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samstree · 3 years

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and the wolf was nowhere to be found (2/3)

Jaskier pays the price of his lies. With blood and tears and a few broken hearts.

(4.3k, lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, blood and injury, miscommunication, mutual pining)

Previous | Read on AO3

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4].

Jaskier wakes with a crick in his neck and an aching heart.

He goes through the motion of packing, their morning routine too familiar to distract him from the heavy guilt in his chest. Jaskier wonders if Geralt is actively avoiding him—the way his back is turned at every chance can’t be a coincidence.

The only time he so much as spares a glance is when Jaskier puts the lemon cake in their rations bag, wrapped perfectly and untouched. Geralt stills for a split second, his jaw clenched.

Jaskier wants to brush it off.

Finding an excuse is the first instinct he has, thinking of a lie as to why he didn’t eat something he’s been drooling over for ages, and erase that crestfallen look on Geralt’s face, the one that is breaking his heart.

Because he can’t exactly tell the truth, which is that he’s more likely to be sick if he ate it. Another lie, however, would turn his stomach even more.

Jaskier remains silent.

Even Roach is judging him as they walk out of the stable. Jaskier bears her side eyes and annoyed headbutt without putting up a fight. The mare is too perceptive to miss the tension in the air, and her protectiveness is more than justified. She’s a smart girl. Of course, she knows Jaskier is one making her broody witcher brood even harder.

She tries to bite his doublet again, and it’s Geralt who stops her with a soothing hand down his mane, murmuring confused questions into her ear. Sweet, kind Geralt, who has been rejected by Jaskier so many times for no reason in the past few days, is still trying to defend him.

Jaskier needs to make it right.

“Geralt, look—”

“Master Jaskier!”

Someone in the distance rudely interrupts Jaskier’s nervous attempt. He turns by instinct and watches a boy in lilac doublet jog up to them. He’s so young, no older than twenty, still with that joviality and naïvety in his features. The way his matching doublet and trousers could catch the eyes of any crowd reminds Jaskier of himself in his early years.

“Sweet Melitele, I’m your biggest fan! Oh my…” the boy proclaims, awestruck. “I’ve been following your ballads for years, and now I get to meet you in person!”

Jaskier looks to Geralt and then back at the man.

“Ah, I’m flattered. It’s always nice to meet a fan, but you see—” Jaskier gestures to the horse and the man behind him. “—I’m in a hurry to leave town.”

Besides, he’s in no mood to converse right now. The quicker he can get Geralt alone, the better. With this weight on his chest, Jaskier feels so drained just talking to anyone but his witcher, let alone dealing with an enthusiastic fan.

“Oh but you must listen to my set first!” The boy looks at him expectantly. “I dream of writing a hit song just like Toss a Coin. I could be just as big—”

“I’d love to, but the circumstances won’t allow it.” With the biggest smile plastered on his face, Jaskier dismisses the guy. “I’m sure there’s promise in you, especially now you’ve chosen the correct role model—”

“You can go, Jaskier.”

Jaskier snaps his head to Geralt, confused as to what he just heard.

“We need to leave this morning, my dear. That’s the plan.” Jaskier frowns. “Remember?”

He excuses himself to the young man and drags Geralt away too quickly, too rudely—on another day he’d feel contrite ignoring a fan like this, but today he’s mind is occupied by something much more important.

Once out on the street and alone, Geralt’s befuddled frown deepens. “Why did you—”

“I need to tell you something,” Jaskier interrupts. “Before I say it, I know you will get mad at me, but you have to understand that the past year has been hard on me, Geralt. When you showed up in Oxenfurt out of the blue, I didn’t have enough time to process everything or what it would mean for us to travel together again. That’s why everything is so wrong now and I need to make it right.”

“I know what you want to say.”

The world stops.

All he can see is that pained look on Geralt’s face, the one that’s breaking his heart and making his blood run cold. Of course, he knows, witcher senses and all. As if Jaskier has ever gotten away with lying to Geralt’s face in the past.

“You do?” he breathes, the crack in his voice unmistakable.

Geralt lets out a sigh. He’s not mad. At least, he doesn’t look like he’s angry with Jaskier. “It’s been obvious in the past few days, and I… I do understand.”

“Oh.”

There’s still hope then. Jaskier just needs to come clean and apologize, and, definitely, throw whatever game he’s been playing out the window. They will be fine. The two of them, the bard and the witcher on the path, just like the old days—

“I can leave now,” Geralt starts. “With me gone, you’d be free to stay here for longer. You have so many things to see and so many people to meet. You can go back and talk to the boy. Finally, there’s someone who can wax lyrical with you. It’ll be for the best.”

“What?”

“You don’t need to say it, Jaskier. I can see now that it’s better if we part ways. Let’s not make things more difficult.”

Jaskier stares, gaping like a fish out of water. He can’t believe what he’s hearing, after all this time, after the mountain. Geralt wouldn’t do it.

He wouldn’t.

“You are leaving me here?”

Geralt looks as if he’s stricken. His shoulders tense like every time he wants to appear smaller.

“It’s for the best,” he repeats.

Jaskier shakes his head. “Wait, I thought you understood. I’m sorry, Geralt, for the past few days. I didn’t mean to… I wanted to apologize, so you know I didn’t mean it.”

The smile at the corners of Geralt’s lips is too sad.

“You don’t need to apologize. It wasn’t fair of me to ask it of you to begin with—”

“Ask me what?”

“—Us traveling together again… It was only wishful thinking. There was never a second chance and I never should have gone to find you.”

Jaskier takes a step back, swallowing the lump in his throat. Suddenly the collar of his doublet is too tight and the lute on his back is too heavy. He has to look away from Geralt’s resolute face just to stop the stinging in his eyes.

“You promised…” he mumbles. “You promised not to leave again.”

Geralt falters for a second, his hand resting on Roach’s saddle as if to steady himself. When he answers, his tone is cold, colder than Jaskier can take.

“How can I keep you when everything catches your eye, Jask? You are not made to stay... Not with me. Not after everything that happened.”

Disbelievingly, Jaskier retreats. His hand fists around the strap of his lute case, digging into his palm. “Not made to stay? Seriously?”

“It’s for the—”

“If you tell me it’s for the best one more time, I swear, Geralt…”

“Jaskier.”

Geralt calls out his name without heat like he’s placating an unreasonable child. Jaskier exhales in exasperation.

“Maybe you are right that it was only wishful thinking.” he forces the words out, his heart sinking. “For once it was actually my fault, and you can’t wait to ask for life’s one blessing again.”

“I—”

“Fine. Have at it,” Jaskier hisses. “I don’t care.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Jaskier lands the biggest lie he’s ever told in this mess. He drags his feet to cooperate, to take him away and put some distance between him and the worst disaster that’s ever descended upon his life.

Roach neighs, but the sound is far-away. Jaskier grabs at the doublet at his chest and wonders if the witcher-shaped hole within can ever be filled.

Jaskier doesn’t stop.

He walks into the bustling crowd of the market, heedless of cheery townspeople going about their day, and he keeps walking until the noise dies down.

Jaskier stops at the riverbank with nowhere to go, so he sits down on the ground and finally lets the dam break.

Crying does very little to ease the ache, and yet when the tears bring a release for the pent-up pressure in his chest. It’s hard to feel justified in letting the pain be cried away when he’s so aware of his own faults in the once-again ending of their companionship.

After all, Geralt couldn’t wait to throw him aside on top of that mountain when he’d done nothing wrong. What makes him think Geralt will tolerate him when he intentionally fucks things up.

Jaskier gasps for air, but only a whimper chokes out. How pathetic, to regret the most precious second chance destiny has ever granted him.

Now he knows for sure that he doesn’t deserve to cry, to let himself feel even just slightly better in the wake of his destruction.

Jaskier tries to stifle the tears with a hand at his mouth, and breathes. In and out, one breath after another. It’s like trying to contain a storm threatening to wreck through his entire being.

But he manages, after an eternity.

Jaskier sniffles one last time and wipes away the tear tracks. There’s a tremor in his hands but he pays no mind. The lute case is laying carelessly in the grass where he dropped it. He slings it onto his back and realizes that in a frenzy, he’s left everything else he owns in Roach’s saddlebags.

He could laugh at the idea of going back there, tail between his legs, as if being kicked out of Geralt’s life—for good this time—isn’t humiliating enough. His only hope hangs on the possibility that Geralt may have left his packs at the inn so they don’t have to face each other. Why would Geralt want to see him anyway? The witcher should be long gone.

Jaskier doesn’t make it too far when a streak of lilac pops out of nowhere.

“Oh! Here you are, Master Jaskier. You are a hard man to track down.”

The boy still looks too chirpy for Jaskier’s liking, too bright and too carefree. His mood is soured even further.

“Look, I’m not fit for company today.” Jaskier walks right past the young man, heedless of his insistence. “Mister—what is your name? Maybe you’ll catch me at the next festival if fate allows.”

The boy ignores his deflection and stops right in front of Jaskier’s face, which successfully draws his full attention and pisses him off completely. “I said—”

“Why are you in such a hurry?” The kid doesn’t relent. “I thought the witcher is determined to abandon you for the second time. Don’t you think he’ll stick to it this time?”

Strangely, the other man doesn’t look nearly as young up close. His face is youthful for sure, smooth and unblemished, and yet there’s an inexplicable weariness in his blue eyes. Now that Jaskier notices, these blue eyes look eerily similar to his own. With just the eyes, he could be looking into a mirror.

Jaskier wants to squirm.

“Did no one teach you that eavesdropping is rude?” He pauses, startled. “Wait, a second time… You knew—”

“Oh.” The man looks sheepish. “Can’t blame a fan for keeping tabs on you, can we?”

An overly zealous fan is nothing new, but somehow, this one sends a shiver down Jaskier’s spine.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Jaskier says, trying to back away. “I need to get back to town. You know, where the inspirations are, so I’ll find it in me to… um, compose more of those pieces you love so much.”

“Oh, don’t kid yourself! You are not going back to him, are you? Twenty years! All the sweat and blood and singing his praises and this is what you get after all this time!”

The guy grabs at Jaskier’s arm, which he shakes off in horror.

“You know nothing about me. Or Geralt.”

“That witcher will never see you!” he exclaims. “I was there when your first ballad swept the continent off its feet, Jaskier. From that moment on, I knew you were special. What appreciation has that mutant shown you? Only insults and scorn.”

“Geralt is not like that, he—”

Jaskier freezes to the spot.

He forces his attention back to the boy’s face. His eyes are still startlingly blue, even more so in anger. There’s not a single trace of age at his temples, and yet…

“My first song was twenty-two years ago,” Jaskier states, something akin to fear creeping into his voice. “What did you say your name was again?”

At those words, the man’s face shifts. It’s like watching someone shed a layer of skin, a façade, and another being emerges. A much more powerful one.

“Does it matter?” When he answers, there's magic in the air, sizzling with power. The blue of his eyes shimmers under the surface, ever so slightly. Jaskier’s heart clenches.

Not human.

Definitely not human.

“We never got to know each other, well,” Jaskier stalls. “I think now it’s not too late.”

He has an inkling that getting away will not be an easy feat. He can hope to distract this… this creature long enough for a chance to run. His hand tightens around the strap nervously, and the man’s eyes follow the movement without a beat.

Shit.

Jaskier turns to run, to take the lute case in his hands as a weapon, but it’s too late. The next thing he knows, the case is thrown against the ground and he’s backed against a tree. The other man’s grip around Jaskier’s wrists is like a vice, securing his hands right above him.

Jaskier wants to scream, but no sound escapes his throat. His body shakes all over, out of control.

“The fae never reveal our name easily,” the creature hisses.

Those blue eyes are too sharp and there’s a scent growing overwhelmingly strong. Fae, as it turns out, smell like newly cut grass and wildflowers, like the forest.

If only Jaskier can live long enough to share the trivia.

And then, with both their hands occupied, the fae presses his forehead to Jaskier. He struggles but to no avail.

The touch is cold and something is slipping into Jaskier’s mind like an icy stream in the spring. It trickles probs at every corner of his memories.

“Oh, even now you are loyal to the witcher. You still believe he’ll save you, little songbird.”

Jaskier’s vision turns fuzzy. His soundless whimpering breaks into breathless gasps, like a wounded animal waiting for a mercy kill. At the back of his mind, he’s achingly aware of Geralt’s absence. His witcher in shining armor won’t come this time, not after all the—

“All the pretty little lies. Every single one of them, born out of love, misguided.”

However true that statement is, Jaskier doesn’t want to hear it. His love for Geralt shouldn’t be spoken with malice. He fights against the fae’s iron hold with everything he can muster.

There’s a crack of bones before the pain hits him, exploding from his wrists all the way down his arms. Jaskier sobs, the edges of his vision darkening, the shock threatening to pull him under. He still can’t make a sound.

“What can we do?” The fae’s voice comes from a distant realm. “How can we have your loyalty as the witcher does? Oh, how fierce you are, songbird. To have your voice at our court… Perhaps, more lies will do. Yes, it was your choice, what your heart desired. A gift from us.”

Jaskier can’t process anything he’s hearing. He’s too tired from the searing pain in his wrists.

“Just a few lies. They’ll be easy to roll off the tongue, and yet, such powerful weapons.” The fae retreats. “A gift of lies. Thank you for the inspiration, Jaskier the bard. We hope you enjoy it as much as we will.”

Without the brute force holding up his body, Jaskier sagas against the tree, his legs unable to support his weight. His lungs burn and his mind turns fuzzy, bereft of the fae’s presence.

Jaskier needs to move, needs to scramble away from this place. But before the sweet relief of freedom even hits him, magic seizes him again and, finally, finally, a world-ending scream explodes from his lungs.

The world goes to black soon after.

Jaskier wakes to someone shaking his shoulder, someone gentle.

His body pulses like a bruised nerve. The back of his head feels like it’s been trampled by a whole army and his neck creaks at the barest move. Jaskier’s nose is buried in damp grass and he chokes, which jostles his neck even more.

He groans miserably and tries to touch, only to be stopped by the burning in his wrists. He lets out a hiss.

Right, broken bones. Blue eyes that look the same as his. Fae.

“Careful… Fuck, Jaskier, what happened?”

A gravelly voice comes through the fog.

Geralt.

Oh, Jaskier can sob with relief. He arches his back, slowly propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes are so sore from lying on the ground face down, but the sight of his witcher is unmistakable.

Jaskier wants to call out for his witcher, but a sob is the only thing that gets out. He cradles his hands and finds his right wrist is swollen red and sensitive to the touch, but the left looks more or less the same. Only a throbbing pain tugging at his fingertips.

He reaches to the back of his head with his left hand, where the crick is prickling at his nerves, only to find a gash at his nape and hair caked with blood. He doesn’t remember hitting his head while falling. He doesn’t remember falling at all.

So, one wrist sprained, the other broken, plus a gaping hole in his head. Jaskier can cope.

If he doesn’t die from the embarrassment, that is. He whines pathetically, already exhausted.

“I told you not to move.” Geralt catches Jaskier’s tilting body. Amber gold flows with concern. “What happened to you, Jask?”

The question comes out soft, more of a whisper to the witcher himself than demanding answers. Jaskier’s lips wobble at the endearment. He needs to tell Geralt everything. Fuck his injured pride. Geralt came for him. This wonderful, beautiful, sweet man came to him after the disaster that is this morning and he’s still trying to help Jaskier.

All because Geralt is safety. He’s safety and home, and Jaskier needs to tell him—

“None of your business, witcher.”

It takes a moment for Jaskier to register what left his lips, the venom that drips from these words so foreign. He’s never aimed at Geralt before. From the looks of it, Geralt is equally startled if the tiny crease by his lips is any indication.

“You hit your head,” Geralt says patiently, hovering close to Jaskier’s face in an attempt to check the wound on his neck. “It’s bad. Here, let me see—”

“Get your filthy hands away from me!”

The words fly out on their own volition. Jaskier flinches, the same time as Geralt takes back his hand as if burned. He closes his mouth with a pop and the feeling of something severely wrong weighs down on his stomach. That’s not what he meant, not at all. The only thing he wants to do is lean into Geralt’s touch and melt into a puddle. Whyever did his mouth betray his heart? Why did he…

Why did he…

…Lie?

His mind focuses on a sing-songy voice.

A gift from us.

A gift of lies.

It’s like a bucket of ice water thrown over Jaskier’s head. He sobers up immediately. The inspiration they took from him. The fae’s gift.

The fae’s curse.

Geralt’s brows are knitted together, amber eyes imbued with hurt. He is still crouched in front of Jaskier, hands fisted at his side and shoulders taut. He’s got the look now, that lost look that only appears when a mob drives him out of town with pitchforks and stones. Jaskier has seen that look one too many times.

And now he's the one causing it.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks, shocked, unsure.

Jaskier breathes hard and tastes the bile rising in his throat. Geralt doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to have that hopeless look on his face or to be shunned by the world, by anyone, and least of all, by someone he’s let stay beside him for so many years. By the Gods, Jaskier needs to let Geralt know he’s the kindest person on earth and more human than any human. He’s Jaskier’s friend and protector, his dream, his heart—

“You are a mutant, a freak,” Jaskier feels the words slip out, too late to realize the mistake of opening his mouth. “No better than the monsters you slay.” The magic compels his tongue. He bites down on it but it’s only futile. “You feel nothing and give nothing but death to those around you.”

Jaskier recoils, tasting blood. In front of him, Geralt mirrors his movement. The entire time, the wolf medallion rests against his chest plate, Jaskier’s last hope, sitting still and unresponsive.

And Geralt…

He doesn’t defend himself.

Of course not. Geralt never defends himself against the stoning even when he can easily defeat most humans with his bare hands. There’s a faded scar near his hairline, a solid proof of men’s capacity for prejudice and violence.

Now Jaskier has joined their ranks.

Geralt looks like he’s been suck-punched in the gut, his eyes wide and crestfallen. And yet, wide amber eyes gaze upon Jaskier without accusation, only quiet acceptance. Jaskier shudders with disgust and fear, which must be the reason Geralt is backing away further.

“I’ll leave… If you—” he pauses, before standing up. “I see. This is goodbye, Jaskier.”

Don’t go!

“Get away then!”

Jaskier shakes his head, putting all the force he can muster into biting into his lips, scared of what may come out. His wrists burn but he has to force his mouth shut by pressing his palms over it.

Why can’t Geralt see that something’s wrong? Why can’t he see Jaskier?

See me! Jaskier pleads silently through the tears.

Geralt’s face falters as he spares one last glance at Jaskier.

Look what you’ve done to him, the sing-songy voice returns. This is your choice. You chose to lie, little poet. Be careful what you wish for.

Jaskier crumbles like a puppet with his strings cut. He barely contains the choked-out whimpers. The burning in his lungs is nothing compared to the anguish. He could die at this moment and it would be a sweet release. Hurting Geralt like this, it’s worse than a thousand broken bones and a million cuts on his skin. In the darkest corners of his mind, he wants Geralt to walk away from him. If Jaskier has to spew any more venom towards the man he’s loved for more than half of his life, he’d surely want to walk into the ocean and never come out.

He presses his ears to the grass and remembers the cold wind on the mountain. He was a fool to hope Geralt could come to him then. He is a fool now.

The witcher drags his feet away, one step after another, trampling the soft flora under him, and then—

And then, by some miracle, he stops.

Jaskier watches as his witcher turns around and rushes back to his side, his jaw clenched and eyes determined. His heart bursts with hope, but his fists press against his mouth harder. There’s more blood coating his tongue.

“I can’t,” Geralt states as he kneels next to Jaskier’s curled body. The betrayal in his eyes ebbs away and in its place is something…tortured.

Jaskier shakes his head, or is he trembling again? His vision swims with blood loss. He won’t be able to stay awake for long.

“I can’t leave you here, Jaskier,” he muses to himself, frowning deep. “Shit. You are bleeding again.”

Jaskier scoffs into his fist, almost hysterical.

“You are in shock, and you are about to pass out. I don’t know what happened, but your wrists are a mess. Jaskier…” The name comes out like a prayer. “I heard your wishes. Loud and clear, this time. I know you loathe my presence in your life, but… I have to make sure you’ll get better. Please, forgive me.”

