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heyyyharry · 4 years ago

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Deja Vu (part 2 of 'Drivers License')

(inspired by deja vu by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.5k

Read part 1 here

“What the fuck is this?”

Harry flinched as his girlfriend shoved the phone at him. He’d just got out of the shower, hair still dripping wet, but it wasn’t so out of the ordinary that she would start a fight first thing in the morning.

He sighed and gently pushed her phone away from his face. “Baby, if it’s another rumour about me cheating on you...I was with you this whole week!”

“No.” She lifted the phone up to his face again. “That girl just released another song about you.”

Even though Harry didn’t let it show, whenever he heard about Y/N, his heart would always skip a beat. He couldn’t remember exactly when the last time they’d spoken was, but he knew in his last message to her, he’d congratulated her on that new song about him. She’d never replied, and he’d taken it as the answer — they could never go back to the way it was.

It had broken his heart to listen to ‘drivers license’. Y/N had never been the kind of person to be vocal about her feelings. Or maybe she’d expressed it through actions instead of words, and he had been too nonchalant to see? He hadn’t meant to break her heart and leave her in the dust. After all, she used to be his best friend.

“Y/N’s a songwriter. She writes about her own experience the same way I do. Maybe that song is not even about me, babe,” he calmly told his girlfriend, who was standing in front of him with fresh tears in her eyes. He hated to see her cry, and he hated that this wasn’t the first time she’d done it because of him. He tried to reach for her but she stepped back, shaking her head.

“Listen to the song.”

“Baby.”

“Listen to the song,” his girlfriend repeated without looking at him. “Why are you so afraid?”

“I’m not.”

“Then listen to it and tell me it’s not about you, and that she’s not throwing shades at me. I’m so tired of this girl telling the world about how horrible we are as if you had even dated her in the first place—”

“Fine,” Harry exhaled sharply, his eyes pinched shut. He hated that when his girlfriend got mad, she would get so mean for no reason, and the last thing he wanted to hear right now was her insulting Y/N. He knew Y/N. She had always been respectful to his new relationship. However, he wasn’t in the position to tell his girlfriend how to feel about this situation. He knew it was all his fault, so he stayed quiet, took the phone from his girlfriend and sat down on the edge of the bed. His girlfriend stood with her back against the wall facing him, waiting for him to play the song so she could see his reaction to it.

“Go on,” she told him, her voice emotionless.

Harry looked at the song on Spotify. It was titled deja vu. He took a deep breath and one last look at his girlfriend before finding enough courage to press play.

Y/N’s previous song about him had been blasted in every shop he’d visited, all the time when he was filming, every time he was in the car, and now, the moment he heard her voice again, it really did feel like deja vu.

Car rides down Malibu

Strawberry ice cream

One spoon for two…

“Are we there yet?”

“No, stop being so impatient! Just keep on driving!” Y/N said and looked out of the window on the passenger side. The sun was going down, and the horizon was gradually turning the colour of an egg yolk. It was their last day in Miami. They had been filming for every day that week, and this was the only day they could spend just for themselves.

Harry stole a glance at Y/N and saw that she’d finished half the strawberry ice cream while bobbing her head to the song Uptown Girl on the radio. He frowned, making her laugh when she noticed.

“Open your mouth,” she said and fed him a spoon of ice cream.

“Ahh, brain freeze!”

“But it’s good, isn’t it?”

“So good.” Harry licked his lips. The face he made got Y/N laughing harder.

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at a secluded beach. Y/N had found this place when she traveled to this city alone two summers ago and almost got lost.

Together, she and Harry carried their picnic things through a palm forest, and by the time they saw the ocean, the moon had made a fading presence on the pink Miami sky.

Y/N picked up her shoes and ran towards the waves, letting it chase her back into Harry’s arms and nearly knocking him over. Their laughter echoed in the wind as their shadows stretched out long and lanky on the empty beach. In that very moment, it felt to Harry as if they were the only people in this world, and he had a sense of peace that he might never be able to experience again.

“You don’t get to see this in the city,” Y/N said dreamily as she pulled Harry’s jacket tighter around herself. It was dark now, and the sky above them was full of stars. They sat shoulder to shoulder on a picnic blanket, listening to the whispers of the ocean and the wind. Harry used Y/N’s jacket as a blanket because it was too small for him to put on. They’d laughed for five minutes straight when she told him he looked like that monkey from Aladdin and took plenty of photos just to prove the point.

“I don’t want to leave tomorrow,” he said, still looking at the sky.

“Me neither,” Y/N sighed, her shoulder brushing his. There was a pause, and he could feel her eyes on him, so he turned and saw her looking. “When I get home,” she said with a small smile that made her eyes sparkle, “I’ll learn to drive, and when we come to Miami next time, I can drive you to this beach.”

“I’d love that,” Harry said, then made her pink-promise him.

“They went to Miami last week.”

Y/N blinked. The beach and starry sky disappeared in a second, and she found herself once again standing in the fitting room with her stylist and best friend.

“What?” her best friend marched over to where she stood in front of the full-length mirror.

Her stylist was holding the phone up to show her the article. “Here. Harry took that actress to Miami last week.”

“Don’t show her these!” Y/N’s best friend grabbed the phone and put it on the vanity desk as she gestured to the stylist. “You do your work. Enough chit-chatting.”

“I took him there,” Y/N said. She didn’t even recognise her own voice at first because she was too in shock. She didn’t think Harry would do something like that. But let’s be honest -- how much did she really know about him?

It had been a few months since his last text to her, which she had ignored, and now her song had been overplayed, and nobody cared about the drama anymore. The whole world had moved on, and she had, too. Or so she’d thought. Now, seeing these pictures of him and his girlfriend on that Miami beach made Y/N feel betrayed.

“Asshole,” her best friend said and grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t worry baby. You’re prettier.”

Y/N worked up a smile and opened her mouth to say that she was fine, but then she heard someone call her name and turn around. They weren’t calling for her. Just a name similar to hers that had become an inside joke between her and her friends.

The moment she locked eyes with Harry’s girlfriend, her heart seemed to stop as she held her breath, her lips thinned as if to hold back a scream. She didn’t know the girl personally and had never run into her before today. How unfortunate that they had to be in the same room after Y/N had seen those Miami pics.

“What is she doing here?” Y/N’s best friend asked the stylist the question Y/N was too afraid to ask.

“Fitting for an event, I guess,” the stylist said.

Y/N told them to just ignore the others and mind their own business. The sooner they got the measurements, the faster she could leave. Or she could leave right now and come back another day, but that would make it look like the other girl’s presence was bothering her. They were both actresses, and so they would have to run into each other at some point. She must be professional about it. This was normal. Just act normal.

“He’s so unique,” Harry’s girlfriend said while laughing with her team. Y/N didn’t mean to overhear the conversation, but apparently, the girl was making sure that Y/N heard her loud and clear. “We were watching reruns of Glee last night, and he even sang to me and told me he loved me inbetween the chorus and the verse. Don’t touch the jacket! It’s Harry’s and it’s Gucci. We exchange jackets sometimes. Isn’t that adorable?”

“Show off,” Y/N’s best friend scoffed while shaking her head.

Y/N didn’t say anything. In her mind, she agreed with her best friend for a second and immediately felt that she was being petty so she forced herself to just be nonchalant about it.

She could not. She could not ignore the fact that she’d been replaced as if she didn’t matter. Harry was doing all the things he used to do with her with his new girl. Even taken her to that Miami beach. Their place.

Y/N bit her lip and tried to hold back the half-formed tears in her eyes as the stylist went on talking about the fabric. She chose a random one just to get this over with.

“I hope that fucker gets deja vu.”

“What?” Y/N blinked at her best friend, who gave a mean shrug as she glared at the girl.

“He’s probably thinking of you while doing all that shit with her.”

Y/N pondered over it. Over and over. Even after the girlfriend’s laughter had faded down the hallway, and Y/N was also packing up to leave the studio. Her best friend’s words stayed with her as she got into the car and watched the street of London pass by her window.

That night, when she was alone in her living room with her piano. She sat down and started playing a few experimental chords. Then, she cried. Her tears blurred the handwritten lyrics on her notebook as she tried again.

“I have this idea,” she told her manager on the phone before sending the recording. It was three in the morning.

“Oh my god,” her manager exclaimed, sounding much more enthusiastic than he had when picking up her call. “This song...is so gonna win a Grammy!”

Y/N’s song had won a Grammy.

They had talked about it for so long. Harry had encouraged her to pursue a singing career, because she’d started out as an actress but was blessed with the most beautiful voice he had ever heard.

Ironic, wasn’t it? Now he was sitting at the front row and looking up at her as she received the award from an artist she looked up to, for the song written about him. She smiled at the crowd as the light shone on her and everyone was cheering because she deserved this. She said her thanks and expressed her gratitude to her family, her teams and her fans. She didn’t say his name. He hadn’t hoped that she would, because he knew there was no way his name would come with a positive message. So he was kind of glad she hadn’t mentioned him.

His girlfriend squeezed his arm as if she knew what he was thinking of. He smiled at his girlfriend. A smile of reassurance. They had put it behind them and promised to try again after all the fights about the song they were playing right now. Nothing would change after tonight. Because there was nothing Harry could change.

He caught Y/N’s eyes for one brief moment as she ascended the stage. Although he was sure he loved his girlfriend, there was something about that look that made him sad. Would he be happier to come here with Y/N tonight instead of his girlfriend? He wouldn’t know, because that would never happen. He didn’t even know if she still resented him, or if she was still the same person he remembered. A lot could change in a day let alone many months. And it was scary to think someone you used to know so much had become a complete stranger. The opposite of love wasn’t hate. It was indifference. And Harry felt it deeply as Y/N never paid him a second glance.

At the after-party, he worked up the courage to approach her when he found her standing alone texting on her phone.

“Hi. How are you?” he said.

Y/N looked at him as if she couldn’t understand English. If she ignored him and walked away, this would be the most humiliating moment of his life.

But no. She pressed her lips into a gentle smile and said, “I’m good. How are you?”

