#some stuff on my mind & things i wanna be more straightforward about going forward. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hotwings0203 · 3 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.

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

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honeymoonjin · 4 years ago

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 13k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: fxf smut, sub!reader, dom!hoseok, dom!bee, shibari/bondage, sex swing, fingering, safewording situation, aftercare, exhibition, voyeurism

A/N: chapters may not come every week, but i am continuing to post them now xx i appreciate your patience

DAY TWENTY-TWO

Normally, getting a text at ass o’clock in the morning would annoy Hoseok. Normally, he’d deny the offer to get out of the warmth of his bed and go down and have ‘a chat’ with someone at ass o’clock in the morning -

But then again, his bed is a little too warm with an extra body in it. Perhaps going downstairs is the better option. He rolls over gingerly, glaring at the man in bed beside him, separated by a wall of spare pillows. His blue hair doesn’t seem as harsh in the dim pre-dawn light, and his lips are plumper than ever, slightly pouted in his sleep. He looks peaceful, no lines on his face even though he’d gone to bed wearing makeup. One tiny hand rests propped underneath his face, making his cheek bulge, and the other clutches intermittently at the duvet, like he’s caught up in a dream. Park Jimin looks so content and angelic in his sleep. Hoseok narrows his eyes. Little shit.

It’s easy enough to get dressed and ready without disturbing the sleeping demon. Well - truthfully, he’s just shrugged on a hoodie over his sleep shirt and sweatpants to make them look less like pyjamas, but still.

By the time he gets downstairs, grimacing at the sharp lights of the kitchen, Namjoon is practically chewing a hole through the lid of a plastic bottle, gnawing at it with eyes rounded with worry.

“Woah, woah, woah.” Hoseok rushes forward, gently tugging the half-empty bottle out from between the younger man’s teeth, giving him a soft but reproachful look. “What’s going on, buddy?”

Namjoon startles with the sudden motion, eyes blinking slowly in a way that speaks to a lack of sleep the night before. “Oh good, you came,” he mutters absentmindedly, “I’m kinda freaking out.”

Hoseok’s brow pinches with concern. “I did notice that. You seemed pretty carefree yesterday; what’s changed?”

The academic bites his lip. “Sunmi was talking to me. Did you know basically everyone else is in a relationship?”

Whatever Hoseok was anticipating, it certainly wasn’t that. “Huh?”

Namjoon nods, frantic. “Y/n got together with Jimin and Tae, but now they’re kind of not? - I don’t know, Sunmi wasn’t that bothered about the details - and then Yoongi and Jin had their thing, obviously, but now Jungkook has a thing with Yoongi, and Tae and Jungkook have been fooling around too, and it’s like we’re the only ones left out. I didn’t even realise it, but we’re the leftovers, Hobi-hyung.”

Even as that comment sends a dagger right through him, Hoseok keeps his face neutral. “I’m sure that’s not the case, Namjoon. Nobody’s trying to leave us out.”

“I know that,” Namjoon replies quickly, an earnest nod, “it’s just that- Well, I want that, Hobi-hyung. I want to sneak around, I want to hold hands, I want to feel what it’s like. It’s not that I’m annoyed at the others, it’s just… it’s highlighted yet another area that I’m a total virgin in. I’m sick of always feeling behind on these things. I’m sick of it never being me.”

Hoseok swallows, reaching around to pat Namjoon on the back in what he hopes his a comforting gesture. This wasn’t as straightforward as aftercare; Namjoon was seriously hurting. “Listen, Joon, if you want to get into a relationship of any sort with them, you need to talk to them directly-”

“But I don’t,” the academic cuts off, looking more vulnerable than ever. In plaid pyjamas and round glasses with lenses thicker than the frames, hair still mussed up from restlessness, he looks totally lost. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship. It’s like… I wouldn’t write an essay and hand it in straight away, you know? I’d write an outline, and then a draft, and I’d use the draft to make edits and write a second draft, and eventually I’d write the final product and submit it. Do you get it?”

Hoseok presses his lips together. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Namjoon bites down hard on his lip, making the flesh go white, and bloom red when he lets go to speak. “Hobi-hyung,” he begins slowly, “are you interested in any of the people here romantically? Are you wanting to get into a relationship like that?”

Fear shoots through Hoseok instinctively, but it’s soothed by the reassurance, it’s Namjoon. He can be honest with Namjoon. “No,” he admits, waiting for his face to fall.

Instead, the opposite happens. Namjoon’s brows smoothen with visible relief. “I want you to be my first draft, hyung.”

Hoseok tilts his head. “Now would be a great time for you to explain the metaphor, Joonie.”

Namjoon sucks in a deep breath and slips off his glasses, blinking owlishly like being a little blind is preferable before he speaks. “I want to pretend to date you, just for a bit. Just to see what it’s like. It can be a trial run, we’ll stop whenever we want. But you’re the only one in this house I trust like that.” He pauses, fingers twitching where they rest clasped in his lap. “Feel free to say no, though.”

Perhaps Hoseok’s mind is a little slow from waking up, but he barely comprehends the implications of what Namjoon is telling him. “You felt left out when the others were trying to have secret relationships or sneak around the rest of us… so you want to… pretend to do that?”

“Well- no, we wouldn’t have to hide it,” Namjoon says slowly, fingers reaching for the water bottle. Hoseok lets him have it, but watches out to make sure he doesn’t begin gnawing on the lid again. “I just think it would be nice to be the one doing couple stuff for once, don’t you think?”

Upon hearing these words, Hoseok begins to feel his very bones shake. It’s the uncontrollable trembling that seems to pass over him every time he gets close to breaking the seal - close to coming out. As always, he has a choice. It only takes one more look at the openness on Namjoon’s face to decide. “Joonie, I’m aromantic.”

Namjoon sucks in a silent breath of surprise. “Huh? Really?”