Geralt tries to gently pry Jaskeir’s hands away, but he struggles blindly. Through the haze of his mind, Jaskier’s last thought reminds him to keep his mouth closed.

“Forgive me,” Geralt mutters in anguish, “I can’t let you hurt yourself because of me. Forgive me, just one more time.”

His hand makes the familiar sign of Axii, and everything turns…soft.

The pain is gone, the magical hold on his tongue too. Jaskier loses himself in the mellow sensation of giving up control. The ground disappears under his body and his head lolls against Geralt’s chest.

“I was wrong.” Regret rumbles deep in Geralt’s chest. “I was the curse that befell you. After all the hurt you’ve received by my side, Gods, and I still can’t keep myself away from you. I will not make the mistake of forcing myself into your life again, Jask. Allow me a few days to see you safe, and then... Never again.”

The vow is so wrong, but Jaskeir is powerless to protest. He catches a broken whisper before darkness claims him for the second time on the same day.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier. For my heart.”

Jaskier welcomes the oblivion that drags him under, as well as the nightmares that follow.

I'm...sorry.

One more chapter to go. Hopefully this time I won't have to up the chapter count. Some real communication and comfort are on the way! <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @a-kind-of-merry-war @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #lying spell #cursed jaskier #miscommunication #mutual pining #jaskier fucks up real good in this one #and bears the consequences #geralt x jaskier #again i'm sorry #i meant to end it with geralt walking away #and thought #in this economy?#but somehow this is... worse?#hurt jaskier #jaskier whump #hurt geralt #everytime i hurt geralt's heart i go 🥺🥺

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

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as ur irl bestie i am cashing in my favor and am asking- no begging for a dilf damon fic pls <3

😑fine fineee I guess I can take a quick break from writing BNHA stuff for you🙄

CW: NSFW, Damon Albarn being an a-hole, manipulation, gaslighting, language minor stuff like that

The studio itself was pretty spacious, you couldn't lie. As much as you loathed to give this cursed group any more credit, you were hard-pressed to remember the last time you´d been called into such a professional recording booth. You were used to dingy atmospheres, crumbling walls, stained carpet, and even cramped garages at times. It felt like your years of meticulously swaying your hand back and forth on the rosin and tuning your strings until they damn near popped were slowly going down the drain, lost in spaces of screaming adolescent boys and shady market agents. The streets of London were unforgiving for a young musician like you, no room to turn to since others were exactly in the same position as you.

It was by pure coincidence that the day you had played for a local cafe for a small commission, Graham fucking Coxon was sitting in the back of the run-down joint, sipping a murky glass of Bourbon.

You didn't notice him at first, of course. You had simply let the music in your mind travel from your head down to your arms, and allowed it to move through your fingertips to your bow. The serene melody that sang through the air had turned his head to face you, the shitty drink in his hand stopped halfway to his mouth.

Your solo was only a couple of minutes, but the second you were done and packing your bags to head out, the brunette made a beeline for you, blocking your exit.

¨Uh, can I help you?¨ You cock your head and shift your violin case.

¨Yes, you can actually. Listen, I know this is gonna sound a bit straightforward, but I really liked your piece. Did you compose it yourself?¨ He sounds quiet and sounds nervous, with him barely looking you in the eyes.

¨Yeah, I did!¨ You can´t help but beam-it took you several days just to perfect a few meager lines, but in the end you were content with the piece.

¨Wow...that's serious talent right there,¨ He opens the door for you, and you nod before you head out, him trailing behind you as he leaves with you.

¨You make a good amount of money doing small jobs like this?¨ His voice is nasally and low, but with a slightly higher pitch than your typical London accent.

At this, you squint your eyes a bit and turn your head at him. It was nice of him to be interested in your work, but for someone you don't personally know, the idea of talking about your small gigs that merited little to no money was not something you were fond of.

He senses your hesitancy and immediately withdraws. ¨I´m sorry, that was probably rude of me to be so blunt about it. Actually, I don´t think I´ve properly introduced myself.¨ He stops to face you, and you do the same.

¨I´m Graham Coxon. You may or may not have heard of me, but I can assure you that I too enjoy music, as an understatement.¨ He extends a calloused hand and smiles a little bit, adjusting the blocky glasses on his face.

Graham...Coxon? Graham as in....oh, holy shit.

¨No way.¨

¨Er...unfortunately, yes way.¨ His soft voice lilts as he holds back a laugh, and you gape at him.

¨Oh my god!¨ You drop your violin case in the excitement of eagerly returning his handshake. ¨You-you're from Blur! I know you!¨

¨Was from Blur, and ´careful now, don´t wanna ruin your instrument. But listen, I´m kind of in a bind here so I´ll get to the chase. We´re working on a few chords here and there back at the studio, and I´ve been on the lookout for a while for someone who fits our tune. ´Thing is, the deadline for submitting our song is comin´ up fast, so we only have a couple weeks left.¨

You raise your eyebrows, heart pounding in your chest as you listen to his proposition.

¨So I´m thinking, you sound pretty good, it's exactly what we need to fill in our bridge. I´d love it if you came in and played a tune for us. If we like you and you´re cool with it, you could feature on our song.¨

It feels surreal. Were you hearing right? Graham Coxon from Blur asking you to play on his song? This had to be a prank.

¨Ẅait, but you've only heard me once, what if my sound doesn't match what you're actually looking for?¨ You stammer, palms clammy as you wipe them off on your trousers.

¨Well, that's what a rehearsal session is for, lovely,¨ He chuckles nervously and slides his slightly foggy glasses up his nose. ¨So, you wanna give it a go?¨

You think for a moment, biting your lower lip. There wasn't exactly anything stopping you now, was there? I mean, sure, the prospect of playing in front of one of UK's most famous bands was daunting, but this was your chance to finally be recognized!

Taking a deep breath, you pick up your fallen case and nod. ¨Alright, I´m in. When you do wanna meet up?¨

Graham visibility deflates in relief, letting out a shaky exhale. ¨Great. I'll text you the time and place, yeah? The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up, so we´ll be in contact soon.¨

You both exchange numbers, your phone tingling in your hand long after you bid farewell and drive home in a buzz.

When you finally get home to your apartment, you throw your keys onto the counter and flop down onto the mattress. What a fucking day.

So many thoughts bounce around in your addled head. You want to do well, but obviously you don't have their kind of experience in the industry. Should you play more in tune with their song, or continue with your own sound? An idea pops into your head amidst your lunch, a few hours later. Why not just do some more research on the band themselves? Then you'd know exactly what kind of music they're looking for.

The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up.

Oh yeah, who else was in the band? It's not like you didn't know who Blur was at their peak, but you paid more attention to their music rather than their faces. Truthfully, you never really basked in tabloids and newspapers purring about the next big scandal, or the top dogs of Britain´s industry when that stuff was relevant.

You abandon your pathetic sandwich and make your way to your laptop, sliding into a chair and getting down to business. After a few quick searches, you pull up a couple tabs around the name Blur.

Graham Coxon- Recovering alcoholic. Big fight with Damon Albarn.

Alex James- Cute boy turned conservative. Classic case.

Dave Rowntree- Mainly untouched. Became a successful lawyer. Good for him.

Damon Albarn- A fucking mess.

Puffing up your cheeks and putting your hands behind your head, you lean back in your chair. Good god, this man is a wreck. Headlines from decades ago swim in and out of your eyes, loud, obnoxious neon prints of Justine and Damon broken up again? Suede claps back!, or Will the Blur Brothers ever come back to each other? Find out first-hand from Coxon himself!, and worst of all, Albarn relapses again, Damon Albarn from Blur goes head-to-head with Liam and Noel-news flash, the brothers win!

You think you see something about him and a potential wife and child, and that's when you decide it's time to sleep.

After all, there's no point in getting caught up in any of their backstories.You were just there to play a solo and get out. Nosing around in their lives was more trouble than what it was worth, anyways.

Which is exactly what you kept trying to tell yourself as you walked into the modern studio two weeks later, its grey soundproof walls and white floor screaming fancy and rich to you. And fancy and rich didn't come without grit and experience, which you had none of. As if to emphasize your inexperience, you went into the wrong halls twice before you exasperatedly checked your messages with Graham and saw that no, it wasn´t room 311, it was room 113.

Finally, finally, you came across your designated room. The mahogany door was closed, and you placed a hand on the silver knob. You could faintly hear the sounds of a guitar being played from the inside, and it was curiosity above everything else that compelled you to push it open.

From behind the clear window that separated the booth from the recording area, you see them. Graham, Damon, and other men you don't recognize are all in the midst of the song, the same song Graham had texted you the PDF of for the violin notes. You sheepishly take a few steps forward and clear your throat to catch the attention of a bald man leaning back against his chair right in front of the glass. He turns around and you give a weak little wave, clutching your case in the other hand.

¨Hey, I´m here for-¨

¨-Yeah, yeah, Graham told me all about you. Go on ahead and join in, they just started.¨ He pulls a toothpick out from between his lips and gestures to the door of the divider.

You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you make your way through the second door, and the second you step inside meekly, Damon and Graham´s eyes are on you.

Graham continues to play the guitar, only lighting up his eyes and giving you an encouraging nod when you step in, and the other two men on bass and saxophone also give a quick smile in greeting. And Damon…well.

Damon barely acknowledges you.

He continues to sing and stare straight ahead at the wall in front of him as if there's an interesting scene being played out on the grey paint.

You´re unsure of whether to catch his attention and give a proper greeting, but you decide not to as it would interfere with the song. So instead, you quickly grab a nearby chair and stand and set up your rosin and papers.

Your timing is perfect; the bridge is about to come up. Just to be certain, you look up from your poised position and catch the eyes of most everyone except for Damon´s. They all give you a quick thumbs up or an expectant look for your confirmation of playing.

And then, it comes. Damon stops singing, and your cue to sweep your bow across the horse hairs of your strings comes.

Melodious, whole, fulfilling, it was. Graham´s guitar chords harmonized with the tones of your violin, and music that you´ve never dreamed of creating was made by your hands exceptionally.

Everyone was in awe of your raw talent, from the way their gazes were rapt onto your bow, moving back and forth,staying still in some highs and whittling away at the lows. You even thought you saw the producer from inside the booth turn his head towards you from the corner of your eye, but you couldn´ be sure.

Everyone except Damon Albarn.

The song ended a minute later with the signal of a fading out bass, and then there was silence.

¨Right on with that tune.. ´Thought we'd be fucked ova´ if we didn't find someone to take that melody.¨ The bassist with long shaggy hair grinned and you returned one back.

¨Yeah, I was kind of hesitant when Graham ´ere told us he found one to take this position on, but I'm pleased.¨ The saxophone player scratched his chin and hummed his agreement. You felt relief.

Until he spoke.

¨Is this your first time playing?¨

You look incredulously over at him, looking straight on at his face. Sandy hair, lines on his cheeks, slight scruff around his chin, he looked older than his online pictures.

¨Uhh, no?¨ You laugh a little, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice. ¨If I was, I doubt Graham would think I´m good enough to play with you guys.¨

¨I don't think Graham is the only one who needs to think that.¨ Everyone shifts uncomfortably, looking nervously from Damon to you, and Graham tugs his collar as if the temperature had gone up.

But nonetheless, you don't back down.

¨Oh yeah? How so?¨

¨You played the G-string too high,¨ He deadpans, looking utterly bored amidst oceanic hues.

¨What?¨ You flip your music pages a couple of times until you find the page where you played that part. ¨No I didn´t, I was right on tune-do you even know how to play the violin?¨

¨No,¨ he smirks, and with your blood boiling steadily you open your mouth to argue, but thankfully Graham butts in.

¨Damon, don´t be a prick, she played fine. Unlike you, who fucked up on the 5th verse.¨

The man in question lazily stretches his arms above his head, causing his white tee to rise a few inches over his belly button. You can´t help but glance at the skin-it's smooth, cleanly chiseled with part of his v-line showing, a happy trail rising from the juncture.

¨Oi, sweetheart, eyes up here.¨

You snap your gaze back to his smug face, cheeks burning.

¨I didn´t-¨

¨Sure you didn´t. Just like how I didn't mess up on the 5th verse, and how you didn't ruin the song with your shitty violin, yeah?¨ He simpers, and you almost rise out of your seat to snarl at him before Graham jumps in between you two, scolding a very inappropriately-grinning Damon.

You get up out of your chair and huff, shoving your belongings back into your bag as everyone else packs up, the men bickering and playfully throwing shit at each other.

The producer even congratulates you on your successful first day, and everyone cheers and pounds you on your back, your hair falling in your face and gracefully hiding your 120k watt smile.

Damon shoulders right past you, knocking your case right out of your hands. You grapple with it for a second before it hits the ground, and when it does you whip around and shoot him an icy glare.

He's not even looking at you, he's already out the door.

It's quiet for a moment.

¨Well, there he goes again being a dickhead. Classic Damon, you got.¨ The saxophone player points to the leaving blond and grins sheepishly at you.

¨What's his problem?¨ You ask in disgust, shaking your head as you join the rest of the boys leaving.

¨Uh, well...¨ Graham scratches the back of his head and avoids looking at you. ¨He's always been kind of like that, y´know, so don't take it too personally, but between just us four, his wife´s been on his arse for a bit about um...some...domestic affairs.¨ He finishes lamely, and the other two men guffaw at your raised eyebrow.

You don't have a chance to press further as to ask what domestic affairs, exactly because a loud clap of thunder shakes you all to your cores as you step outside.

¨Aw, come on!¨ You stamp your foot and hold out your hand for confirmation of the raindrops about to drop on you all. ¨I didn't know it was gonna rain today,¨ you grumble.

Graham squints up at the sky and wipes some droplets off his blurred glasses, covering his head with his jacket hood as he begins walking to the parking garage. ¨I´ll see you lot in about a week, yeah? Just keep practicing, good rehearsal we had today!¨ He waves his hand and dashes off.

¨Good job on your first day, Y/N. Fancy the weather on your walk back for us!¨ The sax and bass player bid farewell and also do a sprint to their respective cars, splashing through the puddles and sending muddy water on your pants.

¨Urgh!¨ You raise your hands to try and protect your bottoms but to no avail- London's sewage strikes again.

Sighing in defeat, you walk through the rain towards your car, succumbing to the grimy walk. Unfortunately you didn't think to use the parking garage due to high nerves when you first came in.

You walk for about 5 minutes, the rain drenching your hair and clothes and chilling you to your bones.

Could this day get any more annoying?

Oh, but you should´ve known that it could.

Because right at that moment, a black limo swerves right next to you on the sidewalk, sending a massive wave of gutter water right your way.

You swear loudly and jump back, barely managing to avoid the remnants of the sewage tsunami crossing your feet.

Looking up wildly at the offensive vehicle, you make a fist and flip the window off, your lip curled up into a snarl.

The obsidian glass rolls down.

¨Well that's not very nice, is it? Nasty weather we got going on right now, careful it doesn't get on your clothes.¨

Oh.

¨It's you,¨ you monotone, less than pleased to see his salacious grin at your predicament-which was being soaked to your undergarments in brown muddy water, your hair clinging to your face and your violin case lugging down towards the ground, its weight proving mutiny against you today of all days.

¨In the flesh,¨ Damon beams, and you scowl at his cheery attitude.

¨You almost drowned me, asshole,¨ You turn your nose up in scorn, and he chuckles in his baritone voice.

¨Nah, cant´ve love, I can't drive,¨ he clicks his tongue and jerks his thumb to the seat in front of him, where you assume his chauffeur is.

¨Oh, so it was under your orders that your poor driver practically waterboarded me?¨ ¨Well, yeah, I mean what else do you expect me to do when I see a pretty lady walking so harmlessly in the rain?¨ Your voice catches in your throat for a second from his words and the way his glacial eyes twinkle for a moment, but then he erupts in dry chuckles at your demeanor and you throttle your hesitancy at speaking.

¨Shut up, you're absolutely vile, y´know that?¨ ¨So I´ve been told, but to be honest sweetheart, I´d rather hear that in bed, where I´m used to hearing it. Now are you going to get in or shall I talk about my sexual prowess with you the rest of the afternoon?¨ He opens his door from the inside and mockingly winks at you.

You feign a gag, but still decide to jump in the spacious limo when a flash of lightning lights up the sky.

He scoots back to give you space to sit and adjust your violin case on the seats in front of you, but just as you´re about to close the door, he leans in right next to you and reaches behind you to pull it shut himself.

You´re caught still as he draws close, you´re extended hand frozen in midair as his arm against your back flexes and stiffens with it pulling the door. You can feel his breath against your neck as he exhales, can feel some of his hair tickling against your ear and cheek. You hold your breath, not daring to move lest you accidentally brush up against his proximity.

The loud slam of the door causes you to jump, and he laughs a little at that, signaling his driver to go.

You don't quite face him, your gaze down in your lap as his entire body is facing you, still stuck in its position when he was closing the car door.

¨Not nervous, are you?¨ He murmurs in your ear, and you can´t help it when your whole body shivers at feeling the rumble in his gravelly voice.

¨N-no, I´m not. Do you have to be so close?¨ You stammer, barely giving him a sideways glance which eggs him on, much to your displeasure.

¨Not really. But if you´re not nervous, then it shouldn't be a problem, right?¨ He says quietly and leans around to catch your eye.

Before you can lose your nerve and jump out of the car, you snap at him. ¨You just don´t quit, do you?¨

He finally relents and the side of his pink lips lift lazily as he stretches his knees out and practically manspreads across the expanse of three seats. ¨Nope. Not that you really were against it though, ´could feel your heart pounding a mile a minute sweetheart. Trust me, I´m used to making girls nervous, I would know.¨

You sneer at him. ¨Don´t call me sweetheart, and yeah, I was nervous about getting some disease-ridden prick like you getting close to me. God knows how many STD´s you've contracted from bedding some poor groupies.¨

¨Only one way to find out, right love?¨ He leans his head up to the car ceiling and lets his tousled golden hair flop back, his jawline accentuated by the cream-colored seats contrasting with his tan skin.

You catch yourself staring, and shake your head quickly.

¨You must´ve been more hopped up on heroine than I thought if you think I´d ever fuck a self-absorbed, narcissitic bastard like you.¨

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, but once they do your eyes widen and you clap a hand over your mouth in horror.

Damon lifts his head and slowly turns to face you, his mouth set in a thin line.

¨A self-absorbed, narcissistic bastard whose limo you're riding in, need I remind you, so I can´t be all that bad. ´Can't say I haven't heard any of that before love, but most girls who say that end up in my bed anyways.¨

You open your mouth to argue but he cuts you off.

¨Although, ´hopped up on heroin´ is a new one. Just exactly how much research have you done about me so far?¨

Your rebuttal dies in your throat. You were caught.

Your ears burn and your face flushes as you bite your lip in embarrassment. Maybe you went too far, and on top of that you let it slip that you knew about him beforehand.

But you refuse to kowtow in humiliation to this idiot, so you think quickly.

¨I doubt you´ve got your head that far up your ass to disregard how half the world was tuning into your personal life when Blur was big, Damon.¨

He looks unimpressed with your excuse, but before he can open his mouth to question you further, you hurry up with another save.

¨Also, where are we going? You never asked me where my car was.¨

Bingo His eyes brighten and he shouts at the driver, harping on about him being a brain-dead idiot for driving in circles the past 10 minutes.

What a save.

*******************

The moment you step into the booth next week, a drumstick is lobbed at you from seemingly nowhere. You yelp and hold your case up, blocking the weapon as it bounces off your makeshift shield. You bring the case down and shoot a glare towards the only man you know capable of acting so childishly at his grown age.

But he´s already scrolling through his phone, looking for a measure to start from.

¨You´re late.¨

¨Hardly,¨ you mutter, glancing at the clock on the wall. Two minutes past shouldn´t be an excuse for having a drumstick pick out your eye.

¨Good to see you again, Y/N,¨ Graham pipes up softly, sending you an apologetic glance from Damon to you and you stick out your tongue in faux annoyance.