“Good.” He nodded, wanting to shake her hand, but his fingers stayed glued together behind his back. “Congratulations on your win.”

“Thank you.” She picked up the glass of wine on the table beside them, and Harry knew he’d lost his chance of shaking her hand tonight. “Did you like the song?”

“Yeah. It was good,” he said, finding it difficult to hold eye contact with her. There was something new about her that unsettled him, and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For speaking out about it.”

“Oh.” Y/N showed no emotion as she shrugged. “It’s alright. I only said the truth. The song was fictional, and I don’t want anyone to get hate for it.”

They both knew it wasn’t true, and he couldn’t tell her that his girlfriend had almost broken up with him for it. Even if he had told her that, he didn’t think Y/N would care. She didn’t look like the Y/N he knew anymore. Suddenly, he recalled that night on the beach, when she was still looking at him with feelings.

“Look, Y/N, I—”

Before he got a chance to form a proper thought for what he was going to say, his girlfriend, who was obviously drunk, shouted from somewhere behind him. “Babe, Jeff’s wearing a tiny jacket! He looks more like the monkey than you!”

Harry looked at Y/N. She held his gaze. The corners of her red lips quirked as she raised her glass. “Deja vu?”

Just like that, she left him standing there all by himself.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #deja vu #drivers license #olivia rodrigo

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jesuisgourde · 2 years ago

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Thoughts, both positive and bitchy, on the Manics/Suede show in Chicago tonight.

I knew the Manics (and Suede) weren’t very well known in the US but I was definitely expecting the Chicago venue to be more full than it was. But it was so empty! I’m cheap so I bought a mezzanine/dress circle ticket since it was only $80 compared to the $150 or whatever for the pit area. There were only 6 people including me in the entire row I was sat in. It definitely seemed like most people were at this gig for Suede rather than for the Manics; the crowd was far more responsive for Suede.

The decision they’ve been making recently to start the set with You Stole The Sun From My Heart is a weird, interesting one. It sort of makes sense, the song is bouncy and energetic, and lyrically/sound-wise it sort of sits right smack in the middle of all the different sounds and styles they’ve had. But it’s still an odd song to start off with because it’s not one of their more popular ones. When I last saw them in 2018 they opened both shows (London and Cardiff) with International Blue. It definitely took them a second to get into the groove, You Stole The Sun and Everything Must Go were their first two songs and they seemed like they were trying to suss out their energy. But they played La Tristessa Durera next and I really started moving to that one because I loooove GATS. Two of the Suede fans sat in front of me kinda laughed when I suddenly started dancing more than I was before. La Tristessa Durera is one of my favorite Manics songs (at least in part because of this video where you can really hear just how much of a fucking metronome of badassery Sean Moore is.)

I’m not really a fan of Wayne Murray’s backing vocals, to be honest. His voice and JDB’s don’t really mesh and a lot of times his vocals are a little off and it makes it very distracting. It was less noticeable in 2018, but here in this tiny gig I definitely noticed it. I’d rather just listen to JDB with no backing tbh.

They had a fog machine which was very cool and much more effective in this little venue than when I saw them at Wembley and Cardiff. There were points when James was engulfed in or aura’ed by colored fog right at the right time during a song which I thought was just great as a visual.

Ocean Spray was just so beautiful. I like that song on the album but as a live song it’s absolutely gorgeous and I loved it. The album version just ends on the normal tempo into a held chord, but live they slowed to that held chord in this really grim but beautiful way and knowing what the song is about just made the decision to end it that way such a good one, even if it is really sad.

Motorcycle Emptiness was dedicated to Nicky’s brother Patrick who is apparently laid up because he “fucked his leg,” and who lived in Chicago in the 90s. JDB did this awesome ascending “Yeah!” vocal riff after “All we want from you are the kicks you’ve given us.” Also he activated his twirly guitar spins for Motorcycle Emptiness.

I had this moment while they were playing and I was staring up at the green lights reflected on the ceiling where I was thinking about the lyrics to Motorcycle Emptiness and how relevant they are now, even more than they were in the 90s when it was written. Computers didn’t yet exist in the pocket-sized ubiquitous state as we know them now, Amazon didn’t exist yet, all the different ways for corporations and institutions to use the internet in order to mess with people’s self esteems or body image or political opinions or sense of right and wrong or ability to think critically or whatever, none of that existed yet. Yes, it existed as a concept but not put to such immediate effect as it is online. I said it before, in a different post a while ago, but I’m glad Richey didn’t live to see the internet era. I think it would have been awful for him both in terms of his mental health and in terms of his disgust or frustration with humanity’s ability for independent critical thinking.

They played Suicide Is Painless and Slash N Burn which were both good but nothing amazing. I did notice that JDB now tends to go down vocally when the original music goes up, or to sort of sing-speak the tune rather than do all the high parts. I’m not sure if that’s a permanent new thing (fair, it starts getting harder to go higher as you get older) or if his vocal chords needed a rest tonight.

Tolerate was really good; Nicky had his bass balanced on his head at the end for some reason? International Blue is just a great live song. It really fills up the room. They played The Everlasting, which has always just sort of been a meh song for me, but it sounded better live than it does on the album, so maybe it’s one of those songs that needs to have open space rather than headphones to really do well. I feel the same about YLAINE. I’m very aware that I’ve got Unpopular Manics Opinions and my dislike of YLAINE makes me a blasphemer as a ‘manixfan’ but I just don’t care about YLAINE. However, it’s very fun live (even with Wayne singing Nina Persson’s parts).

Nicky dedicated From Despair To Where to “the severe beauty and intellect of Richey Edwards.” He also told a Fun Fact about how the music video for Roses In The Hospital was filmed in Chicago in 1993, and they had to get James up at 5 in the morning so they could catch the morning sun while filming, and he was not happy about it. I love like every song from GATS because apparently I am determined to be contrarian to everything most Manics fans like (except not really because THB is my actual favorite) so I was really happy to hear it and it sounded great.

They’ve been covering She Sells Sanctuary by The Cult on this tour but they didn’t tonight and that was so disappointing because I absolutely adore that song and I have it as one of my alarm clock songs. They didn’t do any covers tonight, and looking at setlists from the rest of this tour it looks like they did Despair To Where instead of a cover. Walk Me To The Bridge sounded great and is another one of those songs that showcases how much of a metronome Sean is. JDB’s twirls returned during Walk Me To The Bridge too.

You Love Us was the second to last song and it was so funny to hear just how much faster and more punk it was than anything else they played tonight. Even Slash N Burn was slower, I think. And Motorcycle Emptiness has a complicated solo but it’s not actually fast. The audience was definitely more of a Suede audience because You Love Us tends to get quite a bit more reaction than it did tonight.

The last song was, as usual, A Design For Life. It sounded great, and at one point after the first “to show the scars / from where I came” line, both James and Nicky twirled toward each other, James spinning clockwise and Nicky spinning anticlockwise, which might have been planned but didn’t look it, but it did look very cool. During the middle eight Nicky said “From snowy Chicago to [something I didn’t catch] Wales, do not gently into that good night, do not go gently into that good night.”

It was an odd show for me. I had the good fortune that my first ever two live Manics shows were for the 2018 tour at Wembley Arena and their final homecoming show at Cardiff Motorpoint, which means that it was populated by a really enthusiastic audience, and I was on the barrier, and Nicky Wire wore a skirt for both gigs and sang a Sex Pistols song at Cardiff. So it was like the two very opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of gigs. London and Cardiff were massively enthusiastic (minus one small setback in Cardiff that affected only me and the people I was with in which some drunk motherfucker pissed on my friend because he didn’t want to leave the barrier and I was fully ready to fight him) and had loads of energy and there was like a feeling of “we are all extremely passionate about this one thing.” This Chicago show was much more subdued. Part of that is probably because it was seated (which is just bizarre to me, I can’t understand seated rock music gigs) but also probably because there were more Suede fans, and maybe some people there to see any show who didn’t really know either band.

I’m glad they didn’t play any songs from the new album because I hated the new album, but I do wish there was some more non-greatest hits. All the songs I’d kill to see live (Anorexic Rodin, Red Rubber, Intravenous Agnostic, To Repel Ghosts, Judge Yr’self) they’ll never ever do live, but I do wish they’d do a few underplayed songs just for the hardcore fans, because they must know that you have to be pretty dedicated to be an American Manics fan.

The woman sitting next to me had never seen either band and had been waiting like 20 years to see them, so she was super excited, which was very cool to see! She and I were talking about how we bought up tickets really fast because we both assumed they’d sell out from US fans who had been waiting for ages to see them, and then we were surprised when it was so empty. It makes me wish they’d chosen a slightly smaller venue, which would have been more intimate and maybe also drummed up more energy.

I don’t know Suede’s music very well. Dog Man Star is the only album I know all the songs off of, and I know a lot of their self-titled album and then some other random songs. But they’re absolutely fantastic live even without knowing their complete discography. Brett Anderson is dramatic as hell. They were having minor technical problems from the start, some feedback that got fixed and then some other something that I couldn’t identify because I didn’t know the songs well enough to know what they were or weren’t supposed to sound like.

But Brett put on a hell of a show, strutting and prowling around the stage and walking through the audience and variously getting down on his knees to hold his mic up all dramatically. It’s hilarious to watch a man in his mid-fifties stalking sharply round the stage on all fours but also I loved it and I think I’m a Suede fan now. He did The Wild Ones (my favorite out of the few songs I know) acoustically, and I’m not sure if this was just him being dramatic in a way that’s Normal for him, or if something was up, but he played like the first verse and half the chorus with the guitar, and then stopped and put his head down, and then dramatically did most of the rest of the song a capella, before playing the last few lines with the guitar again, repeating the “running with the dogs today” line a few extra times. I genuinely felt like I was watching a Hamlet soliloquy, it was great. I think maybe I watched a Shakespeare play as a rock concert.