Now that it’s out there, the silence feels so much more deafening. “Yeah.” He doesn’t know what to say. Should he explain himself, apologise, give excuses-?

“That doesn’t change my opinion of you, you know that, right?”

Hoseok blinks. Namjoon seems more awake now, more alert and calm. “I- What do you mean?”

“You’re my best friend on this show,” Namjoon admits shyly, “you’ve taught me a lot, and I feel so safe with you. I didn’t come to you because I thought you’d want to actually date, so please don’t think I’m going to feel disappointed. It’s really special that you felt comfortable enough to- oof!”

Before Namjoon finishes, Hoseok is barrelling him over in a tight hug. Namjoon’s arms bracket around him, and the dom could just about purr with the warm fuzzy happiness that bubbles in his chest. “Oh, Joonie! You’re my best friend here too!”

Namjoon hugs him tighter now. “I’m so glad, hyung,” he murmurs softly.

Not wanting to leave this embrace, Hoseok lets his eyes slip closed and rests his chin on Namjoon’s shoulder. “I think fake-dating sounds kinda fun, by the way. We can take the b out of bromance. I wanna see how the others react.”

Just as the breathy sound of Namjoon’s gleeful laughter light his ears, a darker, more bemused chuckle drowns it out.

“Fake dating, huh?” a voice drawls, causing the two of them to jump apart like they’d been stung. “As if things couldn’t get any cheesier around here.”

Namjoon rubs his eyes, looking even more disheveled than when Hoseok first saw him. “Yoongi?”

Hoseok swallows as the raven-haired, cat-eyed beauty standing across from them scowls. “Not quite, buddy.”

The academic fumbles for his glasses and slips them on, gasping as Min Yoonji comes into perfect focus. “Oh! Uh, good morning! You can ignore what you just saw and heard.”

“Absolutely not,” she counters easily, sitting gracefully on a stool at the breakfast bar. Far more awake and presentable than the two of them, she looks sleek and fashionable in a pale silver blouse, black sash tied around the collar, and sleek black pants. Her eyes rake over the two of them, mouth turned down in a frown. “No one would believe it,” she says finally.

“Excuse me?” Hoseok questions, feeling distinctly like a petri dish being studied by a disdainful scientist. He spares a glance at Namjoon, who shifts uncomfortably and fiddles with his pyjama sleeves.

Yoonji just shrugs like it’s obvious. “If you told them now that you’re dating, they’d assume it was a joke. You need to set it up, build a narrative,” she explains. “How about this? I’ll spread a rumour that I saw the two of you making out down here, then you lay down some clues like sneaking off together or fucking each other with your eyes over the dinner table, and boom, everyone will think you’re boning. Bonus points if you can get someone else in on it.”

The two stay silent for a few seconds before they realise Yoonji is waiting for an answer. “Uh,” Hoseok states eloquently.

“Thank you?” Namjoon questions.

Yoonji huffs, eyes rolling skywards. “You two are hopeless. I’ll do what I can, but it’s going to cost you.”

“Are we- what- is this a deal? Are you negotiating with us?” Namjoon stammers, taking his glasses off to clean the lenses with the edge of his shirt even though they were fine before.

“There is no negotiation,” she explains. “I’ll keep your secret and help you. In return, you need to send me a text the second Yoongi tries to put the moves on anyone so I can get the fuck out of the house. I’m not asking for much, but it is very important to me.”

The absurdity of the situation dawns upon Hoseok suddenly, and an unstoppable grin stretches across his face. “It was never about helping us, was it? You just wanna make sure you don’t accidentally walk in on your brother getting railed.”

Yoonji grimaces sharply, shaking her head like she’s trying to dispel the thought. “If you aren’t interested in the deal, I’ll find someone else to blackmail, simple as that.”

“We can do it!” Namjoon volunteers, straightening his back.

Hoseok quickly nods in agreement, watching Yoonji’s shoulders dip in relief. “Sounds fair,” he summarises, “but we’ll need your phone number to do that.”

Yoonji does an almost perfect job of masking her pleased smile with a pointed glare. “Give me your phones, then.”

By the time everyone is seated (bar Yoonji, who has apparently taken over her brother’s room to watch Netflix while the rest of you talk ‘business’) and Sejin walks in, you’ve made your decision.

Unlike the first week, the individual doesn’t know in advance, and it’s this guilt that makes you stubbornly avoid eye contact with them all.

Taehyung had also been given the pass to not join the meeting, but he’d shown up anyway for morale. Or, rather, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly and taking a nap on your shoulder. You couldn’t deny it was comforting to feel his body heat, albeit unconscious.

Yoongi sits on the other side of Taehyung, luckily not pressuring you into conversation, and the two other couches are making conversation amongst themselves when Sejin cuts them short to start the meeting.

“Thank you for being punctual, everyone!” he begins cheerily. Perching on the edge of the coffee table, he rubs his palms together. “It’s time again for the elimination vote. Before I ask Y/n to make her decision, the current six Gentlemen have the chance to defend their position in the game. Starting from the left with you; Namjoon.”

Fuck. Now is the point where you can no longer avoid eye contact with everyone. Leaning into Taehyung’s embrace a little more - the sleeping boy grumbling as you shift beneath him - you look up tentatively towards Namjoon.

He looks a little nervous, but no more than he usually gets in these meetings anyway. Hoseok’s hand rests on the back of the couch behind the academic, who seems perfectly comfortable in the crook of Hoseok’s arm. “Y/n,” he begins, clearing his throat with a brief smile, “I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve spent with you so much, this past week especially. I know I still have some catching up to do when it comes to prowess in the bedroom, but I feel myself improving and once again I’m asking you to be patient with me, and keep me in the game a little longer so that I can do better next week, and the week after that.” He does a cute little nod when he’s finished, cheeks slightly pink.