The other two members of your group greet you as well, and you all begin practice. Notes begin harmonizing together, voice and sound coinciding to make music you´ve swayed your hips and nodded your head to on blue nights.

It´s a hot day, humidity clinging to your skin akin to the perspiration hanging off your forehead, and halfway through the song you decide to take off your sweater. You´re wearing a white tank top underneath, nothing too revealing save for the slight dip in the V-neck, but you couldn't care less about modesty at the moment when your fingers were literally slipping in their grasp on your sweat-slicked bow.

During a quick break in your part of the song, you slip off your sweater and fan yourself out. It feels good, but you feel a pair of eyes staring at you. Following the laser gaze, you turn your head to face Damon, but he´s nose-deep in the lyrics sheet, warbling about a broken love or friendship.

Huh, must´ve been imagining it.

Your solo comes up, and you prepare yourself for tackling the notes to your best ability, keeping up with Graham´s rapid guitar pace. Sweat continues to build on everyone´s vicinity when the rapid movement of arms waving around their own instrument causes more body heat to suffocate you all.

Miraculously, the song finishes, and you collapse in your seat like the rest of the men, panting and wiping slick off your foreheads. You reach for a bottle of water on the floor and unscrew the lid, grimacing at its lukewarm temperature but drinking it nonetheless.

For the second time, you have an unnerving feeling of being watched. This time, you whip your head to the side and catch him staring straight at you.

Damon´s face is flushed, his hair tousled, his rose colored glasses steamed up from the muggy aura in the room. His denim jacket is hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his torso covered with a sheer wife beater that accentuates his chiseled dad-body.

But he just stares you down, saying nothing. You frown at him a little bit and shift your body away from him, feeling vulnerable to his laser-gaze. His eyes darken, but Graham speaks, cutting him off from whatever he was about to say.

¨That was pretty good, you lot. Greg, Taz, hold off on the third beat of the fourth measure. We´ve gotta crescendo slightly-¨

¨Y/N, do you have a job?¨

Damon's voice cuts off Graham, and everyone falters as they look at him and then you in surprise.

¨I don´t know what you mean,¨ you respond coolly, knowing that whatever he was about to say wasn't good.

¨I mean, do you have a job? Because as far as I know, most people who work don't dress like whores at their job.¨

His eyes travel from your face down to your slight cleavage, and you sputter in rage as the rest of the boys shift uncomfortably.

¨Damon, for god's sake what´re you on about?¨ Graham asks wearily, taking his glasses off and rubbing his shiny neck.

¨I could ask you the same thing, actually. Because as far as I know, you've fucked enough women in your lifetime that one would think you could keep it in your pants for five minutes without acting like a twelve-year-old. Oh, but unless that´s too professional for you? I guess you´re not as serious about your work environment as you claim.¨ you laugh, and the sax player, Greg, snorts into his water bottle.

Damon sneers, ¨How could I forget, you actually have done your research about my life and sexual endeavors, what a cute little fangirl you are. If you wanted an autograph, you could've just asked, sweetheart.¨

¨Go fuck yourself,¨ you snap. ¨You´re all wearing wife-beaters anyways, what's the difference?¨

Damon starts again but Graham claps his hands loudly, startling you all.

¨Enough, both of you! What's gotten into you? Need I remind you that our song is due in less than two weeks? We need to finish this shit and get on with it. Stop acting like children.¨

You mumble under your breath and Damon shoots a dark look to his childhood friend, but the brunette doesn't back down, and continues to give advice on how to improve their song. You don´t look at Damon the rest of the session out of pure spite, but that doesn't stop him from shamelessly staring straight at you, right until it's time to leave.

The second Graham checks his watch and exclaims that it's a quarter past twelve already, you´re already bolting out of your seat and shoving your violin in its case, eager to get out of the disgustingly hot room.

Fortunately, this time you had the right idea to park in the garage like everyone else to avoid any other unwanted encounters, but unfortunately while it was nice to not be waterboarded on your walk, it wasn´t enough to stop said unwanted encounters from occurring.

Take right now, for instance.

As you stumble to your car in the blistering weather, your energy depletes faster and faster, causing you to be light headed. Practice was already tough enough in the sweltering heat, but after Damon's little scene you don't have any energy to even walk.

You crash blindly into your car, the metal of the doors burning your skin as you make contact with the handle. You hiss and jerk back, swaying slightly as your head fogs up. You can barely see, you feel like your clothes weigh a ton on you, so you slide down the vehicle and sit up against the tires, throwing your head back against the car and groaning. The idea of unlocking your doors and sitting in the seat where no doubt several temperatures higher will be settling on the dashboard and in the front row is nauseating.

Weather-2

You-0

You don't know the building well enough to know where a vending machine is, and even if you shot Graham a text, you don't have enough energy to wander around and scout for it.

And lo and behold, from a distance, a figure approaches. You squint as it draws nearer, and let out a laugh as the features come into familiarity.

The heat must be getting to you worse than you thought, because you´re certain you´re hallucinating Damon Albarn of all fucking people swaggering towards you, one hand holding his denim jacket over his shoulder, and a shit-eating grin on his face as he comes to stand in front of you.

All you can do is pant like a dog, looking up at him with unimpressed eyes.

¨Oi, G-String. ´Brought you some water.¨ he holds out a hand, and you choose to ignore the offensive nickname, insead noticing the large bottle in it, cold condensation covering its expanse.

Your eyes widen and you lick your lips unconsciously, holding your hands out for it.

Damon watches your tongue poke out and loses focus before snapping back to reality and moving his arm above your head. You pout and try to reach for it again, but he laughs and holds it even higher.

You glare and turn your head away from him, suddenly remembering how he embarrassed you earlier.

¨Go away. I don't want it anymore. You´re an asshole.¨ you mumble, perspiration hanging off your lip as you lick the salty beads away once again.

Damon´s eyes never leave your mouth as he listens to you and watches the pink appendage make its appearance again, and his mouth hangs open slightly unbeknownst to you for a second. You cross your arms and glare at the empty parking lot, silently willing him to go away.

He snaps back into focus yet again and shakes his head at you. ¨Oh come on love, I´m just teasing. You look like you´re about to die anyways, might as well make this your last meal-er, drink I mean.¨

¨I´m not taking anything from a complete dickhead who enjoys harassing women about their clothes. You know, for such a womanizer, you act pretty clueless about how comments like that would make a girl feel. No one else but you had an issue with it, or rather, had the audacity to point it out.¨ You cough at the last word, your dry throat and heavy head making it harder to talk.

He sighs and crouches down, balancing on the balls of his feet. He pops open the cap and gently turns your chin towards his face, much to your surprise. You´re genuinely too weak to protest, but when you look at his concerned face, eyebrows scrunched up and accentuating the lines on his forehead, you don't think you'd want to turn away even if you could.

He coaxes your agap mouth even more open by dragging a rough thumb down over your lips, and you obediently open your mouth, mesmerized by his eyes. His movements are soft and slow, as if you were a fidgety rabbit about to run off at the slightest touch. He scoots closer, right over in front of you as you simply gaze up at him, allowing him to pour cool water down your throat, quenching your bone-dry palate.

For a couple of seconds, water floods your mouth but all you can do is stare up at him. The light rays are reflecting off his back, casting a yellow glow around his silhouette and he almost looks like an angel. His hair is mussed as if he'd spent the day running his hands through the golden locks, and the scruff on his face peeks through soft-looking skin.

¨Swallow, or I'll really waterboard you this time,¨ he says lowly, chuckling a bit as he catches you staring so adamantly right in his face. You jerk back to consciousness and swallow hastily, accidentally choking on the gulp in your rush.

He laughs even more and lets go of your chin much to your disappointment as he adjusts himself to sit next to you, not seeming to mind the scorching car metal. The absence of his hand on your face leaves a cold, empty feeling in your heart despite the heated blush on your cheeks

¨You´ll burn yourself,¨ you mumble, lolling your head over to look at him.

But he looks straight ahead and shrugs casually. ¨Not any more than you.¨ You both sit in silence for a few minutes, occasionally sipping from the bottle he passes towards you and watching cars go by.

¨You didn't answer my question. Why do you harp on me in the studio? You act like a normal human being here.¨

Damon looks thoughtfully at a white sedan passing by, then speaks.

¨As I´m sure Graham has blabbed to you already, I´ve been having some...trouble with the missus, let's say.¨

You say nothing and raise a questioning eyebrow.

¨For the shitty attitude,¨ he mutters and swipes the bottle from your hand, taking a large swig himself.

¨And, like you said earlier, I am an asshole. Of course I´ll enjoy harassing pretty women over their revealing clothes,¨ he smirks and gives you a once over.

There it was again, pretty woman.

You scowl and get up to leave, but what he says stops you in your tracks.

¨Taz was lookin´ at you,¨ he says quietly, suddenly very interested in the now-empty bottle. ¨´Didn't like it, but I couldn't say anything to him. Graham likes him too much.¨

Huh. Maybe the pair of eyes you felt back in the room didn't only belong to Damon.

He cracks a small smile and looks up at you, his face adorably innocent and wide as he sheepishly admits, ¨I´m used to butting heads with blokes like him for women.¨

You jerk back up to your feet, brushing off any insinuation he was giving and pat his knee awkwardly, ignoring the fire now igniting once again in your chest.

¨Thanks for the water, I needed it. You might wanna move if you don't want to get run over by my car.¨ You reach down and pick up your case as Damon clambers to his feet.

He looks amused as you fumble for your keys, nervously turning the lock and sitting in the hot car, obviously eager to get away from his intimidating gaze.

¨I´ll see you next week, yeah?¨ You laugh breathlessly and roll your window down to call out to him.

He says nothing, but merely cocks his head at you, his eyes now obscured by the rose-colored glasses he puts over his eyes. He waves a little and watches as you drive away a little too fast.

But as it turns out, you don't see him next week.

******

It was just your luck that one of the cutest guys from your work asked you out on the very same week you had practice with the boys. You contemplated moving the date to another time, but...you deserved to have some fun time off too, right? It's not like it would make too much of a difference in your skill, anyways, you´ve gotten all the strings down and such.

So, you decide to go on this date. It goes well, the dude was cute, dorky, lacked a little pizzazz but nothing a bottle of fancy red wine and a night of movies couldn´t coax out of him. It honestly wasn't anything too big, you exchanged numbers and made plans to meet up again soon. After parting ways, you threw yourself back into the regular regime of practicing your violin and meticulously listening to the booth recording every night, just so you could perfect your part to a T.

The day came where you had to go back to practice, and you were ready, veins pumping with determination to make these last few sessions the best you´ve played yet. You texted Graham that you´d be there soon, and he gave you a thumbs up in return. When you finally arrived in front of the room, you were 10 minutes late. The boys were already playing, by the sound of the percussion booming outside the door. You grimace and take a deep breath, turning the handle in and hurrying inside the booth.

No one really spared a glance at you, so you assumed you were okay in terms of punctuality. You opened your case and started strumming your strings, counting the measures and beats until it was your turn. Damon´s voice rang out, melodious and airy as ever, dropping octaves and floating on soprano tones. Your bow moved across his words, accenting his tones and adding emphasis to his sorrowful song. And then, after a couple of minutes, it was done.

¨Alright you lot, pretty good for today. ´Specially you, Y/N, you caught up pretty quick, I expected you to slack behind but I'm actually impressed.¨ Graham flashed you a nervous grin and you beamed back at him in return.

¨Yeah, speaking of, why were you gone last week? I expected someone who makes below the poverty line would actually want to work for their money,¨ Damon chuckles a little meanly.

You feel your smile drop a smidge.

¨Well actually Damon, not that it's any of your business, but I went on a date.¨ You smirk at him, enjoying the way his mouth opens slightly and moves silently.

But he regroups quickly and glares at you. ¨None of my business? The deadline is only a few days away, and you´re whoring yourself out and going on dates? I guess you´re not as professional as Graham thought.¨

Everyone shifts uncomfortably, and blood rushes to your face, anger clouding your mind. Why was he being like this? He was fine the last time you saw him, you actually thought maybe he was going to change the way he addressed you.

Graham speaks up. ¨Damon. You´re overreacting man, I gave her the okay, and she played fine today. No harm done, seriously, there's no need for that kind of language towards her.¨

¨Actually, there absolutely is a need. If I knew you were going to invite a prostitute as our sub-in then I would´ve never agreed to have her here. Didn´t know you were so low on money Y/N, I would´ve spared you a couple pounds.¨ He sneers.

¨Damon!¨

You laugh bitterly and rise to your feet. ¨Oh that's rich, coming from the man who fucked half the continent just because he couldn't get over one girl. No wonder every real woman in your life including your wife wants to leave, nothing is ever good enough for you. Except heroin maybe.¨

The words leave your mouth before you can take them back, and there's a pin drop silence as if a bomb had been dropped. In a way, it kind of did.

Damo glares at you. Everyone is holding your breath, including you.

¨Get out.¨

¨Hey,-¨ Taz tries to gently interject but Damon throws the mic at him.

¨I said get the fuck out. You´re not practicing with us anymore, you can pack your shit and leave.¨

Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, and you choke out a small ¨Fine.¨

You hear Graham berating him behind you as you fly through the door, telling him that they need you, it's too late to change people, but the words jumble in your ears as the door slams shut. You don't hear what Damon says, if he even says anything, and you aren't interested in his comebacks right now.

It's only when you leave the car, tears streaming down your face in rage and embarrassment that you groan to yourself, your hands reaching an empty seat with one foot out the door-

You forgot your violin case.

************

It's nighttime.

The crickets chirp as you creep silently through the parking garage, the soft thud of your shoes echoing a lot louder than you wanted in the empty lot. The studio itself wasn't closed, but you were sure Damon must have informed the manager there not to let an ex-musician like you back in there.

Wearing a black hoodie and black pants was a smart move- you blended in with the shadows well. The doors weren't locked, and you hiss out a small ¨yesss¨ as you slip inside the mostly dark building. Needless to say, you were proud of yourself for navigating through the windings pitch-black hallways to your old booth.

Testing the handle lightly, you sigh out in relief when that too gives way. Unfortunately though, the second the door shuts behind you, you immediately stumble forward and fall.

The room is dark, darker than the other hallways so you can barely see your hands. The only source of light you´re granted is the dim red bulb on top of the booth door. And speaking of, that's exactly where you need to go...which proves to be harder when you keep bumping into random shit and cursing when you feel potential bruises forming on your shins.

Miraculously you stagger through the next door towards where you last sat, and blindly feel around the floor and chairs for your violin case. You feel nothing there, but panic starts settling in your heart when you can't find it.

¨Looking for something?¨

You scream and lurch backwards, knocking your head into some kind of stand. Groaning, you rub your head and hold a hand on your racing heart as you squint into the dim red room, placing the voice to the person.

¨D-Damon?¨

¨In the flesh sweetheart. ´Knew you'd come back for this, s´just my luck I came back to get it tonight so I could give it to you personally in case you wanted to be stubborn. But this is even better than I could´ve hoped.¨

You make out his silhouette in the obsidian abyss in front of you. He's sitting with knees spread on a chair, a few feet in front of you as he leans his head back on the wall. Your precious violin case is being held hostage in his arms, and it's the absolute love you have for the brittle instrument that propels you to your feet and moves you to get the hell out instead of interrogating him.

¨What, so you were just here the whole time listening to me falling around like an idiot?” You laugh incredulously, and you see the area of his shoulders move up and down.

¨Was pretty funny to watch, honestly. You sound cute when you curse.¨ He stands up to his fullest height now, the red light bouncing off his back, giving him a sort of demonic halo.

You knew it was actually time to leave when you felt those stupid butterflies in your stomach rise up again.

¨Right, well, I´ll be on my way then. Good luck with your song and whatever, I´ll just take the case...¨ You trail off as your extended hand is left in midair, no violin case reaching it.

He cocks his head at you. ¨Why are you in such a rush to leave?¨

You can´t help the scoff that escapes you.

¨Are you serious? You were such an absolute dickhead to me this afternoon, you said all sorts of horrible things to me, and you even fired me for Christ's sake! I want nothing to do with you, so could you please give me my case back so I can go?¨

He's silent for a moment before answering. ¨Are you done yet?¨

It isn´t just the light that's making you see red now.

¨Fuck you, honestly.¨ You whirl around and stomp towards where you guess the door is, ignoring the clatter behind you and bingo you locate the handle, but as soon as you turn it-

A hand reaches from behind you and pulls the ajar door shut.

¨Don´t go. I´m sorry.¨

You´re absolutely still as you feel him towering over you, his arm dangerously close to your midriff as his hand remains on the knob.

His voice is low, and you can feel him breathe against your neck, mere inches away. You can´t help the involuntary shiver that passes through you, and he feels it too, inhaling deeply when he gets close to your ear.

¨You smell so good.¨

¨Leave me alone, Damon,¨ you whisper, your voice catching in your throat from the overwhelming onslaught of emotions passing through you.

He breaths in and slowly lets his hand rest on your side.

¨I can't do that. You know why. You have to have known by now.¨

You tremble in his touch, yet allow his hands to wander down to your hip, the other coming around in a sort of hug to pull you closer to him.

¨We can´t.¨

¨Sure we can.¨

You can feel his erection bumping against your ass.

¨You´re not worth this.¨

¨I´ll make myself worth it.¨

And as soon as he latches onto the back of your neck, you´re like putty in his hands, a moaning mess as he sucks galaxy-colored hickies on your skin. You can feel yourself grow wetter as he shoves his hands up your shirt and teasingly pulls down the bridge of your bra, letting the weight of your tits fill up his hands appreciatively. He starts rolling your hardened buds in between his skilled calloused fingers, and you whine and throw your head back when you feel him rut against your ass, panting raggedly in your ear.

You rub your thighs together, desperate for some form of friction as he squeezes your tits, and then letting one hand ghost across the expanse of your stomach, down to brush against the rim of your panties. Damon chuckles meanly in your ear when you buck against the stilled hand over your mound.

¨You want this?¨ He lightly nips your ear. He smells like old spice and sandalwood.

You nod desperately, frustrated with him not giving you his thick fingers already.

But it's not enough for him. ¨No no, pretty girl, use your words now. I´ve barely touched you yet and you´re already moaning like a wanton little slut for me? And here I was thinking you weren't that easy.¨

You stop jerking your hips and blood rushes to your face at his insulting words. You try to move out of his grip, huffing and regretting the whole thing but he outright laughs now and spins you around, tugging you forward until your chest is slotted against his. You pout at him and look away, but he's quick to grasp your chin and pull you in for a rough yet sensual kiss.

Pushing you backwards against the wall, he deepens the lip-lock, tracing his tongue over your lips, nipping at the soft flesh and darkening his eyes when you whimper and look up at him.

He knows what he´s fucking doing when he again drops his hand under your pants and over your panties, his other palm wound up firmly through your hair. He pulls your head back and lets you breathe for a second from his kiss of death before he speaks again.

¨I didn't hear an answer, slut. Do you want this?¨ He leans forward until his nose brushes against your neck, flicking his tongue out to taste your saccharine flesh.

You tremble against his firm body when he pushes his pelvis against you, letting you feel how hard he is for you.

It doesn't matter anymore. Maybe he was right, maybe you were just an easy slut putting up a facade for him, but when his clothes erection grinds up against your pussy you can't care less.

¨Y-yes, yes, ´want you, please,¨ you pant, frantically gripping the back of his cropped hair as his head descends to mark your neck again.

¨What a good girl,¨ he whispers, finally allowing his digits to oh-so-slowly trace over your mound, pressing down harder when you jerk against him. He finds your wet clit and flicks it a few times, snickering when you gasp and moan. Your body writhes in place but he holds you literally between a rock-or, wall- and a hard place, preventing you from scampering off.

He drums his fingers against your folds, paying no attention to the way you grip his head tighter against you, silently begging him to go further.

But he relents eventually and retires from just pushing and prodding your folds, allowing his slicked fingers to slowly dive into your drooling hole. You whimper and bite back a string of curses when you feel him fill you completely, scraping against your walls for that one special spot.