It did make me think about the Manics vs Suede in terms of audience engagement. Somebody I was talking to on twitter said they don’t think the Manics know what to do with American audiences when those audiences are in this middle range of size, because when it comes to American Manics fans the majority are hardcore fans who would rather hear some of the less well known but very beloved by the dedicated fans songs rather than get drunk and hear the greatest hits. I think if they’d played venues the size of the ones they played when they were here in 2014, or just a little bigger rather than ones the size of this show (like 1k capacity rather than 3k capacity venue) it would have been so much better. And they haven’t really been a “be dramatic and dynamic and engage with the fans onstage” sort of band since about 1998, which means that if the majority of the audience don’t know their work very well, they’ve got nothing much to react to visually or “interpersonally” and therefore aren’t going to be super enthusiastically responsive. Playing and trusting there will be engagement based on merit and fan culture only is certainly successful in the UK and probably Europe, but it’s definitely different here. It seemed like a lot of the audience didn’t know the songs well enough to respond to them and since the Manics don’t do things like get in the audience or crawl around on the floor or go into over the top monitor-stomping, there’s not a lot to grab onto visually that will hook a non-fan at a live show. Meanwhile I’m casually familiar with the Dog Man Star album and vaguely know a few other Suede hits off their other early albums, but I could only name 3 of the songs I heard tonight (The Wild Ones, The Drowners, We Are The Pigs) and yet I was having so much fun watching Brett just be chaotic and theatrical, swaggering all over the stage and dropping dramatically to his knees and such. It’s definitely just style differences in general, and I’m sure they don’t expect to gain much from this tour, but I did find it an interesting observation in the moment.

#manic street preachers #squash rambles #squash has Unpopular Manics Opinions #listen i'm the judgy fan because nobody else fuckin is these days

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teenyweenynightghost · 3 years ago

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As lucky as the rainbow

A/n: Im sorry. Also. Special dedication to the love of my life, @cantaraiilmionome , who let me write this fic

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 1.7K

Pairing: Vic X Fem!Reader

Taglist: @fuckim-so-gay @ginny-lily @messyhairday-me @cheese-toastie-11 @wannabemarlenabutiscoraline @simp-per-ethan @maneskinrollercoaster @juststalking @superchrystaldrug @immrbrightsideeee @shehaddreamstoo @tiaamberxx @victoriadeangeliswifey @bidet-and-legolas @makapaka11

My heartbeat was wild and mostly erupting from my chest as the whole world around me seemed to quiet down. The mesh shirt I was wearing was already crumpled from all the times I had fiddled with it nervously. To be honest, could anyone really blame me? I have been obsessed with Måneskin for ages, and I finally get to see them live. A small, really pesky part of my brain kept bugging me. They would have no reason to like or notice you; why are you even here? Well, that definitely did not help the anxious feeling growing in my stomach.

Suddenly, the crowd erupted in cheers as four rock stars appeared on the stage.

And oh god what they were wearing. A certain blonde caught my attention, one who I was more than familiar with. Victoria strutted on the stage, her bass strap wrapped around her, as a small corset did nothing to cover her. Two black stripes of tape covered each of her boobs and she looked celestial. It was unfair to everyone else! How could she just look like that!?

“Is everyone ready?” Damiano’s strong voice sounded out of the speakers, earning an excited cheer from everyone.

As they started playing, I realised I was no longer anxious. Moving from side to side and jumping along with them, It felt as If the world stopped temporarily just for me to enjoy this moment. It was truly heaven, and their magnetic presence made it infinitely better.

“Now, for a fan favorite…” Damiano spoke into the mic, soon interrupted by the all too familiar notes of For Your Love. Oh god.

I couldn’t decide who to pay attention to; Ethan’s godly form playing the drums in a way I wished he would play my ass, Thomas’ talented fingers strumming the guitar chords, Damiano fucking the stage while singing or-

Oh.

I was one of the lucky ones who got to sit up front. So my view of Victoria was truly a dream come true. Her eyes were closed as she thrusted into the air, her hips moving with precision and skill, as she moved her head backwards in rhythm with the song. Two of her fingers were plucking the chords, clouding my mind with thoughts of what else she could do with them.

The whole song became a vivid fantasy for me, as I kept watching Victoria play, entranced by her sensuality. The song sadly came to a stop, and Damiano started speaking again. My lovely brain, however, could only gaze at Victoria, her wonderful top and fingers.

As If on cue, she knelt down right at the edge of the stage, and winked at me. Wait, she did what? My brain stopped functioning as I kept staring at her, eyes comically wide and mouth hanging open.

She smirked at my reaction, and motioned for me to come closer with her finger. A bodyguard came and opened the barrier, as I made my way through.

I was right in front of the stage, looking in her icy blue eyes. She leaned down and cupped my cheek, shaking it softly.

“Wanna stay here, cucciola?” She asked, a sultry smile appearing on her face. I nodded eagerly, causing her to laugh, before returning to her band.

The rest of the concert managed to make me so wet I was convinced my knees would give in the second I would try to walk. Between Victoria grinding on the floor right in front of me, making sure to stare right in my eyes, Damiano jumping in the crowd and grabbing Thomas, as well as Ethan being an overall god-like presence.

It was, however, over, as soon as it started. My face fell as they all waved their goodbyes to the crowd, and I turned around, preparing to leave, but was soon interrupted by a guard.

“Miss De Angelis said that she would like you to go backstage.”

That was the second time the girl’s actions shocked me. I certainly hoped it wouldn’t be the last as I followed the guard to the back.

“Ah, there you are, cucciola!” Her raspy voice exclaimed, as she headed towards me and grabbed my waist, leading me towards a changing room before I could even mutter a word.

“You, I me- mean ...Why? Like… I just thi-I” Damn it, where was my wittiness when I needed it? If I wasn’t already blushing, I probably looked like a sweaty tomato right now.

“Oh darling, I suggest you figure out how to talk, so I’ll know how to please you later.” She murmured in my ear, my knees almost giving up at her words.

“Oh god, umm, I- hi.” I managed to let out. I’m so glad I could ramble about crystals for 3 hours but when It comes to basic greetings my mind just dips. Lovely.

“We have about 15 minutes before we need to leave.” She said, grabbing my body and pulling me right against her, softly nibbling on my neck.

“Considering the way you fucked the stage earlier, I think even 5 would suffice.” Ah yes, my brain was back. Temporarily, though, because Victoria’s hungry lips smashed into mine in a fraction of a second, quickly turning me around so I would be prompted against the wall.

We moved in sync as she sucked every breath out of me and explored my mouth with her tongue. She bit my lip hard, and licked the reddish spot which appeared, before moving onto my neck.

She sucked on every inch of my skin, leaving deep red marks in her wake, which would definitely be an interesting subject of discussion once I got home. I couldn’t help but let out the most pathetic whines, which only seemed to turn Victoria on more.

“So fucking desperate puppy. All I do is dance a little on stage and you’re already willing to be on your knees for me.” She purred right against my breast, earning a deep moan from my treacherous mouth,

“What can I say, I like being a good girl.”

Her mouth bit into the soft skin which was now exposed, as my poor shirt was laying on the floor, discarded seconds ago. I whimpered and bucked my hips into the air, whining even more at the realisation that there was nothing there.

“Please..” I begged, as she kept kissing and licking around my hardened buds, heating me up even more.

“Take your pants off, then” She instructed, and I did it in a heartbeat, the piece of clothing joining my shirt.

The last thing I saw was the blonde’s head lower , before her tongue finally gave me what I wanted. She swiped it deeply inside of me, humming at the liquids pouring from me. Moving to my clit, she started circling around it as one of her long fingers thrusted deep inside of me.

“Fuck… Victoria…”

She added another finger and quickened her pace, as I rapidly approached my edge. God, no one did it as well as her. She was getting rougher by the second, biting at my thighs and sucking hardly, until she heard my breath catch, before I erupted in a mess of loud moans and screams.

I came hard on her hand as she guided me down to the ground, licking the tears falling from my eyes.

“You really do like being a good girl.” She whispered, cupping my cheek and pressing a soft kiss on my puffy lips.

“Oh I can be bad too.” I smirked, watching as her eyes darkened.”

“How about you return to the hotel with me, and we can explore that talent too…”

***

More than half an hour had passed, and I was sitting in an Uber right next to Victoria. While the band packed up their stuff, I hung out on the stage, eating a popsicle Damiano had given me.

“Do you have to be anywhere early tomorrow?” Victoria’s voice interrupted my thoughts, softly grazing her fingers over my thighs.

“Like I wouldn’t cancel them for you.” I responded, earning a soft chuckle from her.

“Excellent. How about we talk a little then, hmm?” She asked, pulling me closer to her.

“About what?” I asked, clearly thinking of innocent topics.

“Which was your favourite part about how I fucked you backstage.”

Oh. My. God. At this point, my brain had stopped working so many times, I probably had approximately 2 brain cells left. And damn, I answered in a corresponding fashion.

“I must say I enjoyed the talking.”

Victoria laughed, a devilish grin forming on her face, as I bet her mind filled with the dirtiest ideas.

“I’ll take your word for it. I’ll make sure we’ll do just enough talking.”

“Wait no- You know, I really liked the cum part too.” I tried to save myself, because let’s be honest, If this woman was anything, it was a tease.

“Considering how loud you were moaning, I bet you were.” She purred again, dragging her fingers further up my thighs.

“Tell me, what did you fantasise about most while watching me play?”

My mind went blank, but not really, as the thought of her grinding on my face while practicing the bass made its way into my head. God, I was royally fucked.

“Tell me, pet.” She snarled against my neck, grabbing it roughly and bending me over.

Her hand wandered down to my ass, grabbing it roughly before slithering back around to my stomach, and pulling me up again.

“Practicing your bass on my face.” I moaned out, red and embarrassed.

“A lovely imagination you have. I’ll make sure to consult it more often.”

“That won’t work. It seems to go blank around you.”

Victoria smirked at my confession and pressed me down onto her lap, slowly working her way under my shirt.

“I really like this. Where did you get it?”

“My mom.”

“She wears this?”

Fuck. “Oh, you meant the shirt?”

