relation with the core themes of the film. And, because I saw a truly heinous takes about a different fandom I'm in and I don't want to think about it, my brain said: hey...let's talk about Felix Catton and his disgust and desire.

Pt. 1: "Only rich people can afford to be this filthy."

When Oliver says the above, he and Felix are in Felix's messy and disgusting dorm room at Oxford. When you take a closer look at the room (which I admit was difficult on my first few views because Felix is lit and positioned to take all of your focus), it is a total shit show. There's clothes everywhere, empty containers everywhere, other unidentifiable debris...honestly wouldn't shock me if there was some used condom somewhere. We know from Oliver that, not only does it look like chaos, it smells terrible. However, Felix is unbothered. He is concerned only with the heat which, in this case, is an external force that he cannot control no matter his good looks, his charms, his pedigree, or his money. By what we see, Felix is quite happy and content in the filth. It is only when Oliver points out the filth and points out that Felix won't take care of it, that Felix reacts negatively.

Felix, as we know, is very accustomed to his messes being cleaned up for him. Before we even get to Saltburn it's a safe assumption to make. Prior to college/uni, he would've gone to some posh boarding school or other. I doubt that they were made to clean everything in boarding school (though if any of you know please let me know). We also know that wealthy people tend to have hired staff who clean for them. This is a young man who has never had to clean up his spilled milk and it has never even occurred to him to do it.

However, the important bit to note is not that Felix is messy and that it doesn't occur to him to clean. What's important to note is that the mess simply does not bother him. Just because he is born to extreme wealth and privilege does not mean that he would have to be this way. There's been germaphobe rich people or people who prefer to have a minimalistic space or any number of things. Regardless of wealth, some people are fine with mess and some people require mess to be done away with immediately. Felix is in the former category. He certainly must notice the mess at some point (even if, clearly, he's nosebleed to it) but he is comfortable in his space.

This is also true of his room at Saltburn. We barely see it, I know, but let's take a look at that glossy af pic of it from the Architectural Digest Article...

There is crap EVERYWHERE. The more you look at it the more crap you find. You can't even say that it's perfectly clean either because there's dirty clothes in spots, there's multiple pillows on the ground, there's a random used water glass, there's either toilet paper or paper towels on the night stand, the bed isn't perfectly made, I could go on. Chaos and filth and mess is, technically, Felix's natural habitat. It's the kind of mess that is surrounded by opulence, certainly, but it's still a mess.

Only rich people can afford to be this messy because they can also dictate when and where their staff cleans. Presumably, there are things in Felix's bedroom (perhaps the toilet paper/paper towels which have a...purpose) which he has instructed Duncan to leave alone. Or Elspeth has put terms for how often the maids come in the rooms. It could be framed in a multitude of ways. The point stands that Felix can exist in these chaotic and, even, disgusting spaces because he chooses to be. What his privilege does, then, is afford him absence from judgment.

We see the staff at Saltburn clean up after the party. We see that they quietly replaced a broken mirror before anyone can question the cracks. We never see the staff judge. Do they? Certainly they must, we all have opinions. But do they express their judgement to the masters of the house? No. It's not their place to do so. They are considered staff and therefore their opinions do not come into play for the Cattons nor would they want to hear them. Even Duncan's genuine unease and grief after Felix dies is mostly kept under control. He's not paid to express his emotions or his thoughts, after all.

And why go into all of this? Because Felix is content to live in the mess, to revel in the gross and in some version of the abject. What Felix cannot handle is being confronted with his pleasure. To me, this (along with wanting to separate Oliver from staff when the younger boy starts actively cleaning) is the main reason why he snaps when Oliver points out the disgusting state of the dorm. He does not need or want to know how he fits outside a specific role that he was born to play and, likely, believes he has to play. Even if it didn't occur to him to clean, he could've used his wealth and influence to find someone to clean for him. But he didn't. Because it doesn't bother him. Oliver being bothered and pointing out that Felix is so wealthy that he can live in the filth is what bothers him, instead.