His mouth moves off your neck and he rises to face you, a stupid smug grin on his wet lips, his eyelids lowered and trained on you. You flush at his lustful expression and gently push his head away, not wanting to accept his victory yet.

¨My fingers are literally fucking you right now, and you still won´t let me look at you? What, too embarrassed you couldn't continue being a stone-cold bitch for long?¨

You open your mouth to snap back but right at that moment he curls his fingers and grazes your G-spot, simultaneously grounding his wet palm against your clit.

With a loud gasp and the sluttiest moan you´ve ever made, you cum hard, your mouth open in a silent scream and your tongue hanging out like a bitch in heat as you do so. You fall forward against him.

You don't even need to look up to know that he has a shit-eating grin on his face.

¨What was that sweetheart? Sorry, ´couldn't hear you over those slutty moans. I think even the pornstars I´ve been with would give you a standing ovation if they heard what you just sounded like.¨

Your words are slurred as you curse nonsense at him, yet you´re still gripping his forearms to keep a hold on yourself. Your ears are ringing and you see spots as you come down from your climax, and surprisingly enough, Damon holds you close and doesn't let you slip down to the ground as you expected to when your knees start to give out.

Instead, he lifts you up quite easily and carries you over to a table in the corner of the room. You don´t know how he even navigates his way through the dimly lit room, but you suppose after almost half a lifetime in studios he knows his way around.

You offer no resistance as he sets you down gently and begins to lift your shirt off of your body. You manage to lift your arms weakly up in the air for easier access to stripping, but when he starts to kneel down to take your pants off you stop his hands at your knees and look at him with scrunched eyebrows.

He stops and looks up at you. His eyes aren't so darkened anymore, they´re wide and imploring, probably noticing your hesitation.

¨Damon, I...¨ You trail off as he maintains eye contact with you and slowly lowers his pursed lips to your calf, lightly pecking his way up to your knees and ensuring that you´re watching his every move.

Your breathing increases again as his pink appendage darts out, his saliva cooling on your exposed thighs. He sucks on the plush skin and turns his head upwards to face you.

You want to run your hands through his hair.

¨You have a wife,¨ You breathe.

¨Not for tonight I don´t.¨

Your voice gets caught in your throat at that. He positions his hands at the side of your knees, fingers curling around the hem of your pants in a second attempt.

¨Let me make you feel good, love.¨

His answer is in the form of your hand reaching for his collar and pulling him up into a standing position until he towers over your seated form, once again breath stolen in a heated kiss.

Damon fumbles with his zipper as you shove your pants off, fully ready for him now, your dampened panties solid evidence of your need for him.

He pulls his cock out and it bounces out, slapping up against his stomach.

You do a double take. The tabloids were right. He was absolutely huge.

It was disgusting almost, it was insulting really. How the fuck could he be that big? You lose count of how many inches he is when you start to get light headed, realizing with a jolt that he plans to put that monster inside you.

And fuck, why did it have to be so pretty too? Normally you wouldn´t use the word pretty to describe a dick, but fuck, that´s the only appropriate word that came to mind as you admired the white flesh as it mixed in with a dull pink flush turning into an angry shade of red as your eyes progressed up to his tip...which was soaked with precum, mind you.

He was neatly shaven everywhere, including his plush balls. No wonder he got to fuck half the continent.

Damon notices your gawking and smiles lazily, taking a fist around his prick and stroking lethargically up and down.

¨You gonna just stare at it all day or are you going to spread those cute legs for me?¨

Spoken like a true middle aged fuck-boyman.

You look up at him beseechingly, thoroughly intimidated by his length. He merely scoffs, winking at you when he wrenches your tightly closed knees apart.

It's almost like he falls into a trance when he presses his now-naked torso against your chest, when he slots himself between your legs and drags his tip through your sloppy folds and up onto your clit. His mouth falls open slightly and he moans when your juices coat his dick, making it slippery and easy to push the first few inches ever so slightly into your spasming cavern.

He can't help but want more, need more as he practically smothers his weight onto you, forcing you to lie back on the table and letting your legs dangle off the edge. He hunches over you and thrusts minutely into your pulsing folds, groaning when you whine and lace your fingers around his neck and tangle your legs around his back, dragging him impossibly close into you.

For a moment it´s just the sound of you two panting and moaning like inexperienced teenagers, and a zing of pride zips up your spine at the realization that Damon Albarn, one of the world's most renowned playboy is whining and humping against your pussy, reduced to nothing at your hands.

He takes your hands from around his neck and grips your wrists, forcing them above your head on the table. He leans down and kisses you, hard. You give him back the same energy when your hips move up and down along his length, pushing your inviting hole towards his eager and jumping dick.

¨Pretty little girl,¨ he murmurs against your lips, and you nip his bottom lip playfully in retaliation. He slowly starts to sink himself into you, and you practically purr at the feeling of his veiny member dragging against your sensitive walls until he stops.

You look at him questioningly, and blanch when you see the mischievous glint in his cobalt eyes.

¨I want you to count for me.¨

¨Count…?¨ You shake your head in confusion and he pulls out, making you groan in annoyance.

¨I want you to count every inch I put inside you. Unless your slutty mouth can't even do that? I'd be surprised if you couldn´t, you usually have so much shit to say.¨ His voice is low yet teasing, and a shiver passes through you when the rumble of his chest vibrates against your nipples.

¨F-fine, I´ll count.¨

He hums in approval and regroups, guiding his length into your awaiting pussy once again.

It´s almsot torture how slow he goes, and your toes curl at how vivid the sensation is at this pace.

You almost forget to do what he asks until he ducks his head down and teeths your bud.

¨Ah, fuck! One!¨ You yelp, writhing to get away from his lecherous gaze and hold on your poor tit.

He tuts and licks the swollen area until the pain subsides a bit, and then he continues to push.

¨T-two,¨ you moan and let your head fall back. It's unfair how tightly he´s holding your reins-you want him to plow you down, not take his sweet time in this punishment.

¨Damon, can´t you go any faster? Please, I want y-¨

¨-I didn't take you for a masochist, Y/N, but I´m happy to play around with these cute tits if you want to bitch more.¨

Your scowl is cut off when he suddenly shoves two more inches into you, and you mewl loudly at being filled so much.

¨Three! Four! Fuck, oh god, please,¨ you babble nonsense as he curses above you, his form shaking in an effort not to push all the way in.

¨Doing so good sweetheart, you´re almost halfway,¨ he smirks and you gape at him in disbelief.

Halfway?

Five, six, seven, eight, and nine go painfully slow, and by the time he´s fully sheathed inside you, plush balls pressed against your ass, you´re an incoherent, drooling mess.

Your hair is in your face, your cheeks are flushed, and your body bounces up and down as he begins to rock inside you, finally giving you what you want.

His name is chanted like an obscene prayer from your mouth as he grunts and shakes the table. Your legs are wobbly and unable to do anything except press him tighter against you to the point where he can barely move back. The skin of his stomach slaps against yours, his balls slap against the crevice of your ass, and your pussy practically sloshes with every stroke in and out.

He fists your hair with one hand and pulls your neck up to meet his searching lips, his other hand holds your wrists fast against the table. You want to touch him, you want to explore your body as he has conquered yours but he doesn't let you feel anything else apart from the rapid thrusts inside your battered body.

Damon switches positions and lifts the back of your knees up and pushes them forwards until they meet your chest. He lets his body weight rest on the back of your thighs as he pulls out and pushes back impossibly close inside you, closer than he did in missionary.

You sob with need as he plunges into you and reaches a higher spot than before, his tip grazing your cervix. He pounds into you, and you thrust your hips up to fuck back into him, calling out his name as if he were your god.

It´s a good thing the rooms are soundproof.

You feel your second climax comes when he paves way through your tight walls and batters your uterus. It doesn´t hurt so much as feel intense, and your choked moans become panting gasps when he brings a hand down to swirl his thumb over your aching clit.

¨You´re not going to meet with that prick from your work again, yeah? Say it. Say it if you want me to let you cum.¨ He could have been speaking an alien language for all you knew. Your poor addled brain didn't pick up anything except for the word ¨cum¨, and you were a goner.

¨Yes, yes, anything you say, anything you want, just please let me-¨

And oh he does.

It comes over you like a tidal wave, your mind going blank, your eyes seeing white as your legs shake from your earth-shattering orgasm. You feel like you´re going down a rollercoaster, and you never want to stop dropping.

Distantly, you hear him groan and say your name. You can feel pulsing in your filled walls, with what you assume is his ropes of cum. It feels like when you came, it practically squeezed all his cum out with your clenching.

He lets out a shaky breath and falls forward, his nose inches from yours, his breath puffing in your face.

Your eyes are glazed over, but you´ve never seen anything more clearly before.

Maybe Damon Albarn really was worth it.

#blur #damon x reader #damon albarn #damon albarn smut #britpop #90s damon #90s #smut #fluff #britpop smut #damon fluff #Damon Albarn #damon albarn x reader #Damon albarn smut #Damon albarn fanfic #Damon albarn fanfiction #blur fanfic #blur fanfiction

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little-diable · 4 years

Text

Anxiety leaves her quivering - Jasper Hale (smut)

Request by @sweatyhandsduckhoagie I was thinking, her and Jasper are making out and the major makes an appearance ( 1st time in front of her) and scares her, so she wants to stop and leaves the house! She avoids Jasper for a few days and then goes back to the house and her and Jasper talk....ends with them trying again and they end up having sex. Just cute and fluffy at the end!

Hope this is what you had in mind, I think this is one of my favorite Jasper smuts. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: the major scares the reader, but Jasper is hell bent on apologizing and maybe a sweet apology turns into something more.

Warnings: smut, 18+, angst in the beginning

The kiss turned sloppier with every passing moment, (y/n) was placed in his lap, thighs pressed against his, arms slung around his neck. Both had been tangled like this for a few minutes by now, savoring their privacy as the rest of the Cullens were out of the house. He felt the warm and content feeling spreading through her, soft moans spilled from her swollen lips, awakening something deep inside of him.

Jasper could feel himself fading, switching places with the major, though he tried to fight against it, he knew that he wouldn’t stand a chance against him. He moved his lips to her jaw, slowly he began to suck a few marks into her skin, eyes turning into a darker shade, nothing she had noticed until now.

“So gorgeous, you’re mine darlin’, all mine”, his accent sounded thicker than ever, ripping her out of her bubble as his fangs grazed her skin. “Jas’”, the uneasy feeling that swapped over her, urged him on, like a predator that was hunting after his scared prey.

“Now that's not what you should call me, is it?”, (y/n) pressed her palms against his chest, trying to rip herself out of his tight grip, wondering what he was playing at. “What? Jasper?”, a nervous chuckle spilled from her lips, “you should call me major from now on”. (Y/n) struggled in his hold, shifting in his lap, panicked eyes watching his every move, heads whipping towards the door as Alice and Edward stumbled into the house, praying that Alice’s vision had only deceived her.

That one moment was enough for (y/n) to shuffle out of his arms, to grasp her bag and run out of the mansion, not noticing how Jasper switched personalities once again, honey colored, golden eyes finally returning.

(Y/n) would avoid Jasper for days, hiding away from him in the hallways, not sparing him one glance as he’d beg her to talk to him. Her heart felt heavy, it was calling out to him, she terribly missed him, but the anxiety stuck with her, remainders of the scary moment still ran through her veins. “Darlin’?”, Jasper was standing next to her, hands interlaced in front of him, fighting against the urge to touch her, he didn’t want to fuck up once again.

Her eyes momentarily grew wider, visibly gulping as she took a step backwards, “please, let me explain, please darlin’”, his voice broke with every word he spoke, venom pooled in his eyes. Her insides were burning, bile rose in the back of her throat, her body was aching for him, a small “okay”, spilled from her lips ere she could stop herself, instantly a smile tugged on his lips, there was still at least a bit of hope for them.

Jasper took her home that day, driving in the same car, hands finding their way to her knee, slowly tracing the fabric of her jeans, finally he felt at ease, like he hadn’t fucked up, like he hadn’t lost control. (Y/n) had known for quite a while, that Jasper and the Cullens were special to say the least, a few weeks back he had told her everything about them, their eternal lives, the daily fight against their primal instincts, but not once had he told her about the major, his sick and twisted self.

It took her a few moments to wrap her head around the fact that he basically had two different personas, switching between them as his primal side would gain the upper hand. “I’m so sorry, I never wanted to scare you or hurt you”, the words made her smile, (y/n) cupped his cheeks, crawling into his lap, “it’s okay, thank you for telling me”.

She attached her lips to his, falling back down on the soft mattress, dipping under their weight as he hovered above her, lips not leaving hers once. A fire was spreading through her veins, she wanted him, wanted all of him, no matter how scared (y/n) had been the last time, she knew that he’d take care of her, he wouldn’t hurt her, she was sure of it. “Darlin’”, Jaspers raspy voice shot shivers up her spine, he moved away from her, scared that he’d take it too far, it felt like a déjà-vu, repeating itself like days ago.

“I trust you, I know you won’t hurt me”, (y/n) nibbled on his jawline, hands combing through his golden locks, “I-”, Jasper’s eyes fluttered close, fighting an internal battle, wondering if he should give in, if he’d manage to keep the upper hand, pushing the major into the far back of his mind. “Please”, she pressed on, hands toying with the first buttons of his dark shirt, (y/e/c) eyes teasing him with every passing second.

A growl rumbled through him, cold hands disappearing underneath her shirt, ripping the fabric off her frame, golden eyes admiring the skin he had wanted to touch for weeks by now. “You’re so gorgeous darlin’”, she felt her cheeks burn, “don’t go all shy on me now”, his smirk made her giggle, the sound turned into a moan as soon as Jasper attached his lips to the soft skin of her boobs, hands moving along her sides, finding the bra clasp.

“Are you sure? We can stop any-”, (y/n) silenced him with another kiss, “I want you, all of you”. Her bra found its way down to the floor, jeans and panties soon following as Jasper took off his own clothes, “relax”, he rasped out, kissing his way to her aching core, walls clenching around nothing, begging for something, to finally feel him inside of her. His hands trailed up her body, softly cupping her boobs, squeezing a bit tighter, thumbs flicking over her hard nipples, god, he definitely knew where to touch her.

His cold fingers danced down to her inner thighs, tracing along her wet folds, softly pressing them into her heat, coaxing a high pitched moan out of her swollen lips.

“Oh god Jas, feels so good”, he smirked against her skin as he kissed her hip bones, thumb circling her clit just enough to push her down the rabbit hole she wouldn’t find her way out for a long time. Jasper began to build a steady rhythm, fingers perfectly stretching her, thumb adding just the right pressure, god, he’d love to stay down there forever, teasing her, till she’d cum over and over again on his cold fingers.

“Stop”, her groan made him freeze, “I need you inside of me”, (y/n) arched her back, hands blindly searching for him, tugging on his wrists, eyes falling to his aching length. “You can always tell me to stop”, he reminded her, slapping her hand away as she tried to touch his member, “later, I don’t want to wait any longer darlin’”.

His cold touch had chills roll through her spine, pulling her under like a wave of ice cold water, knocking all air out of her lungs as she’d slowly drown in the ocean. “Jas”, she felt pathetic, whining like that, but she couldn’t stop herself, her body was aching to get conquered by him, to get lost in those beautiful eyes of his as he’d make sweet love to her. Just as another plea would roll off her tongue he had pushed himself into her heat, length engulfed by her tightness, walls constricting around him, struggling to adjust.

A few ‘oh gods’ and ‘fucks’ would stumble out of the both of them, “move, please”, (y/n) moaned into his ear, hands moving up his spine, trying to find anything to hold onto, trying to pierce her nails into his shoulders. (Y/n)s heart was rapidly beating, Jaspers hips would meet hers, getting faster with every thrust of his, “feels like you were made for me darlin’”, the words made her smile, forehead pressed against his, choking out a few breaths.

(Y/n)s head fell back as a sob crawled up her throat, she curled her toes, high on the wave of lust he brought upon her. “Please, Jas’”, she wasn’t quite sure what she was begging for, but no other words made it past her lips, too focused on the sensations he provided her with, the love she felt for him. He kept on slamming his hips against hers, rough enough to bring her closer to the edge, but not enough to leave bruises behind, careful not to hurt her in any way.

She never wanted to be touched like that by any other man ever again, she was his, his alone, only he’d get to make love to her like that, able to bring her orgasm upon her with a few thrusts, lips nibbling on hers, hands placed on the mattress, steading his broad frame. “I’m so close”, (y/n) choked out, eyes closed as she moved one hand down to her slightly enlarged clit, softly rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves, adding to the building pressure.

“Let go darlin’, it’s alright”, Jasper mused, eyes not leaving her features, smiling to himself as her orgasm rocked through her, walls clenching and unclenching around him, the knot in her belly snapped in apart, release wrecking her, leaving her panting and moaning.

She felt his warmth spread through her, freezing above her as he gave into his orgasm, “fuck I love you”, Jasper growled, kissing her one last time before he pulled out of her, instantly wrapping his arms around her quivering frame. “I love you too”, she smiled at him, thanking her lucky stars for bringing Jasper into her life, she was truly made for him.

#Jasper Hale #Jasper Hale imagine #Jasper Hale smut #major jasper whitlock #Jasper Hale x reader #twilight #twilight smut #twilight imagine #Jackson Rathbone

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shorkbrian · 4 years

Text

Anxious

Prelude - It took me three evenings to write this (EW that’s the longest I've ever taken) and it’s RLLY long (almost 10k) so be warned. The style is mean’t to be jumbled, grammatically incorrect, and awful, rushed, and incoherent. My day-to-day life process is like this but worse lol and I wanted to capture just the feeling of bad that exists. Have fun.

(Ps Kirishima is the subtlest of creeps here. Def a stalker, but good at lying, and reader is too gullible.)

Pairing - Yandere Kirishima X GN Reader

Warnings - anxiety, panic attack, non con, NSFW, idk the usual.

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/1qFMIjTe9esCDiytqUY19t?si=RrkIvlXMReyT6CYKEh6xdw

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Oh god, is that Pro-Hero Red Riot?

Your hands tremble as you lift your drink to your lips, take a shaky sip.

It feels too hot in here, is it hot? You scream internally.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Red Riot, your favorite Pro-Hero in the entire world, was currently standing in line at Starbucks, looking up at the menu with his big, dumb, handsome face. He was wearing his hero costume - meaning he was on-duty, abs out and mask on.

As usual, you had ordered your regular drink, immediately sat down (always the blue armchair by the window, the one with the little table next to it). Normally you ignored each little tinkling of the bell above the door, the sound signaling another person entering the coffee shop. You just wanted to nurse your drink and look at stupid memes on your phone, try to gas yourself up for the day ahead, convince yourself that you would be able to get through whatever life decides to throw at you.

A particularly violent shake of the bell had your head snapping up, the loud noise startling you.

And holy fuck.

Red Riot.

Your cheeks were burning as you lowered your eyes to your phone, knowing that the big man was moving up in line, then ordering, then probably moving to wait near the drink pickup.

Looking up was out of the question - you didn’t want to ogle the Hero and make him feel uncomfortable, or for him to catch sight of your stupid blushing.

You almost dropped your drink the next time you raised it to your lips, your hands were so sweaty.

And of course that little slip-up had your heart beating ever faster, embarrassed that you had almost made a mess all over yourself, self conscious that someone had seen, oh god, what if people were looking at you, thought you were dumb and couldn’t even drink correctly? Oh god.

You set your drink back onto the little table at your side. A quick glance upward (to check the clock, that’s where your eyes went) and you could see Red Riot out of the corner of your eye, smiling as he took a picture with a fan as they both waited for their respective drinks.

Wouldn’t that be cool, to get a picture with him? But oh, that would mean you’d have to stand up, stumble over awkwardly towards him. Could you leave your drink on the side table? Would your seat be taken before you got back?

The hero would probably be able to spot you from a mile away, see how weirdly you walk, how your body looked. The thought made you cringe; he was so muscled and fit and in-shape, he’d probably think you were fat, or maybe weak? He’d be disgusted, wouldn’t he.