Scoffing and rolling her eyes, she pulled the material up, and pressed a wet kiss to both of my breasts. Oh god, this girl would kill me.

“My special thanks to her. And also my apologies, because I’ll fuck you till you scream and cry tonight.”

#victoria de angelis #vic x reader #maneskin fic #maneskin #ethan torchio #damiano david #thomas raggi #this was fun #smut

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idreamofplaid · 4 years ago

Text

Dean Lives Forever

Square Filled: Impala for @spndeanbingo

Characters: Jensen/Dean x Reader; Jared and Kripke mentioned

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Jensen is having a hard time with Supernatural being over. The reader has an idea to help him deal with his feelings.

Word Count: 2409

A/N: This is for you @lovealways-j. Thanks for your friendship and all the thirsty exchanges.

“Will you play something for me?” You hopefully held Jensen’s guitar out to him. He’d been home for three days now since filming on The Boys had finished, and in that time he’d eaten only egg sandwiches and barely said anything. Eventually, he’d open up and talk about it. Right now he was processing. That’s what Jensen did.

You’d known it wouldn’t be easy for him, being a different character after Dean Winchester had lived in his skin for fifteen years. It was almost a doppelganger type situation it had gone on so long. Dean was like a separate entity that came to life through Jensen every time Jensen flipped that switch, and flipping that switch had become increasingly easy over the years until the lines between Jensen and Dean were blurred.

Jensen took the guitar from you and turned on the barstool to face out from the kitchen toward the breakfast nook and give himself more room to play. He placed the instrument on his leg and started to pluck at the strings. Soon the familiar chords of “Simple Man” filled the air.

He started to sing the words to the song he loved so much in his smooth soulful voice and had almost made it through the first verse when he stopped. His fingers strummed at the strings of the guitar for a few more seconds before they stopped moving too.

It was a Dean song. Jensen had always said it would become real to him that Supernatural was over when he walked onto another set and had to be somebody else. For the past several months, that’s what he’d done; and he had to do it alone. The travel restrictions were still in place while he was filming. That meant you couldn’t be there; Jared couldn’t be there. Jensen was alone in his head, and he was inclined to think too much sometimes.

The separation hadn’t been easy on you either. You’d lost sleep more than one night after a Facetime call when you knew things weren’t quite right, and Jensen was doing his best to put on a good face for you. He was a good actor, but he wasn’t good enough to hide what he was really feeling from you.

The irony was you had been able to see Jared, and the two of you had met for lunch regularly when he had a day off from Walker. Jared and Jensen were a package deal. You’d known that from the beginning and were more than happy to get a best friend/brother included in the greatest boyfriend ever set. Your conversations had centered largely around Jensen and the ending of Supernatural.

Jared was worried about him too because he knew how hard it was to let Sam go, and the truth was he hadn’t. He couldn’t. Jared provided a lot of insight into the things Jensen might be feeling that he wasn’t telling you about.

Jared’s words echoed in your mind now as you watched Jensen set his guitar down on the terrazzo tile. He’s got to figure out how to make Dean part of him and any other character he plays, because Dean’s not going anywhere.

You walked closer to stand between Jensen’s open legs and run your hands through his once again short hair. Your fingertips massaged his scalp, and he leaned into your touch. “You miss him, don’t you?” you asked quietly.

Jensen opened his jade green eyes, and you could see the melancholy in them, the touch of heartache. He tried to laugh, but it was more of a heavy exhale through his nose and a sad smile. “I know it’s stupid. It’s been a year.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “It’s not stupid at all.” Then you took Jensen’s hand in yours, an idea forming in your head and putting a gleam in your eye. “Go get dressed. And when I say dressed I mean put on some plaid. None of this one layer business either. That’s not the Winchester Way.”

“What are you up to, Y/N?” Jensen narrowed his eyes, making the crinkles at their corners more prominent.

“We’re taking your Baby for a ride, so get your sexy ass off this barstool and go get ready.” You gave his butt a good smack. That would either get him moving or get his dick twitching; both would be ideal.

Fifteen minutes later, Jensen was backing Baby out of her special garage with you in the passenger seat. Driving her was like swimming; you didn’t forget how no matter how long it’d been since you last saw water. Watching the way he handled his beloved Impala was a huge turn on. It had been when you’d watched “Dean” do it on your television screen, and it was even more so now.

As he steered her down the long driveway, Jensen asked, “Where do you want to go?”

You were distracted by the sight of his forearms, with their prominent veins, peeking out from the rolled up cuffs of the red and black flannel he was wearing; and didn’t respond immediately. He looked over at you, saw you checking him out, and smiled. “Why don’t you come closer? You’re too far away.”

Jensen had changed practically nothing on the car. Installing an air conditioner was a must, but he’d wanted her to stay as much the same as she had been as she could possibly be. That included no seat belts, so you could slide across the bench seat until you were next to him. Jensen put his hand on your thigh. “That’s better,” he said. “Now, tell me where to take you.”

You put your head on his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. Just find a pretty backroad, and let’s drive.”

When he’d driven far enough out of Austin that the road was mostly deserted, you started to kiss Jensen’s neck and nibble at his ear. “How many girls do you think Dean had in this car?” you asked while you blew into his ear.

“Do you mean had or had?” Jensen moved his hand around to the inside of your thigh and eased it higher up your leg, bringing it closer to your core.

“I think you know what I mean.” You wriggled down in the seat until your pussy made contact with his hand.

Jensen rubbed his thick fingers along the seam of your jeans, making you squirm. “Oh, I imagine he had quite a few.”

“Is this what he did with them? What you’re doing to me right now?” You rubbed yourself against his hand and moaned.

“Among other things.” Jensen’s voice had dropped down into the Dean register. “Why don’t you, uh, open those jeans you’re wearin’, and I’ll show you.”

He glanced at you, his hand still teasing you through the denim. His expression had changed. You were looking into the eyes of Dean Winchester. He could still fall back into character in an instant.

You opened them up, granting him access to the cotton and lace trimmed panties you were wearing underneath. Dean slipped his hand under the waistband and curled his finger right up against your clit. He started making circles over the already aching nub and applied enough pressure to make you feel like you could come apart at any second.

“You are so wet, sweetheart.” He was watching the road, but his focus was on you. “I bet you’re tight too.” He said it like he didn’t know.

The idea that he was completely in character now, and it was Dean touching you made you come all over his hand. You couldn’t grab him like you wanted to, so you clawed at the seat beside you instead while your orgasm flowed through you in waves that made you weak.

When your body stopped shaking, Dean pulled his hand from your pants and made a show of cleaning your juices off his fingers. God. His lips. You wanted to feel them on you. He was so close you could smell him, but you needed to be closer. You buried your face in his neck and breathed him in. “Find somewhere to pull over,” you told him. “Somewhere off the road where nobody can see.”

Dean/Jensen knew these Texas backroads, and within a short time he’d found a secluded place to park Baby. “Let’s get in the back,” you said, laying your hand over the swelling bulge between his legs.

“Sounds good to me, sweetheart.” He kissed you once. His mouth claiming yours, and his need for you evident in the way his tongue tangled with yours. Then Dean opened the door. You smiled when you heard it make the familiar groaning squeak. He got out and gave you his hand to help you out of the car.

As soon as you were both in the back seat and the door had closed solidly behind him, you reached for his belt. You couldn’t get him out of his clothes fast enough, and he’d worn all the layers just like you’d asked him to. With your clothes piled on the floorboard, you explored each other’s bodies with your hands and your mouths.

Dean made his mark on you, leaving hot kisses on your stomach, your breasts, and the insides of your thighs. His touch was a little different than the one you were used to, a little heavier with an almost desperation to feel alive through the act of joining your body with someone else’s.

You knew people said that Jensen should win awards for his acting, and you could verify that they were right because the way he kissed you, the way he touched you, it was tender, caring, and passionate. But the love wasn’t there. This man appreciated you, wanted you, worshipped your body, but he didn’t love you. It was Jensen who loved you.

The way he moved inside you was different too. His thrusts were deep and sharp, then he would slow down and roll his hips until you were begging for him to give you more. When he came inside you, the sound of your name on his lips was a more primal thing. It was basic and raw. This was sex for the sake of the pure physical pleasure, and it felt amazingly good. You clenched him tightly, determined to milk every drop of the pain out of him.

Immediately after the finish of your mind numbing orgasm, he rolled off of you. “Thank you, baby.” Jensen.

You turned toward him and propped yourself over him, so you could look down into his face. What you saw confirmed what you’d heard in the change of his voice. It was the man you loved. You kissed him, and it was the kiss you knew. It was filled with a soft intensity that made you feel loved, wanted, chosen, and trusted.

You were overwhelmed by how much this man meant to you. Dean Winchester was as sexy as any man had ever been, but it was Jensen you were going to marry one day, Jensen who held your heart. It was Jensen who always thought of you in so many little ways like a true gentleman would.

As if to prove it, he asked, “Are you cold?” He rubbed his hand down your back to check and apparently decided you were, because he sat up and retrieved his flannel from the floorboard. “Here. Put this on,” he told you as he helped you into it and buttoned up some of the buttons in the middle, enough to keep the shirt closed.

You settled back beside him, his arms wrapped securely around you. His body was warmer than any flannel. You placed soft kisses on his chest, then lay your head down on it. “It’s okay to miss him,” you whispered while you traced mindless patterns over Jensen’s heart with your fingertip. “It’s okay to be him again sometimes too if that’s what you need. He’s part of you, Jensen. Always will be.”

“It’s been so damn hard these past few months.” You kissed his chest again to encourage him to go on. “I hear ‘action’ and to me that means be Dean, but I couldn’t. I had to fight it. I couldn’t walk like him, or sound like him, or make any of the gestures he would have made. And, yeah, I missed him.”

“I missed being on set with Jared too, having him to play off of. We made each other better. We had a rhythm when we were doing a scene that was just natural. So natural, it almost wasn’t acting.” You could feel his arms tighten around you the slightest bit. ”I felt like I forgot how to act.”