Hoseok sighs out dramatically when his turn is signified, not shifting from his position. “I’m not above bribery, Y/n. If you keep me in this competition, I’ll take you to my workplace tonight and we can have a good time. If you vote me out, our little excursion will be to the worst Italian restaurant in Gangnam and order a margarita pizza with no cheese or sauce, extra anchovies and pineapple. And we won’t leave until you eat at least your half of the pizza.” He narrows his eyes at you, playful even in the face of elimination. “Are you willing to take that risk?”

You let out a genuine chuckle, shoulders jerking with the force of it. Roused from sleep by your movements, Tae pouts and rubs at his eyes. Even with his hair sticking up at odd angles, he looks so gorgeous that it takes your breath away. As he sits up and adjusts his position, leaning with his back against your side and tugging your arm over him like it’s a blanket, you can’t help but feel a pang of regret for voting him out so soon when you like him so much.

You bite down hard on your tongue, wincing at the pain. Would you come to regret the decision you’re making this morning, too?

Jin is next, and your heart thumps a little faster when you meet his gentle gaze. “I don’t have a lot to say,” he admits slowly, “at least, nothing that I haven’t already said to you. Spending time with you in any context is the highlight of my week, and I sorely hope that I don’t lose you just yet.”

That’s it for the couch to the left of you. Relieved nobody is expecting you to actually respond to these, you give Jin a tight smile and turn to Yoongi, staring at him over Taehyung’s bedhead.

Yoongi shrugs. “Y/n, I think you and I make a really good team. We’re compatible sexually, we get along well outside of that, and I know that you see it too. I’m pretty confident that I’m not the one going home this week.” You let out a light scoff at his faux air of certainty.

Finally, Jimin and Jungkook remain on the last couch. Jungkook is closer to you, so he’s next in line. The bright red streaks of his hair have faded a little, more rosy than before. It makes him look even softer as he sits cross-legged on the couch, the long sleeves of his baggy black shirt tangled up in his lap. He looks genuinely worried, unable to front a smile to you. “Um, I would-” He breaks off suddenly as his nose twitches. “I’d be really sad if you eliminated me,” he confesses in a small voice. “I don’t wanna guilt trip, but, um, I really wanna stay in.”

Your heart aches at the way he drops his chin and stares at the carpet blankly. Beside him, Jimin looks equally pained, and his voice is softer than usual when he speaks up.

“In terms of defending my place in the game,” Jimin says slowly, “I can promise that I’ll keep things different and exciting every week for you and that things will be a lot more fun if you keep me in.” He eyes crinkle fondly. “But I trust your decision either way.”

You suck in an unsteady breath. With everyone’s petitions complete, there’s nothing standing between you and the decision you have to make. Though his words cut right to you, the person you’d chosen earlier hasn’t changed.

Sejin clears his throat after giving you a moment to think. “Who are you choosing to eliminate this week, Y/n? As per the current rules, they’ll be removed from the competition, but allowed to remain in the house on the grounds that they do not initiate any sexual contact with you.”

Making like Jungkook, you lower your gaze to the floor. “First of all,” you start, hating the way your voice sounds so small, “you’re all amazing. Just like last week, there’s no- there’s no easy choice. No matter who I choose it’s going to suck for us both, and I’m sorry about that.”

You pause for a moment, trying to think of the right way to phrase your thoughts. “I’m choosing this person because I think that while the sex has been, um, really good-” it’s futile to fight the blush on your cheeks but you duck your head lower anyway, “-it’s maybe not as exciting week to week as some of the other guys.” The eyes on you feel like redhot pressure points, and you try and loosen the tightness in your chest. “And if I’m totally honest, I think- I really like this person, but I think I’d feel a little more comfortable being able to explore that without the pressures of the competition.”

It’s the least you can do to lift your gaze up and to the left, giving him the dignity of a proper sendoff. “I’m sorry, Jin, it’s you this week.”

Perhaps the worst part of this morning is that Jin seems genuinely caught off-guard.

Or perhaps the worst part is the way his face falls into something grave and icy, standing up so abruptly that Hoseok recoils beside him.

Your heart sinks, your voice drowned out by Sejin’s even as you call out the same name.

“Jin,” Sejin commands, “you have to come back to- Jin!”

Though he was already halfway to the front door, Jin stiffly turns around and waits in the doorway. His eyes actively avoid you, glaring at the wall. Sejin excuses himself and takes him aside to give him the instructions on how to proceed.

It feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped over you, pooling in your stomach, and you fight the tears that prick your eyes as Tae wriggles around beside you, pulling you into a hug.

You feel fingers card through your hair, even as his two hands stroke your back and hold you close. Glancing up, you’re met with the sight of Yoongi’s face, pained with sympathy, as he gently pats your cheek and continues to brush your hair.

“He hates me,” you murmur miserably.

Yoongi doesn’t contradict you, just letting out a sad sigh. “He’s upset,” he admits, “but he’s a strong guy. He’ll move past it.”

You protest weakly as Taehyung coos softly and pulls you closer, practically tugging you onto his lap so your legs hang over one side and your torso is snug in his embrace. The guilt is far worse this week than it was last time. It constricts your lungs, your veins, makes you feel weak with dread. “He likes me. He likes me and I did that to him.”

“Oh, sweetheart, we all like you,” Yoongi says, his hand falling to cup yours, swirling lazy circles on the skin of your palm.

“Not like that,” you counter, “not like Jin does.”

For a moment it seems like Yoongi is going to disagree with that, but he drops it, squeezing your hand and standing up. “I’m going to make us something to eat. Maybe a hot stew would cheer everyone up a little bit.”

The chances are low, you think, but you would never turn down his food. “Sejin still hasn’t assigned the new prompts and told us about the new week, though,” you point out, glancing over to the two men still in the doorway. Even seeing Jin for a second jolts you like an electric shock, so you turn and bundle your face into the crook of Taehyung’s neck, feeling the soft fibres of his box-knit cardigan against your chin.