If you managed to get close enough to ask him if he wouldn’t mind taking a picture with you, he’d have to hear your voice crack, see how you shook like a tiny chihuahua from nervousness, see how sweaty and flushed you were from the embarrassment of being alive, of being seen.

God, you hated yourself.

You could never approach the Pro-hero and ask for a picture. He’d see how revolting, how weird and nervous and pathetic you were.

Plus, you’d already talked to the barista to get your coffee, had walked to the coffeeshop all by yourself and committed yourself to the horrifying ordeal of being known and seen by society. You’d done enough today to make your anxiety skyrocket, your hands were already shaking so bad, it’s a miracle you hadn’t dropped your drink or your phone or done something stupid and embarrassing to call attention to yourself.

“Red Riot!” Your eyes flickered up at the barista shouting, saw Red Riot smile and compliment the barista as they handed over his drink, something large and brightly colored and sporting an ungodly amount of whipped cream on top.

Red Riot left the Starbucks, the bell above the door jingling just as violently as it had when he had entered - the man was enthusiastic about seemingly everything, even opening and closing a door.

That’s actually one of the reasons he was your favorite. Red Riot was so confident and self assured, beaming with positivity and kindness. It was clear to see that he loved his job, that he loved life. Of course, you had seen him have bad days - in a few of the interviews after big rescues or horrific fights, his smile seemed to waver a bit, his eyes getting misty as the casualties were mentioned.

But that just showed he was human. Sensitive.

You grabbed your drink again, grimaced as nausea washed over you in a gentle wave. You were such a nervous wreck. But Red Riot had left - the only people here now were the employees and the people waiting in line. You just prayed none of them would pay attention or take notice of you.

----

He was here again.

Holy fuck, he was here again!

This time you weren’t as nervous (a mild feeling of excitement could be felt), you could actually drink out of your Starbucks cup without shaking like a leaf.

The redheaded hero had gotten his drink already, once again something large and colorful and probably loaded with sugar. But instead of leaving immediately, he moved to sit down and holy fuck - holy fuck he was walking right past you.

You didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to draw attention to yourself by moving - humans will subconsciously look towards movement, you knew that. But he walked further, you saw him sit down by the corner window, settling into the seat comfortably. He was wearing his hero outfit again, abs rippling as he leaned back, and out of the corner of your eye you could see him fiddling with his mask before taking it off and chucking onto the table in front of him.

Ah, so he was probably on a break.

Averting your eyes back to your phone, you tried to ignore his presence. He was a human being, just like yourself, who deserved and probably appreciated his privacy. God knows, if you were in his shoes, you wouldn’t want fans to even think about you, much less look at you.

Minutes passed, maybe twenty? Thirty? But you had finished your drink. Now it was time to will yourself to your feet, to breathe, in, out. You were going to walk over to the trashcan, throw your drink cup away, and leave to walk back home.

Oh, but you were nervous.

You always felt nervous - this was a common occurrence, and each time you came here (you visited this Starbucks maybe twice a week) there was always this fight with your anxiety.

People would look at you as soon as you stood up. Did you walk weird? Your body had weird proportions, people would be mocking you inside their heads as you walked. Your outfit wasn’t trendy, it didn’t fit your body right, you looked odd and out-of-place - that’s probably what people thought as soon as their eyes landed on you.

You’d get judged for your drink cup - the size, because people would probably think it was too big for somebody with your body. Or maybe too small? Would people think you don’t take care of yourself?

Oh god, what if it slipped out of your hand as you were walking over? Even with it being empty, the noise of the cup hitting the floor would draw everyone’s eyes to you. They’d watch as you scramble to pick it up, and they’d probably think how clumsy and awkward and incompetent you were.

And what if the trashcan was full? Would you carry your empty cup home with you? That would look weird, someone carrying an empty cup down the street. I mean, who does that? Well, you’d seen other people do it, watched them carry their drink until they reached a trashcan, and then throw it away. But what if there weren’t any public trashcans nearby? You’d look so odd, fumbling along trying so hard to walk normally, to not draw attention to yourself, to blend in with everyone.

Should you turn around to see if there was another trashcan in the Starbucks? Oh, but that might look stupid. The employees had seen you so often, you’d look like a fool for not knowing if there was another trashcan.

Ugh, and your walk. You have to focus on straightening your shoulders, keeping your back straight, moving your arms - just a little, not too much. Taking even steps, not walking with a heavy foot or making any stomping or scuffing sounds.

There was so much to focus on, too much. And now you had been sitting here for five minutes, knuckles white as you gripped your empty drink cup. You looked like a moron.

You could do this.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Remind yourself that people didn’t care, didn’t pay attention to all of the lame little things that you did. You anxiety was misplaced, you worried about things too much, and everything was fine.

You were okay, you could do this.

And so you stood, walked to the trashcan by the door (oh thank god, it was empty), and threw your cup away.

You heard Red Riot saying bye to the employees, his cheery, upbeat voice as he laughed at something one of them said. Oh, had something been said about you? Were the employees and Red Riot laughing about what a disaster you were?

No, you were just being nervous, that was your anxiety talking. Red Riot wasn’t that kind of person, and the employees weren’t either. You knew this.

The door jingled as you opened it, and you heard footsteps behind you so you moved to the side after you had gone through, holding the door open for whoever was behind you.

“Thanks cutie!”

Red Riot was fixing his mask as he strolled past, and your head snapped up, flushing fiercely as you met his gaze. You smiled awkwardly, throwing up a feeble thumbs-up.

Oh god, why did you do that?

Red Riot smiled back at you, giving his own exuberant thumbs-up. Well, at least he was doing it too. That made your anxiety quiet down a bit, emboldened by your favorite Pro-Hero.

You watched his broad back as he walked away, muscles flexing with each step. He really was a beautiful man, both inside and out.

----

The next time you went to Starbucks, you reached the door right as someone else did (even though you saw them walking towards the door, even though you slowed down your pace so they would reach the door first and would go inside so you wouldn’t have to do that awkward dance of who-gets-the-door and who-goes-inside-first).

But they pierced through the awkwardness, yanked the door open for you and stepped to the side and motioned for you to go in first.

It was Red Riot.

He was wearing casual clothes today, ripped jeans and a dark hoodie, but you’d recognize that spike red hair anywhere, those gleaming shark teeth too.

You nodded your thanks quickly, hurrying through the door so he wouldn’t have to stand there for long. Immediately you headed for the bathroom, not wanting to have the Pro-Hero standing in line behind you. He was intimidating, but in the nicest way possible. You were just afraid there was something about you that he would think to be weird, or odd, or out-of-place.

Better to just avoid the situation altogether.

When you finished your business (you were a nervous pee-er), you ordered your drink, deciding to be bold this time and try something different from your usual choice. It was the little things, the small little bits of life that made you anxious - those were the things that you tried to overcome. I mean, life’s all about the small victories, right? And hopefully if you built up enough small victories, you could have a really big victory someday, like telling your favorite barista that you liked her hair, or picking a different seat to sit in, or trying to make a friend with another customers as you waited in line.

But for today, the small victory was stepping outside of your comfort zone just a little bit, getting something new that you weren’t used to.

You ordered, waited patiently for your drink to be made, and then turned to go settle down in your blue armchair by the window.

And Red Riot was sitting in your seat.

Fuck.

Your hands were suddenly sweaty, and you felt the familiar pang of an upset tummy. You were so tired of being nervous, of freaking out every single time there was a small change that you weren’t aware of, or if something happened that you couldn’t control.

There was an armchair opposite the one you always chose - also blue, but not as comfortable and certainly not with a good view out the window. It directly faced your usual spot, but in all your time coming here, no one had ever sat in it. A first you had just figured it was uncomfortable, but as you came here more and more, you figured that the nook was probably for couples rather than individual coffee drinkers.

The time you visited was a bit odd, eight PM, a few hours before closing. But it was the least crowded at this time, and the sun was barely setting, and it was the perfect time for you to be unbothered and by yourself.

But there was Red Riot, invading your (unofficial) space.

But it was okay, you could just sit somewhere else.

It felt weird, sliding onto one of the chairs at a small table. You were so used to your usual, safe routine that this threw you off. You were shaking so bad that you missed your mouth on your first try of sipping at the straw. What an idiot.

You had to try again, holding the straw this time, before you could actually taste the drink.

Selfishly, you wished Red Riot had chosen a different chair. But he was entitled to sit anywhere he liked, and it was obvious he enjoyed this particular Starbucks. Judging by the familiarity with the employees, he was becoming a regular like yourself. You only came once or twice a week, but he probably got his drink fix more often than you did.

Hopefully he didn’t think you were stalking him.

Oh god, what if he thought you were stalking him? How would you show that you weren’t stalking him? Come on a different day? At a different time? But you were here first, this was your routine, and that was your chair!

But man, you really didn’t want to make the Pro-Hero uncomfortable - he’d probably had a few crazy fans who had stalked him before.

Sighing, you sipped slowly at your drink, pulling out your phone to look at memes and text a few to your friends. You could still go about your routine, even if you were sitting in a different spot.

----

You ran into him at the grocery store.

It was in the produce aisle, where you were trying to decide between red apples or green, weighing the pros-and-cons of each decision in your head. You probably looked like an idiot, standing in front of the apples and doing nothing but staring at them, but you needed to ignore that right now.

“Yo, Starbucks buddy!”

The shout rang out across the produce section, and you flinched, suddenly drawn out of your apple-selection process.

It was late, almost ten PM, who and why was shouting in the grocery store??

You weren’t one to turn and stare, but you were curious, and surely whoever shouted like that wouldn’t mind a few questioning looks thrown their way.

And so you glanced over your shoulder, expecting to see a bunch of teenage boys greeting each other, or maybe a man saying hi to his friend.

Red Riot was excitedly waving at you.

Your brain blanked. Immediately, you turned your head, trying to see if there was someone else he was waving at. But there was no one around you - hell, there wasn’t even anyone else in the produce section except for you and the hero.

So he had to be waving at you.

Turning your whole body this time, you gave an awkward imitation of his wave, and let out a soft, croaky “Hey…” as the big man walked closer.

He had a big dumb smile on his big dumb face, and as he reached you, it grew even wider.

“Starbucks buddy! I didn’t mean to make you flinch, my bad. I know I can get a little loud sometimes, haha.” He stopped right in front of you, a grocery basket filled to the brim with meat and a few vegetables clutched on one of his large hands. God, he was so strong, you would be struggling to carry such a heavy basket, and here he was lugging it around like it had nothing but a loaf of bread in it. Red Riot could probably squish your skull to a pulp with just his hand, goddamn he was big.

You shrugged at his words, desperately willing your brain to work and to think of something smart and eloquent and good-to-say. “It’s uh, it’s-it’s fine. I’m just y’know, one of those nervous people, y’know?”

Wow.

Good job brain.

But the Pro-Hero smiled gently, putting his basket down on the ground.

“Yeah, I kinda figured.”

Wait, what?

“I’ve seen you a couple times at Starbucks, the one on Grant and 1st. You always seem… well, nervous whenever I see you. At first I just thought it was because I was there, cause y’know, people have different reactions to seeing heros out in public.”

Your eyes were big, you felt your face erupt in an embarrassed fire, and your hands were fucking sweaty. Why couldn’t you have been born like, a blade of grass? A tree? Some non-sentient object that didn’t have to worry about thoughts or talking or how other people perceived it?

Red Riot continued, “But I’ve seen you a couple of other times; once on the subway, a few times at that park on the north side of town, haha, you really get around, dont’cha?”

Ah yes, now would be a good time for something to happen, like a plane to crash into the building and kill both of you instantly. Or some emergency that required his immediate attention, one that was so big and urgent that he would forget about you instantly.

His red eyes were drawn to your leg, which you were subconsciously wiggling like a toddler. His eyes softened, and his voice lowered an octave. “You always seem a bit… anxious. And I know that feeling, believe it or not. I used to be really insecure and nervous when I was younger-“

Oh, great. Now he was just calling attention to the fact that you were acting like a fucking child, that you were a fully-grown adult that couldn’t handle being out in the world because it was too nerve-wracking. Were you really that easy to read?

“-but I had some awesome people to help me through it. My moms were always really supportive, and they took such great care of me. It was rough for a little bit, but I learned how to be confident and how to strut my stuff and it’s helped me to help others. It’s sorta why I became a hero, actually.”

You smiled again, nodding. That made sense - each and every hero had a reason for why they wanted to help the general public, and of course Red Riot’s reason would be pure and inspiring.

“But uh, anyways! I just saw you shopping and thought I’d say hi to my Starbucks buddy. I was hoping you’d come and sit by me the other day, when I sat in the place you usually sit? But I understand that it’s sorta intimidating to approach a hero, even one in civilian clothing.”

Shoot, so he’d wanted you to sit by him that day? And here you were thinking that he had unintentionally commandeered your seat and was just trying to be left alone. God, you were so stupid.

“Oh, I’m-I’m sorry!” You stuttered out, face hotter than the actual sun. “I didn’t realize! I figured you always have people trying to get an autograph or a picture and you probably just want privacy, and I thought that maybe you just wanted to sit there and hadn’t gotten a chance to because I always sit there, which honestly that’s such a selfish thing for me to do - I should probably try to vary the places I sit so I don’t like-“

“Ah, don’t worry about it! You’re fine, okay? Trust me.” Red Riot patted your shoulder (yup, he could definite squeeze your head like a grape), before leaning down to grab his basket off the floor.

“Oh, well uhm, t-thank you, Mr. Red Riot” You resisted the urge to bow.

“Oh!” The man exclaimed, looking slightly surprised, “Call me Kirishima, none of that “Red Riot” stuff, alright?”

Confusion overtook you. “Uh, that’s only for your friends, civilians should respect the heros and call them by their chosen names.” At least, that’s what you had always been told.

But Red Riot just grinned. “Well, what’s your name?”

With a slight shake in your voice, you told him.

“I know your name now, so I officially deem the two of us as friends!” With his free hand, he patted you on the shoulder again. You shivered, and Red Ri-Kirishima seemed to notice.

“You alright (Y/N)? Didn’t hit you too hard, did I?”

“No, no… I’m just… kinda weird about touch I guess.” That was an understatement. You were so incredibly sensitive, every light touch felt searing, hugs always were too much sensation, you shuddered even thinking about cuddling - you were just too sensitive to touch.

Red-Kirishima stepped back, holding his hand up apologetically. “Oops, my bad. I kinda noticed that about you too, I should’ve remembered.”

At your questioning glance, the man hurried to continue. “Well, y’know, I saw that couple bump into you on the subway, and you looked like you were gonna cry. And then, like, at Starbucks you make an effort to not touch the barista’s hands when they give you your change.”

Great, so that was another thing you were obvious and weird about. Just great. You felt embarrassed that Kirishima had noticed that about you so easily, but you guessed being observant was part of his job.

“Well, I’m gonna go check out now, unless you need help with your groceries?” The man motioned to your barely-filled basket, and you shook your head.

“No, it’s-it’s okay. I can handle this, but thank you.”

Kirishima gave you a thumbs up. “Alright, sounds good. Although, are you planning on walking home?”

You shook your head yes, prepared to receive the “its not safe” talk. You knew it wasn’t safe, but it was just a few blocks, and you had made the walk to your apartment a million times, plus, you couldn’t afford to pay for an uber or a cab.

“It’s pretty dark out there, mind if I walk you home? I’m a hero and all, I promise I’m not going to try and steal your wallet.”

And there it was. For someone as nervous as yourself, walking alone in the dark really was no issue. Maybe it’s cause you weren’t afraid of someone trying to hurt you. You looked poor, you were ugly as fuck, and it was only a couple of blocks.

‘It’s okay Mr. R-Kirishima, I don’t mind. I’ll probably be here for a bit longer, don’t worry about me.”

He probably had other things to tend to, and even if he didn’t, you weren’t important enough to make a Pro-Hero go out of his way to walk you home. You were such an inconvenience already, it would just make you feel worse about yourself. And would you have to make small talk as the two of you walked?

Would he try and insist upon carrying your groceries? Would he want to walk up to your apartment floor with you? Or would he say goodbye in the lobby? Once again, best to just avoid the situation altogether.

Plus, you knew the hero was just trying to be polite. He probably didn’t actually want to walk you home.

Kirishima tried to offer again, but you turned him down, shaking your head, self-consciously drawing your shoulders up. You probably looked so stupid, like a scared little dog that had gotten yelled at. But it was a nervous reaction, and it felt better than just trying to stand there like a block.

Kirishima smiled gently, told you to have a safe night, and then left to go check out.

You turned back to the apples, trying to focus back on which color you should get, stuck between red, or green.

----

The next time you visited Starbucks, your regular spot was once again empty. It was almost a relief, seeing that you wouldn’t have to figure out if Kirishima wanted to talk today or not, if he wanted you to sit by him, or if he was just trying to make small talk back at the grocery store.

So you settled in, warm hot chocolate in hand as you looked out the window, watched cars whiz by on the street, rain puttering down softly.

And then Kirishima was bursting through the door, sending the door bell jingling in a frenzy, rain patterned heavily over his jean jacket, His eyes immediately found you, and his face lit up in a smile.

“(Y/N)!!!!”

You gave a little wave, watching as Kirishima smiled cheerily at you, before quickly ordering a drink. Immediately, the muscled redhead came to sit down in the armchair opposite you, panting a little bit.

“Wooo, I had to run here, started raining on me!”

“I can tell.” You let out a small laugh, noticing how his spiky hair was drooping from getting rained on.

“Glad to see you got home okay the other night.” The male blurted, leaning forward so he could strip off his jacket.

You paused. “What do you mean?”

He flashed you a grin, throwing his jacket over the back of the chair. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”

Ah, he had a point.

His name was called, and Kirishima jumped up and went to pick up his drink before plopping back down in the armchair with a sigh.

“So, (Y/N), you ever been to the ocean before? All this water, the streets might be an ocean by the time we leave.”

Kirishima proceeded to launch into a story about the time he went to the ocean with his buddy Bakugou, how they had swam with turtles and even got to see a whale.

You were glad he was doing all the talking, letting you sit back and listen while you sipped at your hot cocoa. There was no pressure for you to talk, no pressure for you to try and fumble for the right words. And it was nice, seeing the big hero be so excited and animated, gesturing with his hands and almost spilling his drink all over himself.

As you listened to him talk, you settled back further into the armchair contentedly. He was a nice person to be around, you could see yourself being friends with him, if he didn’t mind.

——

And friends you did become.

It wasn’t long before the two of you exchanged numbers - Kirishima had wanted to send you a picture of a dog he had seen the other day while he was out patrolling.

The two of you texted memes to each other, cute pictures of animals, and even though your anxiety was loud and demanding and convinced you that you were bothering the man, Kirishima always assured you that was never the case.

He always seemed to be able to tell when you were feeling anxious, when nervousness settled deep in your bones and refused to leave. You slowly began to notice that with Kirishima, your anxiety was quieter. It was easy to let the exuberant man to take the lead, for him to make decisions, whether to walk up and ask to pet the cute dog or not. It was freeing in a way, letting your new friend take your anxiety and make it be quiet.

After all, no one gave you a second glance, now that you were trailing behind Pro-Hero Red Riot.

Kirishima was such a character, goofy, cheerful, and always sporting a sunny disposition. His casual fashion consisted of the most god-awful color combinations and mixed patterns. It wasn’t uncommon for the man to bounce towards you in greeting, wearing neon green crocs, dark blue overalls that were plaid, and a head-ache inducing black-and-white psychedelic shirt. Somehow he made it all work, and didn’t look odd or out of place.

You admired him, truly. You wished you could have his confidence, his attitude and bouncy personality. If you had confidence like that, you could probably do anything. As it stood right now, you could barely approach someone on the street and ask to pet their dog.

It had been so embarrassing, walking with Kirishima down the street and listening to him talk between gulps of a bright pink slushy. You spotted a woman walking a dog on the other side of the street, a big dog, fluffy and sweet-looking and happily walking along it’s owner, stopping to sniff at each plant that grew in the cracks of the sidewalk.