Pt. 2 "Was it? Was it awful?"

I am going to keep this section short, because there have been much better posts about this and I, personally, go back and forth on this all the time. Regardless, Felix having an interest in a made up fantasy of a shitty childhood and what he can, likely, envision as some Dickensian nightmare of a situation falls into his relation to disgust and desire. What Felix knows of true poverty and addiction likely comes from media or exaggerated stories from people who have been in contact with someone who was an addict or something to that extent. His imagination must be running wild with theories. And while I do think that he did have good intentions regarding Oliver when it comes to this, his demeanour also shows an attraction to the grotty aspects of it. Oliver only ever calls him out on this, to a degree, in the maze. Before this, Felix can be interested in what he imagines is the horror of Oliver's childhood but not be caught out as being a tragedy whore or someone with a saviour complex or anything else, because his interest is not being pointed out. Again, he has an interest or desire for mess and chaos as long as it is not pointed out.

Pt. 3 "You're supposed to be here with me."

Let's, briefly, talk about queerness. Let's talk about how Felix has an image to maintain. How he has expectations put upon him. Yes, he has privilege and wealth beyond understanding, but these things often have a tradeoff. Celebrities, for example, have to forfeit a lot of their privacy. Royalty and nobility (regardless of country) often forfeit chunks of their privacy and the possibility of living outside of a script (publicly, at any rate). Felix CANNOT go off script.

He is implied to be the heir to Saltburn and everything that comes with it: money, land, title, expectations. Like in the days of old, it's probably expected of him to produce an heir. It's also expected of him to marry a lady from his class in order to produce said heir. And, back in 2006/7, people were less acceptating of LGBTQ+ people that they are now, and Same-Sex marriage was not a thing in the UK and it wouldn't be for another 7 or so years. So Farleigh, who will inherit nothing and only ever be given scraps, can embrace his queerness; Felix cannot.

Personally, I believe that Felix did have some sort of interest in Oliver. It's not just in the fact that he is possessive of Oliver to the point of disregarding his family. It's in all the Bambi eyed looks that we see Felix give Oliver. You could argue that these are exaggerations from Oliver but then, how do you explain the POV shots we get of Felix looking at Oliver? How they are also romance coded, lustful, pinky and fluffy? There is something there. To what extent there was something is pure conjecture. But, I personally believe that he had some kind of feelings for Oliver but could not express those feelings and, to an extent, found his feelings for Oliver disgusting.

Even if his mother is, in her way, tolerant of queer people, this does not mean that she would be ok with Felix being with a man. I doubt his father, who is in his 60s at the time, would be any happier about it. Again, Felix needs to have an heir and take over Saltburn. So, at most, they would've tolerated that Felix had a "friend" tucked away somewhere that Felix could go to every so often. Queerness is not the desired outcome and so, at some point, Felix would've had to separate any feelings from the matter. And, hypothetically, in boarding school any hand jobs etc. from other boys would be viewed as part of a norm that exists within the realm of "no homo."

So, given he has been emotionally intimate with Oliver and, given that he has felt more for Oliver than he probably thinks he should, he feels disgust as much as he feels desire. He can, and personally I think does, want Oliver, but feels disgusted by his feelings and has a strong desire to keep them channeled in the "appropriate" way. Just the same, he gets jealous and he does not want to share. He cannot abide by Oliver being free to pursue another partner (guarantee he would be equally as incensed if he had found out about Farleigh and it probably would've slightly registered had Oliver actually slept with Indabel). It's specifically a slap in the face that it's Venetia who has done this kind of thing before and who is allowed to be physical with these friends of Felix's with whom Felix does not feel he could or should be physically intimate. Thus, the possession and the jealousy and the spurned wife behaviour of it all.

Pt. 4 "You make my fucking blood run cold."