You kissed him again, letting your lips linger on his skin before you pulled them away. “I wish I could have been there for you. I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

He tried to laugh again, just like he had earlier in the kitchen. It was a little closer to a real laugh. “I couldn’t be Dean Winchester forever, could I?”

You raised your head up to look at him. “That’s not even a question, Jensen.” You smiled when you said it. “You will be Dean forever. You can’t get him out of you. Stop trying to fight it. You’ve proved you can play another character. Eric can’t stop raving about how good you are, and I’m sure when the season is released everyone else is going to see that too.”

He reached up and took your face in his hand. “I’m one lucky son of a bitch to have you.” Your smile got bigger.

“See. That was Dean right there.” Realization crossed Jensen’s face. He shook his head and smiled, really smiled.

“So, you’re saying you wouldn’t mind if I bring Dean out to play every once in awhile?” The smile was still on his face, and it was beautiful.

“I wouldn’t mind that at all.” You kissed him then with a light flirtiness for the first time that day. “In fact I think it would be a good idea for us to do that. We better keep you in practice because everybody knows Supernatural is coming back, and we don’t want Dean to come across like Soldier Boy,” you said playfully.

Jensen flipped you beneath him. “Soldier Boy? I’ll show you Soldier Boy.”

And that’s a story for another time...

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @emilyshurley @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @sea040561 @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @deansotherotherblog @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @asthesunwentdown @vulgar-library @thinkinghardhardlythinking @petitgateau911 @calaofnoldor

Dean/Jensen: @deansyahtzee @flamencodiva @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @focusonspn @akshi8278 @ladywinchester1967 @sgarrett49 @wingedcatninja @coffee-obsessed-writer @adoptdontshoppets @ellewritesfix05 @weepingwillowphoenix

#spndeanbingo #jensen fluff #dean smut #jensen x reader #dean x reader #jensen angst #spn rpf

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collecting-stories · 4 years ago

Text

Jealous - Luke Patterson

Summary: You bring a friend to a concert with you and Luke gets the wrong idea.

A/N: this it like, alive!Luke, it’s also like 3k long 😭😭

Julie and the Phantoms Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Luke pouted, leg twitching as he looked around the small venue that Alex had booked them that night. The doors had only just opened and people were beginning to stream in. They’d played shows before but Luke was still surprised watching people come through the doors. He honestly couldn’t believe anyone had bought tickets. There was no doubt in Luke’s mind that they were the greatest band ever but seeing other people agree with that sentiment always made him feel like he was on cloud nine. Hanging a little over the second-floor balcony of the venue, watching every person that walked through the door, he wanted to be excited but his nerves had nothing to do with the show tonight.

“Would you chill man?” Alex chided, tapping Luke’s arm with a bottle of water. “She’ll be here.”

“She hasn’t missed a performance yet.” Reggie pointed out, spinning on a stool that he’d nabbed from the bar.

“Yeah, I know that.” Luke insisted, standing up but glancing back over his shoulder, “she said she’d make it before doors though...”

Ever since Julie had started playing with the guys, you had started hanging around more. You were embarrassed to say but you and Julie had been little more than friendly neighbors before she’d starting renting out her garage for band practice. The first time you’d heard the loud music coming from the Molina’s yard you’d gone to inspect and found the doors open and a band rehearsing inside. Needless to say, it was that first meeting that had cemented yours and Luke’s relationship. Not exactly more than friends but certainly not just friends. The more you came around the more the two of you danced around your feelings for each other and the more you neglected your other friends.

“Just, don’t say anything to the guys-”

“You mean, don’t say anything to Luke.” Julie countered, standing at her locker with you in between classes. Tonight, was the show at the Voltage Lounge and they’d been stoked about it since they got the gig. You would’ve been equally stoked, and you were, until you realized it was also your best friend’s birthday and you had promised to get dinner together.

“Look, I’ll be there, before doors, I promise. But I’ve kinda been ditching my other friends lately and I promised Mikey that we’d get dinner for his birthday.” You replied, shutting your locker and walking with Julie toward the music room.

“Don’t you think not telling Luke you’re going out with another guy would be worse than saying you’re gonna be a little late to the show?” Julie countered. She grabbed a seat by Flynn and you sat on the other side, leaning forward to keep the conversation going.

“I just don’t want him thinking I’m ditching the performance okay, me and Mikey are just friends...as are me and Luke.” You replied, though even saying it sounded like a lie. You knew as well as Julie and Flynn that you were avoiding mentioning the dinner because you didn’t want Luke to get the wrong idea.

“You tell yourself that.” Flynn chided, pulling a face at you, clearly not believing you at all.

“We are.”

“Yeah, and anytime he sings anything even slightly romantic he looks right at you.”

“It’s true,” Julie piped up, “he’s been coming up with a lot more love songs recently. Whenever I ask him about it he just says he wants us to have a balanced song pool or something.”

“We’re not a thing.” You insisted. “I’m going to dinner and then I’ll be at the show...simple as that. Just, don’t say anything.”

Julie agreed, throwing out some lame excuse about you having to go over your grandparents’ house before the show as a reason that you weren’t going to the venue with them like you usually did. Getting booked somewhere as a headliner was still fairly new to them and you always liked to be there in the moments before the show started, an extra person to reassure them that they completely and totally deserved all of this.

While you didn’t think your absence would be felt too exponentially, it definitely was. Luke had been unusually antsy since they’d gotten there. He was always eager to get onstage but this was different, he kept looking over the railing as if he was going to hurl and rush out of the venue. Reggie tried reassuring him that everything was fine but nothing seemed to calm his nerves.

“Hey, ten minutes alright, start getting ready,” one of the crew said, scribbling something on his clipboard.

“Okay, thanks.” Julie nodded, looking back over the railing as he left, the calm she was trying to portray immediately washing away when she saw you walk into the venue. Any other time she would’ve been jumping for joy but you weren’t alone and she could only assume that the guy with you was the Mikey you had mentioned earlier in the day. “So we should-” as she turned to address them, hopefully distract Luke, Reggie caught sight of you in the crowd.

“Look!” He nudged Luke’s arm, pointing you out, “she made it.”

Julie grimaced as Luke looked over the balcony and down into the crowd. It took him a moment to find you but Julie and Alex could pinpoint the exact moment that he did. A flicker of happiness at the sight of you, quickly washed away and turned into, first confusion, and then something akin to anger. He frowned, eyebrows furrowing as he watched you get a spot on his side, talking the whole time to the guy with you.

“Who the fuck is that?” He asked.

You had told Julie that your plan was to go, get through dinner with Mikey, and then come straight to the venue for the show. A simple enough evening, and you’d expected it to go off without a hitch except Mikey got curious about who you were texting and guilted you into inviting him along.

“So, this band?” Mikey asked, looking around the small venue, “how’d you become a groupie?”

“I’m not a groupie. Julie and I are friends.” You stressed, scrunching your nose up as the lights dimmed and the people around you screamed in excitement.

The anticipation was palpable and, truthfully, you were right there with the other concert goers around you, excited by the prospect of seeing Julie and the Phantoms perform live. It wasn’t something that was new for you, a front row seat to all their rehearsals was part of your everyday life and yet, something about seeing them perform live like this, with a crowd that so responsive to them, only added to the adrenaline coursing through you.

As the guys ran out on stage, Alex, then Reggie, then Luke, and finally Julie, the noise level around you seemed to pick up. But there was something off, something that didn’t quite sync with you that settled as the first chords sounded. You frowned, realizing, as Luke purposely missed you when he scanned the crowd, exactly what it was that you were feeling. It wasn’t accidental in the slightest, Julie met your gaze more than once and so did Reggie and Alex but Luke was ignoring you. He was very intentionally ignoring you standing there in the very front row, pressed against the barricade in front of him.

It was as if someone had knocked all the air out of your chest. Somehow that loud, crowded venue where you could feel the bass pounding in your stomach, felt empty. You felt small and invisible and even when Mikey shouted in your ear that they were actually an awesome band you lacked the excitement to tell him that they were the best band ever. You just nodded. And as much as you wanted to look away from Luke, a silent “two can play at this game”, you didn’t. Instead, you just kept watching him, waiting for him to look your way and somehow explain what was going on that had him acting like you didn’t exist.

The encore ended, the boys each running off the stage before Julie, Luke standing at the side waiting for her as she waved one last time to the crowd before setting the mic back in its stand and running off. The mass of people who had been screaming lulled into a buzz, some of them leaving as others lingered, waiting for the band to come back out to sign autographs and take pictures.

You walked Mikey to the merch table while other people hung around chatting with each other, the house lights up so that you could actually see as you walked. Flynn stood behind the table and she waved when she saw you.

“I’ll catch you later, thanks for letting me tag along.” He said, hanging at the door for a minute.

“Yeah totally, thanks for coming. Happy birthday,” you hugged him and then circled back to Flynn, stepping behind the table and sitting down on the stool.

“Girl, you do not seem happy.” Flynn commented as she grabbed a sweatshirt from one of the boxes and handed it across the table to a fan.

“I’m just...” you shrugged, looking back down toward the stage, “confused?”

“Did something happen with Mikey?” She asked.

You handed a shirt from one of the bins to her as she rung up a sale, jumping in to ask a few people what they needed as she waited on a group of girls. When they had all finally dispersed, the line lulling for a moment, you turned back to Flynn, “no...I mean other than him inviting himself along. No, it was Luke...he was like, it sounds dumb to say it but, it was like he was ignoring me.”

“Maybe he didn’t see you?” She suggested, attempting to be reassuring.

“He saw me. Then he just, acted like he didn’t the whole rest of the night.” You replied, “I don’t know...it felt shitty.”

“You know who you should tell that to?”

“Luke?” You asked, already knowing her answer. Flynn was the queen of confrontation.

“Exactly.”

You frowned, the last thing you wanted to do was talk to Luke. If he was going to ignore you the way he had on stage, Flynn had been trying to make you feel better but you knew he was avoiding you for some reason. He always made it a point to find you in the crowd but tonight he had looked anywhere but you.