“Cute, I wish I could pet that dog.” You interrupted Kiri’s story, gazing wistfully at the dog.

Kirishima paused, swiveling his head to see what dog you were talking about. Once he did, his eyes lit up, and he grabbed your hand. “Lets go pet it then!” But when he tried to pull you forward, you balked, pulling your wrist backward.

“I-I can’t, it’s….. I don’t know, It’s fine, I’ll stay here.”

Kirishima raised an eyebrow, studying you as he took another slow sip of his slushy. You had your own slushy, a significantly smaller size than the beefy Pro-Hero’s own giant cup.

“(Y/N), it’s okay - I’ll do all the talking, ‘kay?”

He could tell that the thought of talking to the owner, asking to pet their dog, was making you nervous. What if they said no? What if they thought you were being rude? Would the dog not like you? Would the owner think you looked funny? What if they were hurrying somewhere?

But if Kirishima did all the talking….. maybe you could manage trailing behind him, only emerging from his shadow if the owner said yes to petting their dog.

You gave the big man a weak smile, nodding gingerly before getting yanked forward, Kirishima already speed-walking towards the lady.

He asked, the lady said yes - you got to pet the absolute cutest dog ever. It was heaven.

You were grateful for Kirishima - shyly told him as much. If you were by yourself, you would have noticed the cute dog, but done nothing about it, just wished you had the courage to approach and ask if you could pet it.

But with Kiri? He made anything possible.

----

You were worried you were annoying him.

There was no evidence, but still, wouldn’t it be annoying to have an anxious little shadow? One that shook and stuttered and could barely go to the grocery store without freaking out and having a panic attack? Your fears and feelings weren’t entirely unfounded, I mean, there were millions upon millions of possible outcomes of any one action. Unfortunately, your brain liked to focus only on the negative options.

But Kirishima never got tired, never got frustrated with you. He didn’t mind ordering for the both of you when you got snacks at a fast-food place during long afternoons. He didn’t mind taking up extra space with his personality, being loud and brash and drawing attention to himself when you felt like everyone was watching you, waiting for you to make a stupid mistake.

Kiri seemed to like walking you home, helped you check your windows and in the closet and under the bed (not for people, but what if there was some eldritch monster that lurked just out of sight?). He never made fun of you for your feelings or fears, just gently listened and then tried to help you deal with them.

He even got you to be somewhat comfortable with making silly little mistakes in public. One time the man tripped on thin air, spilling warm coffee all over you and himself. Immediately he burst out laughing at his own clumsiness, apologizing between giggles as he heaved himself off the floor and went to go grab napkins.

If you had spilled a drink on him and yourself, you would’ve been asking Siri where the nearest cliff was. But you realized, the same way that you weren’t worried, and how it wasn’t that big of a problem that your shirt was now soaked with sweet coffee and sticking to your skin, Kirishima probably wouldn’t care if you spilled anything on him.

After all, it was an honest mistake.

The big man was helping you to learn how to be more comfortable in the world. But still, the creeping suspicion that he was just being kind to you out of sheer politeness was forefront in your mind.

So you came up with a question, practiced asking it in the mirror, took several days to build up your confidence to ask Kirishima.

“Do you actually want to be friends with me?”

And sure, that might be a forward question. But you valued honesty, had told him so a few times when he asked you to rate his outfit on a scale from 1-10 (usually it was a solid 10 - his personality making the outfit shine) you tried not to lie to others, and expected the same courtesy from them.

The two of you were in the park, resting on one of the benches after walking around and looking at the different plants (one of your favorite activities, no matter how lame). And now was as good a time as ever, so you popped the question, barely stuttering once.

Kirishima was silent for a bit, and you were almost afraid of looking up at him. The truth would come out now - how he just saw a pathetic little civilian and felt so much pity for them that he decided to be their friend. You were just a burden to him, how could you ever be anything else?

When you dared to look up at the big redhead, the intensity in his gaze had you leaning towards the side nervously, away from the strength of all his attention focused on you.

“(Y/N)…. becoming friends with you was - it’s been the best decision I’ve ever made in my life.” His voice held such sincerity, his face open and honest. You recoiled from the statement, uncomfortable with the compliment. That had to be a lie, he was just saying that to make you feel better. You were so pathetic and weak that other people had to pretend that you were better than you actually were to avoid hurting your feelings. You wished you never existed. Why did you even ask him that question in the first place? There was no way that someone as nice as Kirishima would actually tell you how worthless and pitiful you were.

Large hands grabbed your own, and you jumped. Kirishima’s hands were warm, scarred and calloused, yet soft in their grip as they gently squeezed your own hands. You tried not to flinch at the contact.

“I know that you don’t believe me, but you should. You know-“ One of his hands went to run through his hair, tousling through it’s straight, un-gelled style, before returning to your hand. “-I was pretty lonely before I met you. Like, I had my squad - Bakugou and Mina and Denki and Sero…. But it just….. There was something missing.”

Kirishima leaned close to you, your sides pressing together, his red eyes trying to catch your own. You were too shy, had to look off to the side.

“There was someone missing. And when I saw you, it felt…. Everything just clicked. I was missing you.”

You could feel his breath fanning against the side of your flaming hot face. It was uncomfortable. He was lying, he had to be. He was just trying to help you be confident in yourself, so he wouldn’t have to baby you and hold your hand and help you do simple things like ordering food or going for walks and not worrying about what people thought of you.

He was just being nice.

For some reason, you felt your throat clog up, felt the spicy sting of tears building up. Why did you feel like crying? You weren’t exactly in tune with any of your other emotions, only paid attention if it was anxiety or fear.

A thumb rubbed over your knuckles soothingly (it burned), and the next thing you knew you were being enveloped in a bear hug, Kirishima’s arms crushing you into his chest, his pecs pressing against your face.

Goddamn, he was built as fuck.

You tried to keep still, not squirm away from his touch like a child. You were an adult, you could handle a little bit of discomfort over being touched.

Kiri sighed. “I like being around you (Y/N). You don’t judge me for my mistakes, you accept them - you accept me. You uh, you make me happy dude, like, really happy.”

You chuckled a little bit at the redheads use of the word “dude”. Only a meathead could turn a sappy moment on it’s head by using the word “dude”. Still, you liked the way Kirishima talked, from the excited chatter when he was talking about something he liked, to the slow, comforting honey when he was being sincere and intimate, like now.

At the same time, your heart felt tight, waiting for the inevitable but that was sure to come. For the redhead to explain that he enjoyed your company but he was just being polite to a nervous civilian who couldn’t fend for themselves. You fun to hang out with but it was only because you made him look better, cooler and manlier because he was nice to someone as pathetic as you.

The but never came. You waited and waited, but Kirishima just kept the slow rhythm of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles, kept your face pressed into his chest and an arm wrapped around your body. You didn’t know what to do.

Should you pull back? Your throat felt tight again. Kirishima was lying to you, he had to be. There wasn’t any way that someone would actually enjoy you as a person.

You pulled back from the warmth of his body, pulled your hand away from his. “I don’t….. I want honesty Kirishima. Please? Lies hurt more than the truth, please. I’m not a good person, I’m pathetic and nervous and shy, and I’m too loud sometimes, and my body looks weird, and I’m ugly and disgusting, and-“

“(Y/N), stop.” His voice thundered, cutting you off. Immediately, you fell silent, chest tightening, gaze falling to your lap. He was right. He didn’t need to hear all your insecurities, they were already clear to see. You were such a drag on his life, he probably hated having to deal with you, having to see you.

“Kiri, I’m not uhm-“ Your voice was wavering. “-I’m not feeling so great, I think I’m gonna head home.”

As you stood, so did the redhead. “Please don’t feel obligated to walk me home, I know it’s way out of your way.” He probably hated every second of it, probably insisted just to be polite. Even now, Kirishima was beginning to protest, grabbing at your hand. You pulled back, eyes fixed on the ground.

“Kiri, please.” You whispered, tears threatening to fall. You hated yourself. You hated yourself so much, your chest hurt, your ears felt full, everything felt too heavy and bad - there weren’t even any words to explain it. You just wanted to go home and cry, sob into a pillow.

Kirishima stayed put, probably watching you walk away from the park. God, you hoped he wasn’t, you walked so weirdly. Why couldn’t you just disappear?

——

You tried your best to disappear.

You did the bare minimum, turning in assignments an hour before they were due, half-assing them. You hardly ventured out of your room, only to grab water or to use the bathroom.

Neighbors kept knocking on your door, probably the couple in the apartment opposite you, asking for a cup of sugar so they could make cookies, or wanting to tell you that your mail downstairs was getting full. But being the person you were, you were far too nervous to go answer the door. You were probably annoying people. It would just be better for the world if you weren’t in it, wouldn’t it?

Kirishima kept trying to text you, call you (Even though he knew you couldn’t pick up - calls terrified you), trying to coax you to go on a walk with him, to come get coffee or a slushie with him when he finished working. You brushed him off with lame excuses, telling him you were sick, backtracking when he said he was coming over with soup and movies. You didn’t feel well enough for company.

Still, the man kept texting you several times a day, then only a few times, and now it was down to just once a day. In one corner of your mind, it hurt. The rest of your mind knew that it was for the best, knew that his life was going to be better because you weren’t going to be there bothering him.

His texts consisted of simple messages now, ones you felt bad not responding to, but if you did respond, you hated yourself for the rest of the day. You sucked.

“(Y/N), look at this dog!” *IMAGE ATTACHED*

Cute.

“Yo, you wanna come get something to drink at our place? They have a deal on coffee today!”

Sorry Kiri, I’m not feeling too good today. You should go get a drink though, have fun!

“I saw some people rollerskating in the park, we should try that!”

Yeah.

“Would you wanna go for a walk sometime?”

I don’t think so, I’m pretty busy right now. You should go and get sunshine though, you deserve it!

“We need to go to our Starbucks soon, I need COFFEE haha”

“Gonna ever come see where I work? I can show you my office, it’s super cool!”

“(Y/N), you doing okay?”

“I miss you.”

----

You woke up to the sound of your neighbors (or maybe the complex manager?) knocking on your door. Anxiety filled you, palms immediately becoming clammy, so you fumbled around your bed, searching for your earbuds. Maybe if you could listen to music, you could calm down? Sometimes that worked, sometimes not. It really depended on how worked up you were.

Luckily you found them, quickly stuffing them in your ears as you queued music up on your phone. The knocking faded out as music filled your ears, but your anxiety still persisted. You curled up onto your side, hugging a pillow to your chest, almost on the verge of tears from nothing more than a few knocks at your door. You were such a burden to society.

It took a minute, but your heart stopped racing, palms stopped sweating, and you fell back asleep. You were so tired of being awake.

----

You awoke a second time to hands carding gently through your hair. It felt weird for a brief second, but you just ignored the feeling - until you remembered that you lived alone, and the front door was supposed to be locked.

Squeaking in panic, you shot up, eyes wide, scrambling back into the corner of your bed, clutching the blanket to your chest.

Kirishima blinked at you, hand still hovering over where your he’d had previously been. He was sitting on the edge of your bed, shoes off, bare feet on the floor.

Your eyes were still wide with fear, chest heaving with panic, but you managed to rip out your earbuds. “Kirishima? How-how did you get in?!? What are you….” You trailed off, tugging your blanket closer around your body as you realized that you were in your pajamas. They weren’t provocative, nor exposed any skin, but they drowned your form, were probably stained and most likely dirty, and you definitely looked awful. But back to the issue at hand, how did Kiri get in your apartment?

The man in question gave a dorky little wave, lips quirking up ever so slightly.

“(Y/N), hey! I haven’t seen you in so long!” He paused for a second, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious. “I missed you… I was kinda worried.”

“But how are you- I mean…. inside?” You stuttered, completely flustered.

“Oh, I talked to the complex manager, said I was a family member who was really worried about you. Showed him how you haven’t been answering my texts…. I was really worried (Y/N). You were giving such weird replies to my texts, and then you stopped answering completely, and no one answered the door whenever I knocked.”

Wait, that was him knocking? All those times?

You were going to jump out the window.

“Kiri… I didn’t mean to worry you, I just… You shouldn’t be worried about me.”

“Why not? I care about you, I… I wanted to see you.”

It was time to be honest, say the things that were painful to say. The truths that hurt your heart, but needed to be said. Otherwise, Kirishima just wouldn’t get it.

“Kiri, I’m not-I’m not worth your worry. I don’t deserve it. I’m a nervous, depressed wreck, who can’t even open a door or answer the phone. You’re-you’re being nice to me cause you’re a good person. I don’t think I should be… well, like, around you. I just-I bring you down, and you have to do stuff for me and reassure me and I’m such a burden. Please just, I don’t know, please just don’t give me any more attention. I’m so stupid and gross and you should be friends with someone who isn’t….. isn’t like me.”

You finished your rant, almost breathless, choked up, feeling ready to cry.

Silence reigned between the two of you, everything quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the rhythmic clicking of your fan.

It was uncomfortable. But you’d said your piece. It’d be weird if you said anything else, right? Should you say something else? Was he going to hate you for wasting his time? Holy crap, Kirishima is gonna hate you for wasting his time, for not telling him that at the beginning, when he first got to know you.

“(Y/N)-“ The sound of Kirishima’s soft, low voice made your head snap up, up to his face. He was looking at you, red eyes dark and large and filled with… pity? Sadness? “-I don’t even know how to tell you how wrong you are about that.”

The blanket shrouding your body was quickly pulled away, Kirishima discarding it to the side so he could shuffle closer to you, wrap you in one of his signature death-grip hugs. You were quickly pulled into his arms, the large man hunched over you as he squeezed you tight. It didn’t feel good. You wished he would remember that you didn’t like to be touched.

“I was pretty sure of my feelings before… well, before you asked if I wanted to be friends with you. And truthfully, I wasn’t exactly honest with you.” Your heart gave the tiniest squeeze. You knew he had been lying to you, but yeah, it did kinda hurt to hear him admit it.

“I kinda wanna be more than friends with you, actually.”

His hold on your body loosened, pulling back so he could look at your face. Your ugly, about-to-cry, gross face. You tried to turn away, pull out of his grip and find your blanket and crawl underneath it and stay there until you died. There was no way he was coming onto you - you weren’t good enough for him. He was Kirishima, Red Riot, pro hero, sunshine of the world, manliest and strongest guy out there.

And you were just….

You.

Kirishima didn’t let you move away. He grabbed your arms, pulled you up a bit so you were at his level. “I’m serious about this. I know you don’t believe me, all that anxiety and nervousness trying to lie to you, but….” A quick glance at his face showed the redhead to be blushing. “I’ve wanted to be more than friends from the moment I first saw you.”

Exasperated, almost angry at this point (he was lying), you scoffed, wiggling in his grip to signal that you wanted to let go.

“Kiri, I held a door open for you, it was nothing special. I’m ugly and lame and I panic over the slightest things, stop lying to me and saying that I’m someone worth your time.” Surprised, Kirishima loosened his grasp on your arms, and you moved away from him to sit on the edge of the bed. “I could never be worth your time.”

Was silence becoming a trend between the two of you? Apparently, because Kirishima didn’t say anything, just crawled over and sat down next to you. The big man was hardly ever silent, always talking about this, that, or the other. You were just a pro at messing things up, weren’t you?

A moment longer of sitting awkwardly in silence. You couldn’t take it anymore, you wanted to be able to cry about your shameful existence in peace, without having to entertain Kiri’s pity and lies.

“Can you….. Can you-you go…. Please?” You whispered, hugging your arms around your body. Oh yeah, you had forgotten you were in your gross, oversized pajamas. Just another thing for you to feel bad about.

Kirishima didn’t move.

Afraid he hadn’t heard you, you turned bright red, what an idiot - you can’t even speak loud enough to be heard. You stuttered as you started to repeat your request, but Kirishima cut you off.

“Why can’t you see?” He turned to you. “You’re the most lovely thing, I want to be around you all the time. Why can’t you see that you’re the most wonderful person in the world?”

Horrified, you reeled back. He was just pushing more lies. You felt so uncomfortable, you hated this, you wanted him to stop. “That’s-that’s just some fantasy Kiri…. I’m awful. Please, just go-“

“No.”

No? His voice sounded different, harsh and filled with authority. You looked at your feet, settled against the bare floor. You just wanted to sleep, and sleep, and never have to wake up. Why did being a human have to be so hard?

Might as well let the big redhead say his piece, make you feel worse about yourself. Then you could shove him out the door and spend the next week sobbing yourself sick.You felt bad, you couldn’t even explain your own emotions, put a name to this feeling that was painful and clawed at your chest like it was trying to rip you apart.

“You aren’t understanding me (Y/N). That’s no fantasy of mine - that’s reality.” A large hand grabbed your chin softly, turning your face towards Kiri’s. “Whenever I come up with a fantasy that involves you, I end up fucking my fist ’til I go raw.”

The admission made you stutter, and you hadn’t thought it was possible for you to blush harder, but here you were - twelve shades redder than the reddest tomato.

Kiri didn’t give you a chance to breathe. “I missed you so much, you don’t even realize. I could compliment you until I go blue in the face, but you’re so shy and nervous and adorable, you’d never, ever believe me.”

Well, that much was true. At least he knew you well.

“So instead, I’m just gonna show you how much you mean to me.”

Soft lips met your own, a hand fisting into your hair and twisting your head back to make kissing you easier for Kiri. You couldn’t even think, barely had presence of mind to push at the solid man, hitting his chest. You felt ugly, and gross, and stupid and weak, was this some sort of prank? This had to be some sort of prank. There’s no way Kirishima could actually be attracted to you.

Your mind was drawn to the present when a sharp blossom of pain emanated from your lip. Kiri pulled back, a single drop of blood running down his chin as he stared at you, your foreheads almost touching.

“Don’t get in your head, I want you here. Don’t think, just feel.”

You wanted to say something, to open your mouth and ask him again to leave. He shouldn’t be kissing you, he should be kissing someone prettier, stronger, someone who had their life together.

You wanted to protest, but you were being pushed onto your back on the bed, Kiri’s large, calloused hands grabbing at your limbs and bodily moving you however he saw fit despite your squirming.

“Kir-stop-stop touching! Don’t, please, I’m-I’m so gross-“

His lips were on yours again, swallowing your cries as he moved the two of you around on the small bed until you were splayed out underneath him. He was moving so quickly, with such confidence and self-assuredness that you couldn’t keep up. His hands were starting to squeeze at your waist, his thighs bracketing your own as the big man got comfortable over you, leaning down to avoid breaking the deep, passionate kiss.

Your lungs were burning.

You had to pull your face to the side, pushing at Kiri’s shoulders as you did so, making panicked noises as you tried (and failed) to take in air through your nose. How the hell was Kiri holding his breath this long?

The man finally got the hint, letting you pull away from him, gasping for air. You felt dizzy, his hands were still squeezing and stroking over your waist, it was too much. As you tried to get your breathing under control, you glanced up at your friend, red-faced, on the verge of tears. Why was he doing this? You were so gross, ugly, nothing when compared to how fit and muscular and handsome Kirishima was.

HIs eyes were dark, chin smeared red from the blood earlier - you bet your chin looked the same. His chest rose and fell rapidly, seemingly also out of breath, but the moment your eyes met his, the man was descending again, this time to press hot kisses all over your face, on your jaw, behind your ears.

“Don’t, oh, please don’t. Kiri-why are you-? Stop-“ You gasped, the sensations of his lips trailing across your skin too much for you to handle. A kiss to the column of your throat had you jolting, trying to sit up, not knowing what you were doing but trying to get away. It was too much.

“Lay back.” Kiri’s deep voice rumbled. “Let me make you feel good. You’ll forget about the anxiety, okay? Just focus on me.”

You didn’t want to focus on him. But at the same time, the situation was so overwhelming, you didn’t know what to do except let him push you back down with a hand on your chest.

Before you could process what happened, your clothes were off, his clothes gone as well. You wanted to shriek; cry and cover yourself and tell Kirishima to leave, but everything was happening too fast, and your body couldn’t keep up.

You felt floaty, buzzy, like you were in a weird dream, ears stopped up full of cotton.