Bref, I think Felix had good intentions but poor thinking skills when he wanted to take Oliver to his parents' house. Multiple posts have discussed this bit and I do think he wanted to further trauma bond with Oliver the way they further trauma bonded when Oliver's dad "died", afterwards, per the script, they were "closer than ever." And then they had that intimate moment on the bridge and spent some time there completely alone instead of being at a giant party. I think he thought that the experience would bring them closer and that he would be there to, in his way, protect Oliver. And I still think this plays in to all the little ways in which Felix desires disgust and is disgusted by his desires. But he does it anyway.

The betrayal of trust and intimacy that follows has to feel like a bomb has gone off in Felix's mind. But what's worse for him, again this is solely my opinion, is that he still desires Oliver regardless. It might not have fully formed in his head and he then dulled it with drugs and alcohol and with his shoddy attempt at fucking Indabel in the maze, but possibly the inkling of why Oliver lied the way he did had entered his brain. Oliver already tried to explain. Told Felix in the hallway when they got back that he wanted to be Felix's friend. And Felix likely relived his entire relationship with Oliver including what Oliver just told him. And, to me, Felix was not entirely opposed to it. He didn't immediately kick out Oliver or cause too much of a fuss. He wanted space. He wanted to not think about it for a while. But Oliver forced his hand.

Again, here we have a Felix who is disgusted by his desire. A Felix who, deep down, knows that he likes that Oliver lied. That he likes that Oliver desires him so much that he would do anything for him. Likes that, despite NEVER wanting anyone to know the most debauched parts of him, Oliver is close to knowing all of his darkest parts and loving him for them just the same. But a Felix who, nonetheless, does not allow himself to revel in the filth once it's pointed out.

And Oliver points it out. In a big way. "Everyone puts on a show for Felix! [...] doesn't this just prove how much of a good friend I actually am? How well I actually know you!" He does know him. Felix knows this. Felix CANNOT go off script. Felix cannot acknowledge his love for things that are disgusting or less than savoury. So too he cannot allow them or acknowledge them here. And then we have something in the script vs. how Jacob actually looked that's what inspired me to write this overly long post in the first fucking place.

This is not the exact beat. Because this is after Felix says his line about his blood running cold. The vibe is the same, though. Regardless...is THAT the fact of disgust? Because to me, that is not disgust. That is some form of desire that most mortals will never experience. But then...it also IS disgust. Because the two are intertwined for him. Because he desires because of the disgust at the situation and at the lengths of debasement Oliver will go to to please him. He is a boy who loves mess and chaos and who makes his home there. And, to whatever extent, his heart could've made a home in the mess and chaos and filth that Oliver brought to the table. Even if Felix has to be disgusted at his desires and prevent them. Even if Oliver took any option or opportunity away from Felix.

Oliver makes his blood run cold, but Felix never said that was a bad thing. And it isn't. Just as Oliver revels in the filth of bodies and their fluids and the inferred possession that comes with them, so too Felix revels in the filth of places and things he shouldn't want and things he can only truly savour in the shadows where no one points them out.

TL;DR Felix is as much of a freak as Oliver is, though in a different way. He is shown to be comfortable and even like messy and gross things but, he only does so when it's not pointed out. He can be, to a point, physically close and emotionally intimate with Oliver and, even partially overlook a betrayal of this intimacy, but only if it's never pointed out. Only if it doesn't break with the expectations and social script on which he has been raised and to which he has to stick. He serves to demonstrate the relationship with disgust and desire as much as Oliver does, but his relation is more subtle and harder to see. And maybe, just maybe, given time, he would've at least bent the script.

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Super sorry for how long this is, I just needed to get it out! Thanks to @ollieapologist for being my biggest cheerleader about this post. Sorry if this is incoherent!

#saltburn #felix catton #cattonquick #super long post #just my two cents #literally I know this can be interpreted in so many ways but it's been rattling around my brain for a WHILE now #now can we get some uni prof to come grade me? lol. I think I did ok #saltburn meta

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