A few straggling fans shouted excitedly and you looked passed the table to see that the guys and Julie had come out from backstage for meet and greets. As they spread out to talk to people, Reggie moved toward the merch stand, parking himself close enough to you that he could chat with you without drawing too much attention. You knew it was on purpose, that was usually Luke’s spot but tonight he stayed all the way down by the stage, almost reluctant to be out on the floor.

“Hey, great job.” You mentioned, grabbing a water bottle from under the table and handing it to Reggie. He took it gratefully, taking a sip before setting it on the floor beside him and beginning to greet the group of fans that had hung back to say hello to him.

When there was a spare minute between signing and taking pictures, he moved down the table, closer to you then before, leaning against a bare patch of wood where Flynn had already cleared away shirts. “Who was that guy you came with?” Reggie asked, looking back at you as you took one of the larger hoodies out of a box and pulled it on. Without the people, the venue had started to get cold.

“My friend Mikey, it was his birthday and he’s been bugging me to hang out. He tagged along really and I didn’t wanna ditch him...” you replied, coming around the side of the table, “I didn’t really think it’d be an issue.”

“Oh, it's not with me. We need all the fans we can get right?” Reggie joked, “did he like our music?”

“Yeah, totally loved it.”

The last of the concert goers finally made it to the door, waving to Reggie one last time as they walked passed the closed down merch stand. He waved back and you turned to watch them leave, back to the stage.

“Hey, can we talk?” Luke’s voice came from behind you and you looked over your shoulder to him, standing there with his plaid jacket over a black band tee. His hair was pushed off his forehead from sweat and he was frowning already, not exactly the version of him you wanted to talk to. You couldn’t help that longing feeling for the Luke that would come off stage and wrap you in a sweaty hug guaranteed to piss of fans.

“Uh yeah, of course...I need to talk to you too.” You replied, turning fully toward him as Reggie stood up, grabbing his water and heading back down toward the stage. Flynn came around the merch stand, following after him, leaving you and Luke alone.

A beat passed between you and he ran his hand through his hair, trying and failing to fix the sweaty mess. Unable to stand the silence, you started talking, “you guys were awesome...as usual.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He had asked to talk to you but he wasn’t really sure how to start the conversation he wanted to have and he couldn’t bring himself to really meet your eyes, his gaze flickering passed you every few seconds.

“Would’ve been even better if you weren’t ignoring me all night,” you blurted.

That seemed to be the push he needed to react, “yeah well, you brought some date with you? After the other night...” he trailed off for a moment, meeting your eyes finally, “I mean, that wasn’t nothing.”

Band practice had ended earlier than usual and, while you sat on the couch trying to win a particularly difficult level of candy crush on Luke’s phone, everybody else discussed a pizza run for dinner. You raised your hand to vote for extra cheese but didn’t look up when Julie left to go and Reggie and Alex walked out onto the driveway to play basketball. You didn’t look up until Luke dropped down on the couch next to you, putting his chin on your shoulder.

“How’s it going?” He asked, keeping his eyes on his phone screen as you turned your head, so close that your nose almost brushed his cheek.

“Good?” You said, drawing the word out as you looked at him skeptically, “can I ask why you’re so close to me?”

“So, you can bask in my awesomeness?” Luke teased, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“I think the only thing I’m basking in is your post-rehearsal sweat.” You joked, shifting a little so that his chin fell off your shoulder and you were facing him. You set his phone down on the coffee table, giving your whole attention to Luke.

He smiled at you, eyes searching yours. There was no denying that very specific look that Luke seemed to get, one you could never quite name but always recognized. He would smile, a soft sort of piercing look that you couldn’t look away from on his face. And you were always hypnotized by it, feeling like maybe you should distract yourself from it but never really wanting to.

“What are we doing?” You chanced asking, meeting his gaze and holding it.

“What’da ya mean?” He asked, grin still on his face and you felt like he’d gotten closer but you didn’t move.

“You’re staring at me.”

“You’re staring at me.” He echoed.

“Luke.” You wanted to roll your eyes but you also didn’t want to look away, even for a split second.

He leaned closer, the joking air that had been dissipating completely gone now. You licked your lips, trying to keep yourself calm as Luke moved in. One second, he was looking at you and the next your eyes were closing, his lips pressed against yours and his grip on your waist tightening.

The kiss didn’t last long. The doors to the garage creaked open and you both pulled away, looking anywhere but at each other as Julie walked in with pizza. Alex and Reggie came in behind her and Luke stood up, grabbing a stack of magazines off the coffee table and moving them out of the way. You picked up his phone, unlocking it and opening candy crush again to distract yourself.

Neither of you had discussed the kiss, mostly because you were too afraid that if you brought it up he would tell you that it was just a mistake. Some spur of the moment thing that happened but that he didn’t really mean. You hadn’t even told Julie or Flynn about it.

But now you were standing at the empty merch table with him and he was acting like you had purposely tried to hurt him. A ‘date’ he had called it and all at once you realized exactly what he thought had happened.

“No, no,” you shook your head, “Mikey wasn’t a date.”

“You didn’t say you were bringing Mikey with you to our show.” Luke replied, your best friend’s name rolling off his tongue like a curse.

“He was bugging me about not hanging out recently and it’s his birthday so we were supposed to go out for dinner but I kept mentioning you…the band…and he wanted to come to the show.” You tried to explain.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” It was stupid to ask, technically you didn’t owe him any explanation at all. You could bring whoever you wanted but he couldn’t help feeling affronted by it.

“I didn’t want you to think I was gonna ditch the show. And…I didn’t want you to think it was a date.” You replied. “The kiss wasn’t nothing and I should’ve talked to you about it sooner cause…I really like you and it felt really shitty to be ignored tonight.”

Luke rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m sorry, I was just pissed when I saw you with some other guy.”

“Mikey’s just a friend.” You replied, “I like you Luke, I like when you pretend to play the guitar badly to make me laugh and I like when we hang out without everyone else and just do nothing or go to the beach and I like going out with you at midnight to get ice cream cause neither of us can sleep and I don’t want to date anyone else…I want you.”

“I want you too.” Luke said, stepping closer to you. When he reached for your hands, you laced your fingers with his. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours again, the salty taste of sweat from playing a show still there on his mouth as you kissed him back.

#luke patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #luke patterson x you #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson fanfic #luke patterson fanfiction #luke patterson fic #jatp fanfic #jatp fic #jatp fanfiction #jatp imagine #julie and the phantoms fic #julie and the phantoms fanfic #julie and the phantoms imagine #julie and the phantoms fanfictions #collecting stories imagine

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spencersankleholster · 3 years ago

Text

XOXO, Spencer

A/N: This is my first fic so I hope you like it! Basically, Y/N performs at an open mic and Spencer is there. They meet, smut ensues, yadayada.

Warnings: NSFW, smut, oral (f receiving),

Spencer didn’t usually like bars. They were too loud, too sticky, and because of his sobriety he couldn’t drink anyway, but tonight Morgan and Garcia had dragged him to an open mic at their favorite bar. Garcia had a friend performing, and Morgan was just there to pick up artsy college girls.

As Spencer walked into the bar, he automatically felt stressed. His germophobia and general social anxiety were quickly taking over. Despite every instinct in his body telling him to go home, to run, he stayed, if only for his friends' sake. They were having so much fun, and he’d hate to ruin a night out.

Spencer sat and drank Shirley Temples as acts continued to rotate through. Garcia’s friend was alright, if a bit dull, but he clapped loud anyway. Some acts were good, some were mildly painful, and most were rather unmemorable. Until you stepped on stage.

“Hey, guys! I’m Y/N, and tonight I’ll be performing a cover of Moon Song by Phoebe Bridgers! I’m, uh, I’m gonna get started now, but uh, I hope you enjoy!”

Spencer gave you a small smile as you fumbled through your introduction. You were never one for performing in public, but when you saw the poster for the open-mic in the hall of your dorm, you felt the urge to sign up. You thought, what’s the worst that could happen? Now, on stage, you hated the confident person that signed you up just two days ago. You could feel the audience watching you, and the feeling was terrifying. Finally, you closed your eyes and strummed the first chords.

“You asked to walk me home, but I had to carry you-“

Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn't entranced by you the moment you started singing. Even if he weren’t a profiler he’d be able to see the pure emotion and heart you put into music. It didn’t matter that the song wasn’t yours, he could tell you fully felt it. As you hit the last verse, and your face contorted with emotion, Spencer realized that he hadn’t breathed the entire time.

As you came back to earth after the performance, you looked into the faces of the crowd, waiting for a reaction. You met eyes with a young man - he was absolutely gorgeous, with big, kind-looking brown eyes, prominent cheekbones, and soft long brown hair. He gave you an earnest smile, and you sent one right back. As the clapping subsided and you walked off stage, you couldn’t help but look back at him over and over.

As you sat back at your table, he got up and head to the bar, and before you knew it you were following him.

“Hey, I’m Y/N,” you said quietly to him. He turned, looking surprised when he saw it was you.

“Oh, hi! Uh, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Doctor?” You replied

“Yeah, I uh, I have a few PHDs.” He said awkwardly

“Well then, nice to meet you Dr. Spencer Reid.” You said, smiling at his soft and endearing nature.

“Nice to meet you too, Y/N. You were great up there, by the way. You looked like you were really getting into the music.”

“Really? I sometimes make this weird face when I sing, I hope that didn’t show up.” You chuckled

“Not at all. You were beautiful.” and you could tell, he truly meant it.

You spent the next hours talking about various subjects - food, literature, music, and most interestingly, his job as a profiler.

“So you’re like a mind-reader?” You asked excitedly

“Well, not really.” He laughed

“Profile me!” you said. He looked hesitant, but Spencer couldn’t resist the eagerness in your eyes. After making sure that you really wanted this, he began.