Wet fingers prodded at your entrance. Oh, were they Kiri’s? When had they gotten wet? The fingers retracted, and you watched Kirishima gather the saliva in his mouth before spitting onto his hand.

Ah.

The fingers were back, one pushing into you, the pressure too deep, too tight, too harsh. You knew in the back of your mind that you probably looked so stupid, gasping and shivering and shaking, but you couldn’t control it.

One finger turned into two, then three, then four, and then they were gone, something much bigger trying to split you open.

You felt sick.

You couldn’t move.

Kirishima was kissing your face again, his touch burning, making your skin feel tingly and painful and rough everywhere he touched. It hurt. He was saying something, but your ears were buzzing, everything felt fuzzy and weird, and you didn’t know where to look, what to do, except lie there and let the man continue.

He was soft, gentle. But no amount of easy touches or reassuring words were getting through to you, just the overwhelming sensation of being too full, nausea thick in your stomach, throat closing up. The room tasted like blood.

The pressure wasn’t going away, just building and building and building as Kirishima thrust into you, until eventually a twinge of pleasure slipped into your system alongside the discomfort of being filled.

It felt weird… nice? You couldn’t tell anymore.

There was only sweat, slick, slapping noises, rough hands running over your skin, words being said. You couldn’t grasp anything.

You felt full, empty, all at the same time.

The pleasure built, higher and higher and higher until it burst into little sharp fragments that ran through your veins, zinging into your wrists, sparking through your tummy.

And then there was warmth inside you, and the part of you still lucid recognized that Kirishima had just cum inside your body.

You couldn’t get enough air into your lungs.

----

Kirishima was laying beside you, making shushing sounds, stroking your hair, pulling the blanket up around the two of you. The pressure between your legs was gone, as was the stinging pleasure that had spilled all over your body. You couldn’t feel, everything was still too much, too loud and bright and rough and warm.

Kirishima was still stroking your hair as you finally calmed down, hyperventilating coming to a stop, shaking still there, but not as violent as it had been.

“-so strong, and your laugh always makes me happy. I love you, and I know you love me back. It’s gonna take some time for us to work past all this nervous stuff, but I’m not give up. I’ll always be here for you, you know that?”

He was rambling, occasionally pressing soft kisses to your neck, along your collarbone - innocent, reassuring. You closed your eyes.

“You need someone to be there for you, I know. You get so anxious, and you bottle up your feelings, and I know you get so scared of saying or doing the wrong thing and you just freeze or panic.” He continued. “You won’t ever have to worry about that with me. We worked around it today, yeah? You just relax, and let me lead. I’m never gonna steer you wrong (Y/N).”

You felt cold.

#yandere #yandere kirishima eijirou #yandere boku no hero academia #kirishima #yandere kirishima eijiro #yandere kirishima #bnha kirishima #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou #anxiety #tw noncon #tw dubcon #panic attack

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hotchnersbiitch · 4 years

Text

Pinky Promise

Request: @jojosgirlkat1dluvr Paring: Derek Morgan x reader Category: Angst w/ a happy ending Warning: Arguing, crying Word Count: 9.7k

You’ve been lucky enough to score the handsome hunk, Derek Morgan, as your boyfriend. You guys were head over heels in love with one another. You were the only girl Derek ever talked about having a future together with, and honestly, he was the only guy you could picture having a future with. But recently you’ve been feeling rather unwanted. Derek Morgan is a flirt, everyone knows that. But wouldn’t one expect their boyfriend not to flirt while in a relationship? Well, Derek didn't quite get that part, because recently Derek has been flirting more and more while on cases and out and about. It hurt your feelings, you felt like Derek wasn't interested in you anymore. Like he was only with you out of pity or something. But today you had enough, you weren't going to put up with it anymore.

This morning when you came into work you saw Derek chatting with some girl from another agency, they seemed to be having quite a good time. Too good a time. The girl was blushing and giggling, you knew Derek was flirting with her. It hurt seeing that, that should be you. You were so done with Derek’s flirting, you were going to talk about it with him at some point. You went straight to your desk, not acknowledging any of your teammates.

“You okay Y/N? You seem tense.” Emily asked from her desk which was across from yours.

“I’m fine.” You mumbled, Emily, taking the hint that you weren't in the mood to talk right now so she let you be. Derek soon finished talking to the girl and made his way over to his desk, stopping by yours.

“Good morning beautiful,” Derek said crouching down next to your chair to be eye level with you.

“Leave me alone Derek, I’m not in the mood.” You muttered, refusing to even look at Derek. The man's brow furrowed, concerned as to why you were acting like this.

“What’s wrong babe? Did something happen?” He asked, placing a hand on your shoulder and you just shrugged him off. This wasn't like you at all and that concerned your boyfriend.

“Derek, seriously, I’m not in the mood.” You said a bit more stern this time and Derek put his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright,” Derek said with a sigh, walking to his desk, giving you time to cool down. He was so confused as to why you were acting like this, honestly, the whole team was confused. You were the happy go lucky one of the group, and this morning you were the complete opposite. All day at work you ignored Derek, refusing to even look in his direction. You got up at one point during the day to get yourself a coffee, once you made it into the break room Derek stood up to go talk to you. JJ furrowed her brow at the male.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you. She’s clearly not in a good mood Derek.” JJ warned and Derek just shrugged and walked into the break room where you were making yourself a cup of coffee.

“Y/N, what's going on baby? I’ve never seen you like this.” Derek asked as he waked up behind you. You just ignored him, acted like he wasn't even there. Derek let out an annoyed chuckle. “Oh, so you're going to ignore me now?” Derek asked and you just kept on ignoring him. You were tired of letting him get away with being a bad boyfriend. “Whatever, fine.” Derek huffed, frustrated as to why you were acting like this. You just walked past Derek and back to your desk, Derek didn't give you attention anymore so why not do the same to him? The team noticed the tension between the two, it was obvious something was going on. You stayed at your desk the rest of the day, luckily there was no case, just simple paperwork. As soon as you finished you turned it into Hotch and gathered your things and left, not saying goodbye or waiting for Derek to walk you to your car like he normally did. You just left, leaving everyone very concerned. If you were mad at Derek it had to be something bad if you were acting like this. The team called you the sunshine of the group, but today you were not the sunshine.

You drove home, stopping to grab yourself some food. You didn't feel like cooking tonight. When you got back to your apartment you changed into comfy clothes and sat down on the couch eating your fast-food dinner and watching reruns of your favorite show. You thought a lot about what to do about Derek, you decided you needed to talk to him about this. Ignoring him forever wasn't going to do any good. You pulled out your phone and sent him a text.

“Can you come over? We need to talk.”

You sent the messages, nervously awaiting a reply. Derek just replied with a simple ‘okay’, that wasn't very assuring but you took it. Awaiting Derek’s arrival as you stress ate from a tub of ice cream. Derek on the other hand was a nervous wreck as he left work, he was nervous you were going to break up with him. He still was clueless about what you could possibly be mad at him for. His nervousness soon turned into anger, he convinced himself that you were going to break up with him for no reason. Ugh, men.

But soon enough there was a knock at the door, you got up and answered to door to the upset man. He walked inside, and you shut the door before you turned to look at him.

“So why are you breaking up with me? What did I do?” Derek asked, his voice laced with anger, but also concern. You furrowed your brow in confusion.

“Who said I was breaking up with you?”

“Well, it is pretty obvious Y/N. You ignored me all day at work, you send me a mysterious text saying you needed to ‘talk’ What else am I supposed to assume?!” Derek exclaimed, you were angry now. How dare he come in here and yell at you like you're the bad guy?

“Derek, you’re being ridiculous! I was going to talk to you about why I was mad, but I won’t talk to you when you're yelling at me.” You spat back, and Derek rolled his eyes.

“What's so important that you need to talk about that causes you to ignore me all day?” Derek asked, his tone sarcastic.

“You know what, you can leave. I’m not talking to you when you’re like this.” You said seriously and Derek let out an annoyed laugh.

“Exactly, you were going to break up with me. Just do it!” He yelled, you about lost it then and there.

“No, Derek, I wasn't going to break up with you! I wanted to talk about your flirting problem but clearly you don't need me! Go flirt with all the girls you want, you don't need me to hold you back because clearly, I am not important enough!” You yelled, tears pricking in your eyes. Derek’s face softened at this, he blew this way out of proportion.

“Y/N... I didn't know... I’m sorry. We can talk about it.” Derek said, his voice much softer this time. You just shook your head and wiped your eyes, walking over to your couch and sat down.

“Leave.” That was all you said and Derek shook his head. You were both so stubborn sometimes, it always caused issues.

“No, I’m not leaving when you’re upset at me. We can talk this out Y/N, please baby.” Derek said, sitting on the other end of the couch. You didn't say anything, you just pulled your sweatpant clad legs to your chest. You were so upset, you just wanted your boyfriend to act like your boyfriend. Was that so much to ask for? Why couldn't Derek understand how terrible it makes you feel when he flirts with other girls. How insecure it made you feel. How unspecial it made you feel. You knew he wouldn't be happy if you went out and flirted with other men, especially in front of him. You couldn't take it anymore, you just couldn’t. With your face buried in your knees, you started crying, not caring that Derek was sitting only feet away from you.

“I can’t- I can’t Derek.” You cried, hugging your legs close to your chest. Derek’s heart broke, he didn't know his actions hurt you so much. Derek scooted over closer to you, pulling you into his lap.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby. I’ll be better.” Derek said as he rubbed your back, trying to console you. You didn't care that you were mad at him, you needed comfort. You wrapped your arms around Derek and cried.

“I just want to be good enough for you... Am I not good enough for you?” You sobbed into his shirt, Derek sighed and rubbed your back.

“You are more than enough for me. You're the only girl I want.” Derek said and you pulled away, looking at him with your red teary eyes.

“Then why do you flirt with other girls all the time?...” You asked, Derek sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

“I don't know, you're my first real relationship. Flirting is... was just my thing. I just do it I guess. I didn't think about it hurting your feelings and I'm sorry. I will stop, I mean it, baby. Really I do, I love you and only you.” Derek said honestly, it sounded pathetic but it was the truth.

“You promise?” You asked, Derek, nodded and stuck out his pinky for you.

“Yeah, I promise. Pinky promise.” Derek said with a small smile, you smiled back, wrapping your pinky around his.

“You know you can never break a pinky promise right? They are unbreakable.” You said with a soft giggle, wiping your eyes. Derek chuckled and nodded, kissing your forehead.

“I know, I’ll never break that promise. Now let me make it up to you, we can spend the weekend at my place and I’ll take you on a date. How's that sound?” Derek asked and you grinned widely at him, nodding your head.

“That sounds wonderful.” You said with a smile, kissing Derek's lips softly. Feeling much better now that you talked everything out with your lover. Derek kissed you back before pulling away.

“But first let me make it up to you in another way,” Derek said with a smirk, a blush forming on your cheeks, Derek had the most intoxicating effect on you. It was safe to say Derek most definitely made it up to you. By the end of the weekend, you knew that Derek only loved you and that he was going to do everything he could to show that to you.

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jaeqtstuff · 3 years

Text

― 𝑔𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊

words count: 1.7k

playlist: ghost by justin bieber (recommend to listen to it while reading, just to get the feels because im suck at angst lol)

pls note that english is not my first language. but i had fun writing this so i hope you too! xx

[10:15pm] after escaping the most boring blind date that your friend set you up with, you came across the usual late night bar that you used to go during your days with beomgyu. yeah, your famous ex among your peers.

everybody knows how in love, how insanely perfect the two of you were for a love story but that was during high school. college was a whole different story. it suddenly becomes so toxic that it drained both of you. waking up every morning was a burden to the point you can't even breath in each other presence. you didn't know what went wrong, neither did he but as years passed, it was all because of childish reason. the most hurtful thing about this one is, you knew it could be saved but you didn't do anything. and neither did he.

"whiskey on the rocks." you choose to sit far from others, wanting more privacy. the bartender seems to recognise you by the way his mouth formed a big smile as if he was welcoming a friend. you smiled back, nonetheless.

let's just call it off. it's better this way. i mean can you do this everyday? doesn't this itch you?

you shut you eyes close as you slowly savouring every drops of it. why does it taste bitter? it shouldn't taste like this. i should've just go home.

fucking sick of it. fucking sick of everything and just piss off. don't you get tired of me? honestly i am. so get lost from my fucking sight.

the more you sip, the bitter it got. you didn't enjoy it. maybe that's the reason why some people avoid old places but you were there, drinking alone in the most romantic set up you could ever imagine for a late night bar, the low dimmed lights and slow soul music playing in the background and not to mention all the couple around you. you hate it so much but you can't deny the obvious fact that you missed it. you miss how this place used to caress you with memories you still keep in the deepest part of your heart.

"do people still come over to sing?" you casually asked the bartender as he slips your second drink. you remember how beomgyu used to say that he will sing at the small stage and dedicate a song for you infront of everyone in the bar but he never did.

"well yes. in fact, we're preparing for one." he replied, with much excitement at you. you look passed your shoulders, eyes fixed to the small stage at the corner. they were getting ready with the mic and there was single stool with a guitar at the side.

"he's a good singer." the bartender commented as he was wiping all the utensils he had used just now with a clean cloth. "really?" you look away from the stage and bring your glass close to the mouth. without wasting much, you gulped down the rest of the drink in one go before taking out your purse to pay. you could hear the soft melody of guitar playing at the back but you were more focus with the text displayed on your home screen. "it's weekend. leave me the fuck alone." you hissed under your breath.

Youngblood thinks there's always tomorrow

I miss your touch on nights when I'm hollow

I know you crossed a bridge that I can't follow

Since the love that you left is all that I get

I want you to know that if I can't be close to you

I settle for the ghost of you

I miss you more than life

you shut the phone away and bring the card out to pay. you waited for the bartender to notice you but you were now interested with the song. your head unknowingly move with the beat, fingers tapping slowly on your bare legs. the lights on the stage were too dimmed and you couldn't see well who was the one singing but his voice was causing a whole war flashback in your head.

And if you can't be next to me

Your memory is ecstasy

I miss you more than life

you never knew a song could break you so much, not when you least expected it but the one singing was also not helping the situation any better. he was singing his heart out, as if he was the one writing the lyrics from some kind of painful experience he ever had in his life. anyone in the bar could say the same thing.

Youngblood thinks there's always tomorrow

I need more time but time can't be borrowed

I'd leave it all behind if I could follow

Since the love that you left is all that I get

I want you to know that if I can't be close to you

the more you listen, the more your heart ached. all these years, you thought you moved on from him. you can finally accept the fact that you can live without him by your side. in those years, it's a lie if you say you never thought of him during those drunken nights with your friends. but tonight was brutal. you could relate to the lyrics so much that you had trouble holding yourself back from any breakdown that would cost you every time you said you were good without him.

I'll settle for the ghost of you

I miss you more than life, yeah

you were never good.

And if you can't be next to me

Your memory is ecstasy (oh)

I miss you more than life

you were never calm after both of you called it off. you forced yourself to drink every night so that you can sleep without thinking of him but the terrible headaches every morning was torture. the moment you get up, he was all over in your head. you remember how you wanted to run back to him every night, tell him to forget all the bad pieces and just start new but by looking at the sight of it, it would make you throw up. you definitely knew it will make things worse.

you looked at the stage, still trying to see who was the one singing. heart still hurting but deep down, you were expecting something out of wicked love story. the tears building up in your eyes were not helping as your visions got blurry from the lyrics. blinking the tears away, you were nervous to look back to the stage again.

So if I can't get close to you

I'll settle for the ghost of you

But I miss you more than life

And if you can't be next to me

Your memory is ecstasy

you breathed in deeply, struggling to gain your composure. nonetheless, the shaky eyes went back to the stage where suddenly, the lights around the stage were slowly looking brighter. you could clearly see how he was playing the guitar effortlessly with his eyes closed. the expression on his face was tormentingly raw or maybe it was just your eyes telling the lies to the mind, telling you that he was also in much pain just like you were. one thing for sure, you eyes couldn't lie the one infront of you.

I miss you more than life

how can you forget his voice? you gasped for air, breathed in every sharp air you could get because you knew, the night will only get worse, will only wreck you even more than it did before. you could never get better from it.

the people around you start clapping, telling you that he was done singing on the stage. you could hear the soft giggle from the mic before the countless thank you from him. you carefully eyed him at the stage before taking out the cash from your purse, putting the card back inside. you couldn't be bothered about the points because the last thing you want was beomgyu seeing you in this helpless state. smudge eyeliner and mascara because of the tears and also the short lacy black dress you were wearing. it was too obvious.

so you left without looking back. and oh boy, the moment the cold air hit your face, you couldn't hold back the tears. no, you were weeping, sobbing, almost throwing up on the side road. walking to home will be hard but you were quick to stop a cab.

thank god the tears stop the moment you were in the cab. the warm seat kinda cool you down a bit but your heart was eager. you didn't stop there and pulled out the phone from your back. eventhough you didn't contact each other, you knew where to find him and in those nights like this, you always check on him. last time you did was two years ago and maybe it should just stay unchecked.

the moment it hits you, there i knew i am still holding on to the past just like how i always did. and perhaps it's because you are always there. not leaving me nor forget about me. i will just settle like this, holding on to that life i miss most. ― 15 minutes ago

wish you can stay longer so that this night would not be lonely again but it's not what i thought it is. i'm sorry. ― 2 minutes ago

you lost at the last words and now fighting your own mind, telling the cab to turn around but you couldn't get the words out from your mouth. you knew beomgyu saw you, he probably saw you in that bar. sitting alone at the furthest table from the rest. he probably saw how you were struggling in your seat, looking so pathetic in that dress.

he was right. beomgyu was right.

this night will only get lonelier. if only you stayed, maybe things could change but you knew, it can only work if both of you wanted it. he had his chance but he didn't use it. in between those tears, you laugh it off, thinking how stupid could you be with just simple words like 'i'm sorry', you were ready to throw yourself again to the deepest pit of hell with him.

choi beomgyu,

the only man who wreck you this much. the only man who can prove to you that there will be no other lover like him.

"choi beomgyu."

#choi beomgyu #choi soobin #choi yeonjun #beomgyu boyfriend #beomgyu txt #beomgyu #kang taehyun #heuningkai #tomorrow x tomorrow #txt timestamps #tomorrow x together #have fun #kpop imagines

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buckyownsmylife · 4 years

Text

Black and white - Henry Cavill smut

The one where Henry is a vampire and he’s been trying to keep you safe by distancing himself.

Warnings: vampire!Henry AU, blood, smut

A/N: this was requested by anon waaaay back in october 😅 It’s finally here!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The bell rang as another customer entered the shop, but I was too busy jotting down the books Miss Gayle was buying that it took me a minute to raise my head to greet them. When I did, I immediately wished I’d just ignored the sound, despite the fact that it was both absolutely impolite and completely out of character for me.

Nonetheless, it was done, and I scrambled to replace the smile that had fallen from my face at the sight of Henry with another one, albeit a visibly plastic replacement. It was nothing like the ones I usually greeted my customers with, and by the way Henry flinched and Miss Gayle raised an eyebrow, it was easy to see that I was in no way comfortable with the new arrival.

“I’ll be with you in a second,” I barely acknowledged him, turning back to the nice old lady who had kept her weekly visits to my shop ever since I first opened it. It was times like these where I’d wish I actually had people working for me. “That’ll be 35 dollars, Miss Gayle. Do you want a receipt?”

Eyebrows still raised, she simply fished two twenties before handing them to me, just as I handed her a five back. She always tried to leave me with some sort of tip, but I’d known her well enough by now to be able to anticipate her antics.

“You’re impossible, dear,” she’d always tease me, to which I’d laugh heartily. The only difference was that today, after our usual banter, she chanced a glance at Henry, who was trying to pretend to be busy while looking at some bookcases, before turning back to me. “Give him a chance. He clearly cares about you, and you need someone to do so, so you don’t end up like me, all alone with only this store to keep you company.”

The unrequested advice took me by surprise, and I froze in my spot, staring back at her with her receipt still in my hand. It was only when she reached out to take it from me that I snapped out of it, hopefully blinking my confusion away from my face.