“Then Sejin can make himself useful and chop some vegetables while he does it,” Yoongi counters with a pompous sniff as he leaves, and in spite of your own misery, a chuckle overcomes you at the thought of it.

“There’s that smile,” Taehyung croons, a finger tipping your chin up. His eyes are two brown pools of comfort that you can’t help but get lost in. “Jin will survive. I did!”

You straighten up once you hear the sound of shoes approaching again, smile dropping. But this time Sejin stands alone.

“Yoongi, out of the kitchen, please,” the producer sighs.

With one foot hovering over the border where carpet meets tile, Yoongi freezes. “I’ll make you an extra serving,” he bargains, “you can even pick the meat.”

“Out of the kitchen,” Sejin repeats in a stern voice, “can we have at least some decorum during the meeting?”

“But I’m hungry,” he defends. Sejin doesn’t reply, simply flattening his gaze. As everyone waits, Yoongi slinks back like a sulking cat, perching on the edge of the couch beside you and Taehyung with his arms crossed in defiance. “Do I get to pick out the prompts again?”

“No. Let’s get started, please.” Taking a breath so deep it lifts his shoulders, Sejin calms himself and clears his throat, standing in front of the seven of you. “The theme of this week is Limited Edition. I’ve got five prompts here; come up in any order.”

Taehyung slides you off his lap so smoothly that you barely notice it’s happened before he’s standing up with a stretch, waltzing towards Sejin’s outstretched hand.

Sejin realises at the last minute and tugs his hand back the second Taehyung’s fingers brush one of the slips of paper. “Taehyung, you know you can’t take a prompt. Sit down.”

Without pause, Taehyung spins on his foot, strolling right back to your couch as if nothing was amiss. “Worth a shot,” he mutters when he sits back down beside you. You know this is just his attempt at cheering you up, but that doesn’t make it work any less. Tucking your arm around his, you lean into him and watch as the first actual contestant takes his prompt.

It’s Yoongi up first, clearly wanting to expedite the process as much as possible, but when he snatches the topmost fold of paper, the text written inside gives him pause. His brows furrow, then lift in realisation, before he collapses back beside you, drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch thoughtfully.

Jimin is next, selecting the next one in the splayed-out pile. His head cocks to the side, turning to Yoongi with a curious look. “Oh,” he comments mildly.

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees, and Hoseok, who’d previously been stunned into silence with Jin’s sudden mood change, springs up with a huff.

“What is this oohing and aahing all about,” he grumbles, quickly picking a prompt and holding it close to his chest like he’s worried someone will peek. The second he looks at his, however, his face falls. He tries to recover with a light laugh, but you don’t miss the way he eyes the remaining slips in Sejin’s hand like he longs to trade his in.

He sits down though, patting Namjoon’s thigh to get him to go up. Oddly enough, Namjoon also looks stricken when he reads his prompt, showing it to Hoseok with a nervous gnawing of his lip.

Jungkook is the last one left, and at this point you’re uncontrollably curious but also wary about what these prompts could contain. Interestingly, though, Jungkook doesn’t seem disappointed or worried, but instead scrunches his nose and giggles at the prompt, tucking it into his pocket before joining Jimin and poking his side until the older man shows him his prompt, snickering even more at the sight of it.

“Alright,” Sejin starts, cutting off your train of thought, “now that we’ve finished that, the last point of discussion is the Bangasm Bomb. This week, the special challenge is called Viewer’s Choice. Each day, there will be a random poll taken on the official Bangasm twitter. It will correspond to each prompt, and the next morning, one of you will get a text. That means you have to complete your prompt that day, using the winning vote of the poll. If you fail to include this aspect, you’ll fail overall even if you successfully completed the actual prompt. Make sense?”

Jungkook stares blankly. “Could we have an example?”

Sejin shrugs. “The first poll was posted at 10am this morning. The four options are: standing, lying down, sitting and kneeling. Whichever position wins the poll must be included in the scene tomorrow. If, tomorrow morning, you get a text from me with one of these options, that means you need to complete your prompt that day using the winning option of the poll.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says slowly, mulling it over, “yeah, I get it now. So we don’t get to choose when we go?”

“Not this week, no,” Sejin explains, and then clears his throat. “Well, then. That’s all from me! I need to go make sure Seokjin is behaving.”

The mention of the recently-eliminated member sobers everyone up. Yoongi returns to the kitchen with less vigor than before, Hoseok joins him to make himself a drink, Jungkook comes over to the couch with you and Taehyung and wedges himself between the two of you, so sullen he doesn’t even speak.

In the end, the seven of you decide to eat lunch in front of the television, putting on a mindless sitcom that nobody really focuses on. Yoonji comes down once Yoongi texts her for lunch, and she sits on the floor with her bowl propped up on the coffee table.

Time passes, and Jin doesn’t return inside.

For a while, there’s an unspoken assumption that he’s still in the confessional shed with Sejin doing his exit interview, but once Jimin pokes his head out the front door and sees the producer working away in the production van, that idea is shattered.

“He’s okay, right?” Taehyung asks abruptly as a laugh track echoes hollowly around the room.

No one needs to ask who he is. Yoongi shrugs. “He’s an adult,” he offers, but the glint of concern is as much alight in his eyes as anyone else’s.

The thought only sustains peace amongst you for so long. Jungkook is glum, Hoseok looks anxious, Namjoon grows restless and begins chewing the end of one of his chopsticks. Even Yoonji has her brows furrowed, jaw tense.

Eventually, your worry overcomes you, and you grab the remote and mute the TV, pitching the room into silence. “I’m going to find him,” you announce.

“Y/n…” Yoongi says reluctantly, but your mind is made.