“Well, you’re obviously a college student, but I don’t think you major in music. You were nervous getting on stage and you likely don’t perform much, even for friends or family, but the callouses on your fingers tell me that you spend a lot of time with your guitar. You’re probably majoring in a humanity instead, and music is just for fun and self-expression. Small family, maybe a sibling or two, and I’d say that you’re the youngest. Oh, and from your sweatshirt I can say that you’re probably from New England.”

You looked down at your red sox sweatshirt and gave him a big grin. “Almost all correct, Dr. Reid, but I’m a middle child.”

“Dang it.” he huffed.

The rest of the night was spent laughing at each other's jokes and flirtatious banter. Eventually, Morgan and Garcia left for the night, giving Reid discreet thumbs up on their way out, but he barely noticed. You were both so involved in your conversation that you didn’t realize the bar had emptied out, and you were the last two left.

“Hey, guys, can you get out so I can go home?” The tired bartender said. Realizing the time, you both quickly went outside into the biting November night.

“God, it’s freezing! It wasn’t this cold when I went in!” You whined. You hadn’t worn a coat, it was 60 degrees when you left the house, but it being 1 am the temperatures had dropped significantly. Spencer shucked off his overcoat, handing it to you. Underneath, he wore a cozy blue sweater with a white t-shirt peeking out of the collar and a plaid scarf. Wrapping his coat around you, he felt nervous. A pretty girl, standing next to him in the middle of the night, wrapped in his coat. It sounds like a romance novel, but here he was living it.

“Won’t you be cold?” You said, looking concerned.

“Don't worry about me,” He said running a hand across your cheek, “I can handle it.”

Feeling his hand on your cheek, you started leaning toward him. He leaned in too, and soon your lips were locked in a warm embrace, chasing off the cold winter air. The two of you kissed passionately for what seemed like an eternity, which was entirely too short. When you broke apart, neither of you felt so cold anymore.

“I don’t live too far from here, so if you wanted a nightcap, maybe some coffee, we could head over there?” Spencer said. He hadn’t invited many girls back to his apartment before, and doing so made him nervous, but when you softly replied “Yes” that all went away.

Holding hands, the two of you traipsed through the night, wrapped in each other’s warmth. When you reached his apartment, you stopped to kiss him before opening the door. Quickly, the kiss deepened, and the two of you kept kissing even as Spencer was opening the door. Fumbling through his apartment, knocking into walls and large stacks of books, you made it to his bedroom. Spencer hoisted you up to sit on top of his dresser and began kissing your neck. You moaned as he slowly nipped and licked down your neck. You wrapped your legs around his waist and lightly grinded into his cock. Spencer moaned against you and quickly began grinding as well.

When Spencer moved away from you, you thought you had done something wrong, but a split second later he was pulling up the hem of your shirt and looking to you for permission. You peeled off your sweatshirt, leaving you in a thin tank top and bralette. Spencer leaned back in to kiss you and began massaging your boobs over the tank top.

“Why don’t we get this off too?” He breathed, referring to your tank top. You nodded and Spencer pulled the garment off of your body, leaving you in your fairly see-through bralette and jeans. To even the score a bit, Spencer then pulled off his own sweater, and seeing your opportunity, you helped him to shirk off the tight white t-shirt underneath as well. Moving to his bed, you sat straddling his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed. He ogled you for a second, and then in one swift motion pulled off the remaining fabric covering your chest. Not wasting a moment, Spencer leaned in and began sucking on your boobs, moaning lightly against them.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” You moaned as he lightly bit down on your nipples. While still attached to your breast, he started unbuttoning your pants. Flipping you over with your back lying on the bed, he pulled down your jeans. You stared in awe as he knelt at the end of the bed, kissing up your calves and thighs, slowly teasing you. It was agonizing waiting for him to reach your core, but when he did, the wait was made worth it. He began by slowing licking up your heat, and then began sucking your clit. While still licking you, he eased his long fingers inside of you, curling up into your g-spot. With his tongue circling your clit and his two middle fingers hitting your g-spot, you could feel your climax quickly approaching.

“Please, fuck, Spencer!” You pleaded, making him go faster. Almost immediately, that wave of pleasure hit you like a truck, and you came on his tongue.

Panting, you sat up a bit, looking at the gorgeous sight of Spencer lapping up the rest of your juices. As soon as he finished, you pulled him up by the back of his neck and kissed him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Trying to pay him back, you leaned down and unzipped his pants, wanting to suck his cock, but he stopped you.

“No, baby, there's no time for that. I just want to be inside you.” There was no arguing with that. You pulled down his pants and boxers, revealing his fully hard cock, pink and dripping with pre-cum. As much as Spencer loved the sight of you staring at his member, he wanted to get down to business. He reached to grab a condom from his nightstand, but you stopped him.

“I have an IUD and I got tested last week. Clean. How about you?” you said

“I haven't been with anyone since I last got tested, and I was clean then. You wanna do this?”

“God, yes.” You replied.

Wasting no time, Spencer got on top of you and lined himself up with your entrance. Slowly, he pushed into you.

“Good girl, so tight for me.” He breathed. You moaned as you adjusted to his size, and after a moment, Spencer began to move. He went slowly at first, trying not to hurt you, but you were having none of that.

“Faster!” You demanded, and he listened. Picking up the pace, Spencer rocked into you, his hair cascading over his face and sweat dripping down his forehead. Instincts kicked in, and Spencer kept going faster and faster. He then pulled you against his chest, kissing you as he felt your walls contract around him. You felt his cock slip out of you, and his hands holding your face.

“Get on all fours, baby.” He commanded. You quickly obliged and turned over onto your hands and knees. Spencer moaned as he groped your ass and lined his cock up with your entrance. He pushed into you faster this time, eliciting a loud moan from both of you, and then began to thrust hard. You could nearly feel him in you stomach, and from the way his cock was twitching inside of you and your walls tightening around him, you knew you would both climax soon.

“I’m gonna cum.” You moaned. At this, Spencer sped up, now hitting your G spot perfectly. He grunted loudly with every thrust, and pulled your back against his chest to get an even deeper angle. Your climax came quickly after that, and you could feel yourself tightening even further. You screamed all the way through your high. A moment later, Spencer let out a loud moan and you felt yourself being filled with his cum. Spencer pulled himself out of you, and panting, you both crashed onto the bed. Spencer wrapped an arm around you and kissed your forehead, and then said,

“I loved hearing you sing earlier. And a minute ago.”

You laughed at the joke, still a little out of breath, and cuddled even closer to Spencer. Your head on his chest, you both fell asleep without a worry in the world.

The next morning, you woke up alone in his bed. Confused, you looked around, but then noticed a post-it note stuck to your hand.

“Y/N - Sorry for leaving so suddenly, but duty calls! I had an amazing time and I hope you did too. There’s a croissant on the table and there's still coffee in the pot, so help yourself, just lock the door behind you when you leave. Here’s my number, so call or text and maybe we can do this again. XOXO, Spencer.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #mgg #mgg fanfiction #mgg x reader #reader insert

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ticklefits · 3 years ago

Text

AO3 LINK! | tickletober 2021 day 1: CHASE.

voltron: legendary defender | klance | words : 2572

“Oh, don’t let me stop you. Keep singing.” With a tone much too amused and muscular figure leaned against the door frame, Keith’s eyes have locked on his boyfriend who’s settled at the countertop, chopping up onions for their lunch. His ears were previously graced with the melodic & upbeat notes of Lance’s singing before he halted as soon as he noticed Keith’s presence, cheeks dusting over in a soft shade of cherry at having been caught.

"You snuck up on me! Y'know, all that Blade of Marmora training has made you seriously light on your feet, you're too quiet when you walk up on people--" Lance complains, obviously trying to shift the attention off of his virtuoso vocals, but Keith isn't falling for the trick. He merely grants the other a shrug, stepping further into the kitchen to peer down at the meal he was preparing before the interruption. It was a newer dish, something that Lance had talked about trying to cook before and though Keith rarely indulged in foreign grounds when it came to what he ate, Lance was a decent cook and he's willing to try anything for him. After a once-over of the food, he twists to match his gaze with Lance with Lance again, a small smirk now presented half-cocked upon his lips.

"Being quiet has its advantages," is his rebuttal, arms crossing along the width of his chest as he gently knocks a shoulder against his love's. "You can keep complaining about it if you do it in song."

A silent curse leaks out with the sensation of heat that strengthens on the surface of Lance's cheeks, half-tempted to run into the next room and half-tempted to actually take Keith up on his offer. Complaining while singing truthfully sounds sort of hilarious and maybe Lance might've considered it had he not been ambushed by the other, but the abashment that's welled up in the center of his stomach has stolen the reigns from his usual confidence and is keeping his vocal chords locked and twisted. At this point, he's temporarily canceled prepping lunch and his new focus lies on a getaway. Sapphire sight slowly inches from where Keith stands to the archway that connects into the living room, calculating the distance to it from his own feet and weighing the risks. Keith, however, is a warrior, and a highly trained one at that, so as soon as he notices Lance's fixed stare towards the living room, his smirk widens and his own stance alters.

"C'mon loverboy, don't make me chase you down. You know I'm faster than you." There it is. A challenge. A challenge to his Leo boyfriend, who's neatly sculpted eyebrows perk and furrow and his lips twitch at the corners.

"You're funny, Keith. The only one way you'd be faster than me, is if you tap into that cat-like Galran side of you and get on all fours. Stronger than me? Sure, maybe -- but not faster." Lance knows he just spit some fighting words, and judging by the slightly surprised, oh no he did not just say what I think he said look, Keith was about to square up. It was silent for a moment that dragged on like an hour, until Keith cements a stare at Lance and for a split second, Lance could swear he saw his pupils slit just like a feline.

"You get five seconds."

"Wha--"

"Run."

Lance did not need to be told twice. As soon as he heard that single word practically growled from his boyfriend, he sprang into a nearly full sprint into the living room. Keith kept his words and after 5 seconds, rocketed off after Lance. By the time he had an open view of the room, Lance was nowhere to be seen. He paused, rummaging through his thoughts to figure out where Lance might have escaped to next. He figures their bedroom would be a good place to start, plenty of the places to try and hide in there; try, being the operative word there. He enters the shared sleeping space and, just to tease Lance thoroughly in case he was hiding in there, starts to tap his nails on the walls and other hard surfaces, knowing damn well the clicks and clacks will echo.