It wouldn’t be the first time I seriously considered the possibility that Miss Gayle was actually a witch.

“I think you’re misreading the situation, Miss Gayle. But don’t worry, if it’s any consolation, so have I.” She frowned at my words, undoubtedly pondering over what I could possibly mean, but I tried to keep a smile on my face as I walked her to the door. Any excuse to keep myself away from the man waiting for my attention.

When the bell rang again, signaling her leaving, I sighed, trying to mentally prepare myself for whatever the hell was about to happen. But before I could even turn around to face him, Henry’s voice cut through my whirlwind of thoughts, declaring, “She’s right, you know that?”

I hummed halfheartedly, not wanting to turn around and deal with this, but knowing it was better to get on with it already. “Right about what? About you caring for me? I don’t doubt that, Henry, but I also don’t think I was wrong in what I told her. I clearly misread whatever it was we had going on, because I thought you had taken me out on a date and I thought you had been too nervous to take the first step and kiss me goodnight, so for the first time in my life I gathered enough courage to initiate a kiss, only to be rudely pushed away before you disappeared for days.”

It all came out in one jumbled speech, my need to get those feelings out making me run over the words while I tried to get through this to save me the embarrassment of having to relive that night again. It was all I’d thought about for days, and just when I was finally about to get over it, he just had to waltz back into my shop and throw me on a loop again.

“Look, I don’t mind that you don’t reciprocate my feelings and I don’t mind that I made a fool of myself that night. Did it suck? Yes. A lot. But what really hurt was the fact that that stupid risk I decided to take was miscalculated, because even if I considered the idea of you not reciprocating my feelings, I never thought you would simply allow it to destroy what I considered to be a good and strong friendship. Because that’s how I saw you, first and foremost. As a friend.”

I took a long breath as I finally averted my eyes from him, trying to force myself not to cry in front of this man and become even more pathetic to the one person who I wanted to impress more than anyone else in my life. God, this crush was going to destroy me, just how weak was I?

I didn’t really expect any sort of response from him. What could he say after all of that? Still, it took me by surprise when he interrupted my string of self-deprecating thoughts. “I don’t want to be a friend.”

My heart started to pound inside my chest, my eyes suddenly meeting his again. As much as the sick part of my mind wanted to tell me that he was saying he didn’t want to have any association with me anymore - he did avoid me for three days, after all - rationally, it was clear that he meant something else entirely.

Henry’s P.O.V.

I watched her eyes grow bigger, her breathing becoming more laboured. I could hear her blood pumping more rapidly on her veins, calling out to me, but for the first time since we met, it was easy for me to ignore it. I didn’t want to lose her, in any shape or form. All of my attention was focused on her and her reactions, because I needed her to believe in me.

“You weren’t wrong. It was a date, or at least I wanted it to be a date. And I did chicken out when it came to kiss you goodnight, but it wasn’t for the reason that you’re thinking.” She was frowning, clearly trying to understand what I was hiding, but this wasn’t the time or the place. “Give me another chance,” I whispered, reaching out for her hand when I heard the bell over the door of her bookstore ringing again, signaling the arrival of another customer. “Go out with me tonight. I promise that I’ll explain everything.”

Her brows furrowed deeply, I knew she was having a hard time deciding to trust me again, to put her heart on the line once more. And I hated myself for putting her in such a situation. I hated that I’d wrecked her self-esteem, made her doubt my feelings for her.

Which was why I knew that I was making the right choice by fighting to stay in her life.

“Okay,” came her answer finally, yet not at all in a firm tone. It broke my heart, but I understood. “Come and pick me up after I close the store. I’ll be waiting.” And with a simple nod, she dismissed me until later.

Fair enough. I knew she had things to do and that she needed time to go over the repercussions of what I had just admitted, but a part of me was scared that being apart would simply make her second guess her decision. Still, I needed to respect it. I owed her at least that. So I left her to her own devices, trusting that when I got back to the store she would really be there for me to pick her up.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I spent the rest of the day unable to concentrate on my work activities. Everything I did, my mind brought me back to Henry and those two very pungent moments when I was with him. The night of our “date” and this morning.

My gut told me I hadn’t made a mistake in accepting his request for an explanation. Even during those days apart, I knew there was a reason for his behavior, I just… I knew it. I couldn’t explain it, especially since we didn’t even know each other for that long. But it was the same thing that made me trust him implicitly. The same feeling in the depths of my soul that recognized him somehow, that made me start to fall for him during long conversations over coffee in my bookshop.

Still, my mind begged me to run away, to protect myself. I didn’t need to go through this again. Nothing stopped him from rejecting me again - in fact, that was very likely to happen. Doesn’t love work out just like… 1% of the time?

Just when I was starting to freak myself out, I heard my name being uttered from behind me, making me jump in the air. “God, make a noise or something,” I complained, a hand over my heart as I turned around to find him clearly trying very hard not to laugh at me.

“Sorry.” Narrowing my eyes at him, I simply noted, “You don’t look sorry at all.” He wanted to laugh again, I knew that, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes became peculiarly soft as he pondered over what to say. “You’re right, I’m not sorry. You look really cute when you’re scared. Can I kiss you now?”

I should say no. Right? I should totally say no. But I had been crushing on this guy for the last few months and in that second, all I seemed to be able to do was to nod, my breath hitching when he approached to cradle my entire face with his huge hands. God, he was so beautiful, even more from up close.

But just when the distance between our lips was about to become nonexistent, just when all I could hear was the blood in my veins being pumped on maximum speed due to the way my heart was pounding in my chest, he hesitated, breaking the spell.

“We shouldn’t,” he whispered almost against my mouth, so close that I could feel his cold breath on my face. “I shouldn’t.” I couldn’t really call it a clarification, since it only left me more confused.

Even worse, it awakened that awful, burning feeling of humiliation, that reignited the fires of embarrassment deep within my stomach. “Why do you do this to me?” His eyes grew big at the realization of my anger, like somehow, he didn’t expect it at all.

“Did you come here only to break me further? I can’t handle this, Henry. I don’t need this. Please, leave.” For a second, I thought he would, but I don’t know why. Nothing in his demeanor betrayed that would be his intention. If anything, it was the precise opposite. As the concern disappeared from his face, his expression solidified in a hardened mask that showed just how serious he was about whatever it was that he needed to say.

Henry’s P.O.V.

“No. I’m not leaving. Not until you hear what I have to say. Please.” I could see the hesitation on her, and I knew it was deserved. I deserved it. I knew it just as well as I knew that I didn’t deserve her.

But she did deserve an explanation, and I was going to give her that. And if she could find it in herself to still want me in her life, maybe we could be something more. God knows how much I actually wanted to kiss her.

“Not here,” I implored, needing her to give me just a little bit more of her time. “Can I please join you in your home?”

It took some time, but at last, she nodded, making sure the door of the bookshop was properly locked before silently making her way down the street, taking the path that I had followed so many times before, when I’d accompany her on her trajectory after work. But back then the air was lighter, there was chatter and laughter between us. Now, it felt cold, even colder than my skin.

Thankfully, we were by her house before long. She looked over her shoulder before moving to unlock the door, like she wanted to make sure I was still there. There was absolutely no way I’d leave her hanging like that again, especially since she had found it in her to continuously give me another chance.

“Thank you,” I peeped when she invited me in, quickly assuming the seat she pointed me to. I was even more thankful for the fact that she still chose to sit by my side on the sofa, instead of pulling a chair to keep some space between us. Maybe she liked to be in a close proximity to me just as much as I did with her.

“I… don’t know where to start,” I began, suddenly self-conscious and doubting everything I’d decided on my way here again. But then she shrugged, and the realization that I was about to lose her before I even had her was enough to get me to suddenly blurt out, “I’m a vampire.”

At first, there was no reaction at all. She remained seemingly unfazed, arms crossed in front of her chest, expression thoroughly unreadable. I would be sweating if I could, but as it were, I just started babbling even more.

“Please, don’t be afraid. I’d never hurt you. I promise. But that’s why I’ve been keeping away, I… I feel so attracted to you, but I couldn’t let you fall for me without knowing who I truly am. And this is who I truly am. Still me. Just a little bit older than you thought.” Still no answer, until suddenly she cut the silence that had fallen in the living room with a long drawn-out breath, before exclaiming, “I’m not afraid.”

That was literally the last thing I thought she would say immediately after I admitted my secret.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“You… You’re not afraid of me?” He repeated, clearly not believing what I had just said.

“No.” After a few seconds of silence, he ended up cutting the tension in the room with a request.

“Then tell me what you’re thinking.” As bizarre as the situation was and as confused as my feelings for Henry were at the moment, I couldn’t help but to joke, “What, you can’t read my mind?”

He pursed his lips, clearly unamused but at the same time relieved that I wasn’t angry or afraid of him. I took a deep breath, still looking him dead in the eyes, before admitting, “I’m thinking… that I really want to fuck you.”

That caught him by surprise.

“You want me?” I had to huff, rolling my eyes at his stupidity. How could someone be this unaware of social queues? Or, better yet, of his own attractiveness?

“Yes, I want you. And I’m done holding myself back from getting what I want.” And with that, I climbed on his lap, tugging him down to meet my lips by the collar of his shirt. He was cold, colder than he should be, but I don’t think I would have noticed if I didn’t know who - or actually, what - he was.

He tasted like mint, and a little bit like coffee. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t something this ordinary. And I especially wasn’t expecting to like it so much. But suddenly, he grasped my hips, stopping my unconscious slow grind against his crotch. “I’m not sure you’ve completely understood what this means,” he started, and I had to laugh.

“You drink blood, right? What else is there to understand? I like you, Henry. I’m not gonna suddenly stop liking you over something like this. Now please, can you kiss me? I’ve been waiting for this for so long...” I don’t know if it was my words or my pouty face, but something made him grab me with a new vigor that had me screaming in excitement.

“I knew you were perfect for me,” he whispered as he rubbed his nose on my cheek, making me giggle with delight. The absolute sweetness of the statement had my heart skipping a beat momentarily.

“Then kiss me, you idiot.” Thankfully, he did just so. And although I could still feel his restraint, I now understood what it meant - and it was so much easier to deal with when I had his lips to distract me.

When I had to pull apart to catch my breath, he kept his mouth on my skin, slowly tracing a path from my jaw down to my throat, and when he got to my jugular, he stopped, simply inhaling while I felt his mouth water on top of it. “You ever wonder what I taste like?” I teased, running my hand through his curls, and he pulled away to look me in the eyes, first in concern and then in lust.

Henry’s P.O.V.

“All the fucking time.” Instead of being afraid, the little mixen bit on the lower lip I wished I still had between my own teeth, before remarking, “That’s kinky.” It had me roaring with laughter until I felt the need to attack her mouth with mine again.

“I’ll show you kinky.” After she had to separate from me to catch her breath once more, I traced the path her blood followed down her neck until the neckline of her dress, before softly pulling the sleeves down on each side so I could lave her collarbone and shoulders with my tongue, too.

“Do you want a taste?” She whispered, the question making me freeze for a second, my fingers pressing even tighter in the soft skin of her hips. I could feel her heartbeat under them. She was so… alive. Perhaps that’s why she made me feel like that, too.

“I couldn’t possibly ask you for that.”

“You’re not asking.” I tried to find something, anything in her eyes that showed me a sign of humour, but there was nothing. She was honestly doing this. I hesitated for a while, until she used the grip she had on my curls to pull me down against her neck, that she exposed even more to me by throwing her head back. “Please.”

My eyes trailed down the curve of her shoulder as I felt my fangs starting to grow. A swipe of my tongue over them confirmed what I already knew: they were ready. With one last look into her eyes to see if she wanted to back out, I leaned over her and pierced the neck of my beloved, sucking just enough to allow me to taste the magnificent essence that kept her alive before I retreated and lapped the few droplets that still escaped the punctures.

The sight of her breathing hard, making her breasts jump up to my face as I kept her safe in my lap was enough to get me completely hard. “Bed. Now.” That was the only warning I gave her before I rose up from the couch with her clinging to my body, legs wrapped around my back. She giggled against the kiss I stole from her lips, undoubtedly tasting a little bit of herself, before keeping on with the trend of endlessly teasing me for her own amusement.

“You know, I don’t really feel like sleeping right now.” I growled at her continuing giggles, squeezing her ass to grind her against my hardness. I wanted to know just how thoroughly fucked she’d be.

“You’re not going to sleep any time soon, darling.” Reconnecting our lips, I followed blindly in the direction of what I assumed her bedroom to be located, only stopping to let her catch her breath because she pulled away. I would have to be better at remembering that she needed that.

“You never told me what I tasted like,” she breathed out against my lips, buying herself more time to get some air into her lungs. It made me laugh, the question sounding absurd considering everything, but this is precisely what I loved about her.

“Like fucking candy, how about that?” She screamed as I dipped her back, laying her down on the mattress before climbing over her again. “I really want to know if it’s the same down there.”

She clinged to me eagerly, legs wrapping around my body as her hands made quick work of my shirt. It felt intoxicating to see just how desperate she was for me, just how she reciprocated my own desire.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The second I was laid bare for his eyes to take in, a sharp inhale resonated through the room. I could feel his eyes trailing down my body, drinking me in, and it made me dizzy with desire. “You’re so beautiful.” His voice was barely over a whisper, and still, I heard it in my very soul.

But then, a thumb was running over my lower lips, teasingly opening me up to his gaze, and I mewled at just how great it felt to be this exposed to him. “And so wet,” he added, using that same thumb to collect some of the moisture I could feel starting to drip from me and then rubbing it all over my pussy.

“What are you gonna do about it?” I asked, trying to muster all of the defiance I could find, but my body was weakened by my need for the man hovering above me - and he knew. He just knew he had reduced me to a needy, whimpering mess, and he was loving every second of it.

His thumb found my clit and he massaged it for a bit, eyes trapping mine in his hypnotizing gaze as he pondered over my question. Until, finally, there was an answer. “I want you to touch yourself.”

Okay, this wasn’t what I was hoping for. But still, I could see the hint of nervousness in his eyes, even if buried under deep layers of desire. So I was happy to oblige, my own hand slowly traveling down my body until it met his, right when he raised the thumb that had been just touching me there up to my lips.

“Open up.” My eyes fluttered shut as my mouth dropped open to accept the digit, and I eagerly swirled my tongue around it before sucking, while my own fingers slowly explored my dripping opening. I don’t know if it was the action he was getting on his thumb or if it was the vision of me dipping two fingers inside of myself and moaning around him, but in a second he had pulled both his and my hands away and had lunged himself at me.

“Eager, aren’t we?” I joked, fully enjoying that for at least this millisecond, I had the upper hand again. Henry didn’t seem to mind, if the way he licked his lips and delved to bruise mine in a breathtaking kiss was any indication of it.

“I’ve dreamed about being in your bed for so long,” he admitted, and my heart grew twice its size at the thought of him actively wishing for this, just like I’d done when I laid in this bed hundreds of nights ever since we met.

“How long has it been?” I asked, hugging his body closer to mine, already addicted to the way it felt to have his weight over me. “Ever since you’ve… done this before, I mean.” Henry chuckled, but didn’t immediately answer as he kept himself busy by littering my collarbones with kisses and lovebites, making me offer my chest up to him. When he grasped one of my breasts in his large hand, I couldn’t stop the loud moan that echoed around the room as my heart beated wildly right under his palm.

“I don’t even remember,” he finally answered, but by then, I had all but completely forgot what I’d even asked. He was slowly but surely messing with my mind and my ability to hold coherent thoughts, all I could focus on was the feeling of his cold hands running over my sweaty skin and his lips licking every inch of me. “It doesn’t even matter. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone as much as I want you.”

Henry’s P.O.V.

The whine she let out was clearly a complaint and a request in itself, making me chuckle against her delicious skin. “Soon,” I promised, nearing the place I was longing to be. “I need to feel you cumming on my lips, first.”

The sigh she let out as I buried my nose on the small curls just over where her fingers had been buried made it clear that she wasn’t about to complain about my plan, at least for now. Still, I needed her to give me the time I needed to fully appreciate this, so while I caressed her thighs to allow myself the space I needed to work with, I negotiated, “I promise I’ll make you feel so good.”

She didn’t seem to doubt when I stuck out my tongue and gave her a temptative first lick, immediately groaning at the incomparable sweetness and diving in for more. She gasped and wrapped her thighs around my head, like she wanted to make sure I wouldn’t leave her hanging, but I was sure I’d never leave the space between her legs again.

Sweet, so sweet and wet. I’d spent so long imagining her taste on my tongue, both of her blood and of her juices, and now I knew that she truly was sweet all over. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have to pretend I hadn’t tried the god’s ambrosia for the rest of my life, so I sincerely hoped this really meant she truly wanted me forever.

I lost myself to the activity of exploring her pussy with my tongue, eyes closed to better imprint the taste and the sounds she was emitting into the depths of my memory. I was so into my meal, the lapping sounds of her drenched cunt surrounding us and only adding to the powerful symphony of her moans, that when she came, covering my face in her release, I was taken by surprise.

“You know…” She started, as soon as she was able to catch a breath while I sucked the juices dripping from her. “This isn’t the type of eating I expected a vampire to be so good at.” That made me look up to meet her eyes, and the second I did so, taking in the humorous glint in them and the way she pressed her lips tightly together to contain the laughs that were certainly threatening to escape, I lost it.

“I don’t think I ever laughed so much during sex.” I nuzzled in her neck, before depositing a quick kiss on her pouty lips. Her tongue came out to lick them as soon as we parted, like she was chasing away her own taste that I knew was still present in my mouth.

“Then I don’t think you’ve been doing this the right way.” I felt her tiny hands pressing on my shoulders, and it took me a while to figure out she was trying to invert our positions. When I did get it, I allowed my torso to fall on the soft mattress by her side, hands immediately flying up to caress her body as she climbed on me.

“I want your cock in my mouth.”

I groaned as I heard those words, paired with the gentle rock of her wet cunt over my still clothed member. How could one resist such sensuous sin? But I had more pressing needs in the moment, and as I had to remind her, “The night is still young. As tempting as that is… No, don’t look at me like that. Do you have any idea what you do to me, you little minx? I have to be inside of you now.”

Her eyes made it clear that she didn’t feel all that terrible about my denial, but still, she asked, “Later, then?” Chuckling, I brought her down to whisper in her ear, “ Believe me, we have all the time in the world. You’re not going to sleep anytime soon. I’ll keep you in this bed forever, if I have my way.”

I heard her suck in a breath and I took advantage of the brief moment of surprise that rendered her immobile to drag two fingers along her folds before curling them in. “Oh, wow. Now that is a sight.” Just the tone of perplexity in my voice had her clenching around me, and when I began to laugh yet again, she brace herself on my chest and groaned, “Are you going to fuck me or keep staring?”

I looked up to meet her eyes, making sure she was looking directly at me as I pulled my fingers out and licked them before grabbing a hold of my member and running it over her pussy. “Take a guess.”

The moment that we became fused in the corporeal sense, it became clear to me just how entwined our souls already were. There was no escaping our connection, not anymore. “Does this feel good,” I teased her as she released a particularly high moan, fingers gripping my shoulders tightly as she threw her head back and tried to keep riding me. I took this opportunity to nibble and nip at her jaw and neck, teasing myself with the feeling of her blood pumping right underneath my open mouth.

“Yes, yes,” she screamed, picking up her movements as I kept fucking myself up against her, too. “Deeper, harder, please, Henry!” The desperation in her voice had me roaring, and in a quick movement I had her under me again.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” I whispered under my breath right when she grabbed a hold of my locks and pulled me to meet her lips again. “Are you ready?” I knew she was close by the way she was moaning, and all it took was for her eyes to meet mine so I could feel her clenching around me. “No falling asleep, remember? Or maybe you want me to keep going even if you do end up passing out.” It was just a joke, but her whine made it very clear that she didn’t mind the perspective.

“Don’t worry, angel. I’m right here. I’ll give you everything you want, I’ll be everything you need. For the rest of your life.”

“I know.”

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