Not bothering with shoes, you unlock the front door again and slip outside, immediately turning the perimeter to go look for the missing gentleman.

Half-expecting him to be sulking in the confessional booth still, a strike of alarm thuds in your chest to find it empty. You inspect the poolside, the patio and outdoor dining area, but Seokjin’s nowhere to be found.

It’s just as you’re about to give up and return inside that you spot him.

Barely more than a smudge in the distance, you see his tall figure sitting, hunched up, on the very outskirts of the gravel path. He picks up pieces of rock, throws them half-heartedly, and he’s so far away that you can’t even hear them clatter. You recoil at the lonely sight, fighting the urge to run to him.

When you return inside, all eyes are on you. “He’s right on the edge of the property,” you explain miserably, “as far away from me as he can get.”

“Oh, Y/n,” Jimin says softly, eyes brimming with sympathy. From the silence around the room, there’s not much else to say.

You bite your lip. “He probably doesn’t want to talk to me, but can someone please go get him before it gets dark? I’m going to my room for a bit.”

Nobody protests, and you heave yourself up the stairs. By the time you flop onto the bed in your room, door locked behind you, you feel heavier than solid stone.

You’re too distressed to sleep, but guilt pulls at your limbs and leaves you unable to get out of bed for the rest of the day.

By the time you’re called down to go on your excursion with Hoseok, part of you wants to cancel and wallow in your self-pity a little longer. But Hoseok had clearly been looking forward to it so much, and you can’t deny the allure of escaping the Villa, even if only for a few hours.

Hoseok beams at you warmly as he greets you at the car idling outside. With his hair fluffy over his brow but his clothes sleek black, he’s like an enticing halfway point between Hoseok and Master. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting his clear skin in a rich orange glow. “Ready?”

You return his smile, albeit with a little less vigor. “Let’s get out of here.” When the two of you get inside the car and it pulls down the driveway, there’s no lone figure throwing stones on the perimeter of the property. Your heart tugs in a way you can’t quite articulate.

Though you try not to, it’s impossible not to mentally take stock and compare this experience to your previous nights out. Far more than Jimin and Yoongi, Hoseok keeps you talking. Whether it’s him trying to keep you distracted, or just his natural brand of social vibrance, there isn’t a quiet moment.

It isn’t until the car has wound its way deep into the city that Hoseok gently clears his throat, cutting off his own spiel about his favourite brand of bucket hats. “It seems we’ve reached a crossroads,” he announces meaningfully.

You frown as you glance between the seats and out the front window. “That’s a roundabout, Hoseok.”

His eyes shift. “Metaphorically.”

“And what might this metaphorical crossroads entail?” you ask teasingly, a smile curling your lips.

Hoseok stays uncharacteristically sober, leaning towards you as the car creeps forward in the blocked-up after-work traffic. “Our location, princess,” he says softly.

“I thought we were going to your work?” you respond in confusion.

“At the moment we are,” Hoseok replies. “But there’s a cinema just down the road, several great food places, even this fancy smoothie shop that lets you pick your own ingredients.”

“Okay…” The rhythmic click of the turning light echoes through the backseat, making you feel entranced as you watch Hoseok’s eyes warm, focused on you. “Do you not want to go to your work?”

“This is about you now,” he corrects in a kind but firm voice. “Do you want to go to the Red Room and play?”

“Yes,” you say instinctively, but the dom just shakes his head.

“No,” he states unflinchingly, “I need you to think about it longer than that. Do you feel emotionally, mentally, and physically in a position to do a scene tonight?”

You suck in a breath slowly, taking the time to run over them one by one. Physically was the easiest one. Your sex drive was quickly reconfiguring the longer you spent on the show, and even just a day without any action at all was making you feel a little restless and unsatisfied. Emotionally and mentally gave you pause.

How can you untangle those two when your mind and your heart feel knotted together inside you? Whenever one lights up, the other just reflects it. The moment you think of Jin, guilt overcomes you, but that just sparks your desire to flood yourself with distractions and escapism. But then the thought of being out here, enjoying yourself while he’s still stuck in the Villa, probably seething in hurt or rage or betrayal… The guilt just flares even colder in your chest.

“I don’t know,” you admit after a moment of silence. Hoseok hums once, inviting you to speak further. “I really want to. But I don’t know if I should. I just want to forget about everything, but maybe that’s a bad reason.” You blow out a deep breath, cheeks puffing up. “I don’t know; you’re the BDSM expert. Is it okay if I do it to just distract myself?”

Hoseok stays silent for a moment, eyes roaming over you like he’s searching for something. “That depends,” he answers finally. “If it’s a recurring problem in your life, and you use BDSM as a coping mechanism, then that can be unhealthy. Just like drinks or drugs. But at the same time, it’s very common that BDSM is a way of emotional or mental release. Office workers who feel like they’re working the same 9 to 5 every day with no power might want to feel like they have control and excitement in one area of their lives. Maybe CEOs or lawyers or doctors or parents might want to go to a BDSM club and submit so they finally can release the burden of expectation. To have someone else take care of them and make the decisions for a few hours.”

The dom sighs out slowly, eyes softening in empathy. “Y/n, you know that I can’t tell you whether it’s okay or not. I can’t consent on your behalf. You need to decide for yourself if you’re using this as a release, or as a dependent coping mechanism. Do you understand?”

You nod silently, not trusting your voice for a moment. Though he can’t decide for you, his explanation brings a clarity that strikes deeper than you originally intended. “I want to feel taken care of,” you offer up, voice thin like blown glass as your eyes prickle. “I just want to feel good for tonight, Hobi.”

Hoseok nods with a reassuring smile, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder gently. “Then I have another question, princess,” he starts. “You said you were wanting to forget about everything. Would you enjoy your time more if you played with someone else?”