"Oh, Laaance.." the swordsman practically coos, feigning an innocent tonality all the while checking under the bed and in their closet for his prey. "You know I'm not gonna hurt you. I wouldn't ever hurt you. But you do need to be punished for what you said."

Lance can hear him. He can hear him and Keith knows that he can. Their apartment isn't very generous with running room and hiding spaces, so he's taken refuge in their master bathroom. He nearly scoffs at Keith's statements; he knows Keith wouldn't hurt him, not intentionally, but that's not what he's worried about. He knows what those clickity clacks mean. The surface of his skin is already tingling and he's biting back a grin, hands smoothing over the goosebumps popping up along his arms. He could speak lies and say he hates when Keith does this, but they both know the truth: Lance thrives on it. Every tap of his nails drives Lance insane and he can feel his body trying to gravitate towards the sound, but he refuses to give in and admit defeat. Keith challenged him, so it's on.

He's dragging his nails now, goddammit, and he's getting closer. Those silent steps aren't so silent anymore and Keith's doing that on purpose. He wants Lance to hear him coming; it's all part of the chase. Thankfully though, their bathroom contains a door that opens up to the hallway, so if he times it right, he can get past without him hopefully noticing. Slowly, nearly holding his breath, Lance scoots to the second door and ever so gently turns the handle to minimize any sound and opens the door. A quick peek tells him that it's safe, but as soon as he fully exits the bathroom and begins his quiet tread through the hall, Keith appears behind him from their bathroom, running towards him. Lance yelps and his reaction is immediate, making a break for the living room once again. He jumps onto the couch and grabs a pillow, deciding to fend off his hunter with a weapon instead of continuing to run.

"En guard!" Comes his battle cry as Keith reaches him and narrowly misses the swing of a cushion at his head.

"That's a dirty play, McClain!" He manages to say before he gets uppercut with a cushion and it's as if the world goes into absolute silence. Lance hadn't really meant to smack him like that, but the damage has already transpired, so all he can do is gently place the couch cushions back to their proper home, all the while observing with fright behind his eyes as Keith's visage lowers back down to look at him. He says nothing, amethyst sight blank, but he does start to move towards Lance, which has the taller scooting backwards on the couch, palm outstretched as if that were to quell Keith's wrath any.

"Keith -- Keith, babe, baby, look at me -- you know I didn't mean to do that, I swear--!" But Keith still doesn't utter a single syllable, even as he climbs atop and straddles Lance's hips. He then moves to grab some of the mini pillow cushions nearest Lance's head, one in each hand, and Lance's eyes widen, remembering a time when Pidge pulled this on him herself, except she used vinyl, elbow - length gloves. Keith's method is unorthodox, but Lance is sure it's gonna tire him out all the same.

"Keith! No! No, no, no, no--!" But his pleas are no use. Raising the small pillows into the air, it isn't a second later that Keith starts to rapidly smack Lance's upper body with them. It's a furious barrage, one arm raining down a strike right after it's counterpart. If this was an action movie, and pillows were bullets shot out of a gun, this would be absolutely brutal. Fortunately for Lance, these soft, fluffy pillows don't hurt anywhere near a bullet wound. In fact, he's grinning all the while, limbs held askew above his head as a shield.

"Now this is a dirty play, Kogane! Fight me like a real man!" And Lance is about to regret those words, because as soon as Keith hears him, he halts his assault and tosses the pillows to the side, eyes glinting dangerously.

"Oh, I'm just getting started." Now unoccupied hands shift to settle on Lance's sides and instantaneously, Lance knew he was fucked.

"Woahwoahwoah, no! No, now this is really foul--!"

"Sucks to suck."

"FIRST of all, I'm the one who taught you that saAAhahah--!" Keith's heard enough prattling out of Lance, it's time to hear some of that sweet, hilarious laughter now. Fingers scribble over the clothed flesh of his sides and waist and that already gets him into giggling hysterics. Keith will always be pleasantly surprised at just how ticklish Lance is. Nearly every inch of him is sensitive to something and it never fails to gift him with serotonin when he's got Lance beneath him, rosy cheeked, squirming around, and laughing his heart out - much like he is now.

"Nohohohoho! Keh--Keheheheith! Stahahahahap!" His pleas are broken apart by giggles that are only raising in volume the more his sides are attacked and he's only growing further sensitive by the second. Lance knows his religiously vigorous skin care routine is partly to blame for how ticklish he is, but can you blame him for wanting soft, youthful skin? And it isn't like Keith's complaining about it either.

"Nah, I don't think I can. My fingers are under some sort of spell." Such a blatant lie from the older pilot and the grin he dons is unmistakably teasing.

"Yo--you're suhuhuch a lihahahahahar!"

"What? I'm offended. I'm not lying at all. In fact, I'll tell you an easy way to break the spell and get me to the stop."

"Gohohohohohod! Fiiiiihihihine, OKAY, okahahahy!" Lance is really beginning to struggle, squeals forcing themselves free as Keith migrates from waist, to stomach, and then to his ribs, poking & scritching between each one in an agonizing manner. "Aaahahahahaha! Tell---tell mehehehehe alreadyyyy!"

"You really wanna know?"

Lance's strength is sapping quicker than he'd like it to, but he still possesses enough of it to gently smack at Keith's arm, his giggles evolving into full blown laughter once those dastardly fingers begin reaching towards his armpits in retaliation.

"All you gotta do is sing. Like, that one red-headed princess, to break a spell that was on her, or whatever." The fact that Keith really provided a Disney comparison to Lance's current predicament is hilarious all on its own, but Lance wasn't about to give into this torture, and deliver what Keith desired so easily.

"Hohohohow is -- i-is ticklihihihing me suhuhpposed to make me wahahahant to SING?? B-Besides, a kihihihihiss broke Ahahariel's spell, not -- not singihihihihihing!" Poor Lance, with his cracking voice and breathy, hollow words that could scarcely be understood through all of his laughter. Keith understood the gist of it though and contemplated his conditions. He still wanted Lance to sing to him, but a kiss sounded pretty nice too. However, he isn’t quite finished with his boyfriend’s torture; there’s still one last area he very much wants to explore before he allows Lance free. Spidering digits cease their actions, smoothing up and then down the expanse of Lance’s toned torso, granting him a desperately needed, albeit quick rest. Lance doesn’t speak, merely taking this opportunity in stride to gulp down as much air as he can, because a minute part of him knows Keith isn’t done and that something wicked this way comes.

Something wicked indeed. After some very short-lived moments of repose, without skipping a beat, Keith breaks into full force tickling all over the surface of Lance’s soft thighs. The first and last thing to run through Lance’s mind is a sharp curse to himself for deciding that today was a good day to wear shorts. Keith has an all access pass to one of his death spots and he is allowing no mercy. They’re certainly going to get a noise complaint from their neighbors ( not that Keith cares ), because the inhumane screech that burst from the tunnel of Lance’s throat could probably be heard blocks away.

“K---KEEEHEHEHEHEHITH!! NO! NOHOHO, NOT RIGHT THEHEHEHEHRE! PLEHEHEHEASE, AHAAAHAHAHAHNYTHING BUT THERRRRE--!” the couch has been shaved of all of its cushions by flailing, lengthy limbs and even Keith is having trouble keeping atop of Lance, what with all of his wriggling and buckling.

“Geez, Lance, you almost sound like I’m killin’ you.” Keith’s grin is now from ear to ear, more than enjoying himself, the view, and his love’s ridiculously adorable laughter.

“YOU AHAHAHAHARRRRE!! PLEEEEHEHEHEHASE!” But it’s only when Lance deflates into silent laughter, arms going limp against the couch underneath him, that Keith finally concludes his torture. Calloused hands remove themselves from the slender frame and he completely slides off of Lance, disappearing into the kitchen. Unbothered by Keith’s abrupt departure, Lance soaks up every single second of relaxation he can, until he glances up once he hears footsteps, and sees the water bottle Keith’s offering. Smiling a little weakly, Lance sits up, releasing a few lingering giggles as the movement of his still hyper - sensitive upper body brings forth some ghost touches.

“Alright, time to break your spell.” Keith’s statement is oh so cheeky and as he leans forward, waiting for Lance to close the distance, he half expects Lance to do anything but kiss him. A pleasant surprise is given to him when he feels those familiar, supple lips intertwining with his own, and he smiles into it. The kiss lasts for a couple of seconds before Lance pulls away and eyes Keith, brow rising along his temple.

“Guess whose job it is to prepare lunch now?”

A roll of lavender eyes, but he holds out his hand nonetheless. “Yeah, yeah. I tired you out, so I guess it’s mine. I don’t know how to make what you were making though.”

Lance takes the hand that’s offered and ascends from the couch, bending to start picking up the collapsed couch cushions. “Go on into the kitchen, I’ll be right behind you to boss you around.” Keith snorts a quickle chuckle, but does as instructed, making his way back into the kitchen. He nearly stops as something catches his ears, a heavy warmth blooming in his chest. Lance sings more than loud enough for Keith to hear him, even as he’s waiting in the kitchen. He continues singing, once all of the cushions are placed back in their proper place, and as he finally enters the kitchen. He saunters up to Keith, sight locked with sight, a hand on his chest, happiness brimming in the way he sings.

“♪ Maybe this love is mad, you're filling every thought I have. Now I've stayed too long, and there's no turning back. Might as well dance.~ ♪” As if on cue, Keith takes his hand and spins him, earning an even more brilliant smile from Lance, and he lands softly against Keith, arms coiling around his neck to bring him back in for another kiss. Suddenly, lunch doesn’t matter so much anymore.

#tickletober2021 #tickletober 2021 #voltron #vld #klance #tickle fic #tickling #lee!lance #ler!keith #ticklish!lance

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hotwings0203 · 4 years ago

Note

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.

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