You’re tugged out of your brief lapse of emotional vulnerability by the statement, cocking your head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Hoseok’s lip twitches as his eyes brighten a little. “Mistress Bee has an opening that she kept just for you,” he reveals in a honeyed drawl, “if you want to use it. Her and I spoke about it earlier. If you’re anything like me, the constant presence of cameras and the whole competition can start to weigh pretty heavily. I think it might be good for you to let yourself be separate from it entirely for a while. Have some fun for fun’s sake. What do you think?”

The idea is something you’d never considered, yet you can’t deny there’s something incredibly appealing about cutting your ties - even just for an evening - and not having to worry about anything to do with the show. But still, you hesitate. “Where would you be?”

Hoseok shrugs easily. “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. I could sit near the two of you, or just hang around in the main den so I’m out of sight but still not far. And if you really want some distance, I might just go next door and make myself a custom smoothie. Either way, I’m happy.”

You startle when the car suddenly halts, a jerky job of parking down a side street. You’re here. A strange feeling of urgency overtakes you, like he’ll leave any second. You reach out and clutch at his shirt, feeling the press of buttons against your palm. “I want you to stay,” you say in a rush, knuckles going white.

“I’m here,” Hoseok soothes with warm eyes, unhooking your fingers from his shirt one at a time, before squeezing your hand and resting it back in your lap. “I’ll stay, princess.”

Outside, the air is still warm with the remnants of the set sun, even as lamp posts cast white pools of light onto the pavement. On one side of the car - as it reverses painfully slowly back onto the main street - you can spot the smoothie shop Hoseok was talking about, but on the far side is a Daiso store, and on your side, just in front of you, is the entrance to a cinema complex.

You pause, frowning in confusion, but before you can turn to ask Hoseok, his hand is already on the small of your back, leading you towards the cinema.

“We’re downstairs,” the dom explains, pointing out a sign you’d missed that displays the now-familiar logo of two Rs back to back, beside the B that indicates it’s located in the basement. As he leads you past the small foyer of the cinema and down a set of modest hardwood stairs, his voice lowers. “Although all the walls and ceilings are soundproof, having a bass-boosted movie blasting above you certainly helps drown out the rest of the noise. Gives us a bit more privacy.”

“Clever,” you comment absentmindedly, but your attention has already been caught by the sight that greets you below.

The moment you round the final corner of the narrow stairs, it’s like an entirely different world. Without any natural light, the entryway you step onto is lit mostly with wall sconces, though there’s strip lighting along the very edges of the hallway that glow an ominous red.

In front of you is a roughly oval room. In the centre, a woman with a shaved head and long acrylic nails taps away at a monitor, glancing back and forth from the screen to a large black book just beside it. She glances up when you step down, smirking at Hoseok with clear recognition.

Flanking the outskirts of the room are two bulky bodyguards, and you don’t even notice them until they relax and give him a nod. They seem to protect not only the receptionist but three sets of doors as well.

On the left is a locked door marked with letters engraved onto the wood itself reading STAFF. On the far right, the almost identical door there has no lock, and displays instead CHANGING ROOMS. In the middle, directly behind the desk, are two massive doors with iron handles curved in the shape of flicking devil’s tails, complete with the pointed tips. Instead of any words, each door just has one of the Rs of the logo. Then again, it doesn’t really surprise you that there wasn’t any explicit title or description visible. This was a place that you only went to if you knew where you were going.

“I thought you were taking time off, Sir?” the woman asks in a teasing lilt. She’s almost intimidatingly gorgeous, and you fight the urge to shift closer to Hoseok’s side. Her eyes shift to you nonetheless and her grin widens. “Yet here you are, bearing a gift.”

“Not for sharing, I’m afraid,” Hoseok deflects, and it takes you off-guard to hear the audible difference in his voice compared to what you’re used to. He’s not fully in Master mode, but the bubbly ball of energy has been replaced by the suave charisma of someone who knows he commands the attention of any room. Just as you glance up at him, he looks down with crinkled eyes and lifts the hand on your back up into your hair, not quite tugging, but keeping it there for a moment before he lets his fingers slip through your locks again. He holds your eyes a second longer before turning back to the receptionist. “Red cuffs will do, Sim.”

With a sigh, the receptionist acquiesces, a small silver piercing just below her bottom lip glinting as she shifts and reaches into a drawer at the desk, producing a pair of cuffs that look exactly the same as the ones Hoseok had used on you a few days ago.

She stretches them out towards you, but Hoseok intercepts and chooses to put them on you himself. Though they come connected together by the chain, he unclips and pockets it once the leather is snug around your wrists, leaving you claimed but still free to move. The meaning of the red trim still makes you shiver when you run your fingertips over it, and the sight makes Sim chuckle.

“First time here?” You aren’t sure if the cat-eyed beauty in front of you is asking you directly or Hoseok on your behalf, but you nod anyway. She hums, closing the drawer and pulling a sheet of paper out of another one and placing it on the desktop. “Just because you’re coming in attached to the Big Man doesn’t mean you get to skip the rules. Read them over and sign anywhere on the page to show you’ve understood. And I’ll need to see some ID, verify your age and all that.”

Fumbling to pull your ID out of your wallet, you hand it over and take the photocopy and the outstretched pen from her in turn, scanning the numbered list of rules. There aren’t any surprises, luckily; it reiterates the cuff colouring, safeword systems and staff on site, as well as emergency exits and procedures. There are places to buy drinks and snacks inside, but only spectators can consume alcohol.

“There’s a station for toy rental inside,” Sim explains, handing you back your ID after noting down your details, “with its own set of rules and everything, but I’m sure your Master here will be using his own stash. Our staff wear black clothes with red logos and arm bands, you can’t miss ‘em. Just sign if you’re good, and you two can go on through.”

Hoseok waits while you read, sharing some smalltalk with the two bodyguards in the meantime. Once you sign off and hand the items back to Sim, who dutifully stamps the sheet and files it away, your dom turns to you with a pleased grin. “Shall we?”

The moment Hoseok wraps his slender fingers around those devil tail door handles and pushes them inwards, sound fills the room, no longer held at bay by the seal of soundproofing. Chatter, laughter, the general hum of crowds - they all fill the space around moans and cries and cracks of whips, every possible noise you’d heard on a porn video or experienced over the past three weeks.

It was debauchery in every sense of the word, and Hoseok slipped into the thick of it like a duck in water.

With a single finger hooked onto one of your cuffs by the silver loop, he pulls you in with him, letting you soak in your surroundings as he leads you.

Though you didn’t really have any clear expectations, you’re shocked by the sheer amount of people inside, all gasping at Hoseok and parting in front of him like an adoring sea. The first area is relatively cosy, clearly just meant for socialising.

Couches surround the edges of the room, except for a small bar manned by two insanely hot guys. One effortlessly shakes up a drink, biceps pumping with the motion, and the other chats up a middle-aged woman who appears to flirt back, ignoring the older man kneeling at her feet with a pleading look in his eyes.

They fall out of your sight quickly as you move through a doorway, the sound dropping off just as suddenly. It’s not quite silence that greets you in the next room, however. Just about bumping into a row of occupied seats, Hoseok adjusts your direction so that you move around the back of the room, but that doesn’t stop you from glancing towards the front, where a whimpering girl is strapped to what looks like a medieval set of pillocks by the neck and wrists, her face wet with tears but alight with ecstasy as a gloved man demonstrates to a rapt audience how to fit an entire fist inside her.

Your eyes widen at how openly they display the obscene act. Then again, how is it any different from what you’d been doing in the Villa? Whether it was an audience at home watching through a screen, you’d still let yourself be viewed in much the same way. As Hoseok keeps you stumbling down the back of the room and out a different doorway, you think more about what being that girl on the stage might feel like.

Moving so quickly through the seemingly endless basement, you’re startled when suddenly you’re jolted to a stop in front of an elevator. Hoseok punches in a code that has to be at least seven or so digits on a little keypad beside the doors, before pressing the down arrow.

“Where are we going?” you question, voice still hushed as if you were in the theater.

“Bee’s office,” Hoseok answers simply, but the realisation that you’re about to play with the gorgeous spitfire - with Hoseok watching, no less - fills you with a restless arousal. “She doesn’t know whether you chose to even come here tonight or not, let alone play with her. We’re going to give her a little surprise, princess. I guess I did come bearing a gift after all.”

Once the lift arrives, he steps inside smoothly, no longer holding onto your cuffs. You jump inside, watching him select B2 off the limited selection of floors. “This used to be a carpark,” Hoseok explains casually as you’re slowly lowered down. “But when it got bought by the cinema, they didn’t really need it, so they leased the first below-ground floor to us for a pretty low price. We originally just kept this lift for wheelchair access, but once we got bigger and expanded a little, we decided to move our offices downstairs for an extra layer of privacy.”

The elevator chimes, opening its doors to reveal a hallway similar in appearance to the entrance foyer you first walked into. “But we aren’t going to your office?” you ask, curiosity making your skin itch as he walks right past a door with the letter H on a placard beside the knob.

“Not this time, princess.” Hoseok halts again, and you catch sight of a new door, this one with a B. Spinning on his heel, your dom turns to you and pats your cheeks with a grin, lowering his voice conspiriatorially. “If you’re Bee’s present, we better wrap you up nice, hm?”

Things start to feel distinctly more real when Hoseok undresses you right in that very corridor. You can’t help but worry that somebody could come down in the elevator at any moment, or the service stairs behind you. Watching you squirm with a barely-contained grin, Hoseok does nothing to assuage those fears.

He allows you to keep on your panties, kicking the rest of your clothes to the side and slipping off his own jacket to lay over your shoulders. Though it’s a little big on you, it’s laughably inadequate in covering you up, made of some less-than-opaque black fabric that betrays everything below down to the moles and freckles on your skin. Hoseok looks somehow even more intimidating without the piece on, a fitted tank top exposing his taut shoulders and modestly sculpted arms.

“Knock, princess,” Hoseok instructs, not without the warm hint of fondness that colours his voice.

You do so with a shaky hand - shivering partly from excitement and partly from the chill of air conditioning that fills the hallway.

“I’m busy!” a muffled voice calls out brightly, making Hoseok tut with a rueful smile.

He leans in so that his cheek almost brushes the hard wood. “Do you want to be busier?”

A pause, then footsteps drawing closer.

Before the door even opens fully, Bee is cooing loudly on the other side, clapping her hands in clear joy. “I knew it! Come in, come in!”

Her bubbly personality is at odds with the glossy red latex that covers her body, heels clicking with every skipped step back into her office. Bee waves you in first, letting you enter before you hear her voice lower, asking for permission to touch.

“She’s all yours, feel free to play with her to your heart’s desire,” Hoseok explains easily, making arousal pool between your legs, “the red is for you and me tonight.”

“Splendid,” Bee chirps from behind you, and you jump when you suddenly feel fingers brushing up your spine, even through the thin fabric of Hoseok’s jacket. “Take a seat, chickie, let’s talk.”

In her office, the Mistress shows that same duality of a cheery personality with her dominance. A large corner desk sits in the corner, with a small board of polaroids pinned to the wall and a little terracotta pot of violets and a spray bottle of water just beside it. A small cup with various items of stationery is complete with a tall pen with a fluffy pink pompom on the end, and even from what you can glimpse, it looks like her screensaver on her computer is some stylised LINE friends character.

Yet move your eyes anywhere else in the room, and you see a metal cage in one corner, a flogger hanging from a clothes peg behind the door, various fixtures on the walls, ceiling and furniture that speak of restraint and punishment.

As you perch delicately on a lowset sofa across from her desk, you wonder if Hoseok’s office is much the same. It certainly looks like Bee would take in subs here to play with her, judging by the equipment. Had Hoseok spent evenings with submissive women and men in his office, making them kneel and beg and serve?

The thought stirs something inside you, and for a moment you think it’s jealousy. But then Hoseok beams at you with a salacious wink, settling onto the corner of Bee’s desk, and you realise that it’s less envy and more the feeling like there were parts of him you were missing out on. That there was still so much you had to discover of him, to experience with him.

You wonder if he’ll let you come back to see him here one day, after all this is over.

Suddenly, your view of him is obstructed by the deep red of Bee’s corset and latex pants, her hands on her hips. “You’re looking a little too much at him and not enough at me, chickie,” she croons, almost conspiriatorially as you crane your neck to meet her gaze. She tilts her head, lips curled. “Do we have to send him out?”

You shake your head adamantly, unable to stop your eyes from quickly darting behind her.

She chuckles. “Cute. So soft for her Master.” Your head feels hazy as she slips her fingers into your hair, stroking your head fondly. “I think your Master is soft on you too, baby.”

Without much fanfare, Bee swivels and sits herself down beside you, so close your shoulders and thighs press together. You suck in a breath at the closeness, but the domme just gets closer, flicking your hair over your shoulder and rubbing at the nape of your neck as she watches you intently.

“Did Hobi give you the full tour?” she asks in a low voice, the slight graze of her fingernails making you shiver. “What was your favourite room so far, I wonder?”

You go to shrug, put on the spot so suddenly, but before you can Hoseok pipes up. “The theater,” he states without room for disagreement.

At the thought of the room, you feel desire swim within you. The image of that girl, so vulnerable as a room of at least thirty strangers watched her, analysed her, enjoyed her pleasure just as much as she did. That image hadn’t really left your head since the moment you saw it. Before you even realised it yourself, Hoseok had known. Something about that made you dizzy with your want for him.

But tonight was about Bee, about the intoxicating feeling of being so close to a beautiful, powerful woman. The lady herself hums, pleased. “The theater,” she repeats in a low voice. “Do you like watching, baby?”

“She’s on a porn show,” Hoseok butts in again, his eyes like pointed furnaces on you, wetting his lips between words, “give her more credit than that.”

This time, Bee straightens up and narrows her eyes at the man across from you. “You can stop answering on her behalf, Hoseok, or I’ll put you out myself. You said I get to play with her tonight.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he retorts in a slightly sarcastic, petulant tone, but shoves his hands in his pockets and presses his lips together anyway.

Bee turns back to you, letting her fingers tuck beneath the collar of Hoseok’s jacket so that her palm rests against your bare back. Stroking slowly, she smiles, her eyes glittering. “We can play on the big stage if you want, baby. Would you like that?”

The opportunity, a little bit frightening but mostly extremely arousing, makes you squeeze your thighs together with a hard swallow. “Yes, please,” you mumble in a small voice.

Her smile widens, caramel skin positively glowing in the warm light of her office. “Perfect,” she drawls happily, before standing up, back arching slightly as she stretches. “Then there are a few rules you need to know before I take you out there.”

The two dominants share a look, Hoseok lifting his brow at something written on Bee’s face. “Really?” he questions in surprise, chuckling reluctantly. “You’re going all out, huh?”

Even as confusion overtakes you, you watch in rapt curiosity as Bee shrugs, slipping past him to open a tall, skinny cabinet just behind her desk. There’s a large, dark brown coat there, but her hand delves deeper, pulling out a thin yet tough-looking strand of nylon rope, a suggestive deep red almost the same shade as her bodice.

“I dyed these myself,” Bee explains, her voice light and warm like honey. You watch as she lets the length pass over her palm loosely. “I don’t know if Hoseok told you, but rope bondage is my specialty. If you wear this, everyone out there will know you belong to me.”

You bite your lip, heart racing as she slips off Hoseok’s jacket, chucking it towards him without a glance as she keeps her focus on you. Her eyes gleam as she slips the rope around your back, beginning to loop and fold it. “What are the rules?” you ask, voice already airy with the arousal that peaks your nipples and sends shivers down your spine with every drag of the rope.

If it was possible, Bee appears to have even more subdued prowess with ropes than Hoseok does, her fingers nimble and practiced, moving so quickly that it leaves lines of hot friction against your skin. “The rules?” she repeats casually. “Well, the first one is that I expect you to address me by my proper title. Do you know what that is?”

Swallowing the dryness in your throat, you nod. “Mistress,” you croak out, almost stuttering on the word that feels so unfamiliar on your tongue. Your cheeks heat up, embarrassment only heightened by how close she stands to you, flooding your senses.

“That’s right, chickie,” she praises, tugging the rope suddenly, making sure there’s no give as your bare chest is yanked forward. Satisfied, she tucks the ends in neatly and places her hands on your waist, taking in her work. It’s a basic chest harness, like one you remember Hoseok putting you in, but there’s beautiful flair all over, with arches and keyholes and braids that slip between your breasts, along your spine, shoulders and ribs. Almost like a bralette, the main difference being that your breasts themselves are fully exposed to her - and Hoseok’s - roving gaze.

“Now,” she continues, “rule two. You don’t have permission to speak unless I ask you a question. I used the limit sheet for you that’s on the Bangasm website, but if there are any changes throughout the scene, the only words you can say at any time are your safewords. I’m sure you’re familiar with it, but here at Red we use the stoplight system. Is that clear?”

It’s easier to say the second time. “Yes, mistress.” Still, the excitement low in your belly just grows with the way she nods in approval. Your desire to please sets in quickly, and the rope on your chest and the leather around your wrists feel like a promise of what’s to come if you continue to please her.

Jerking her head to indicate that Hoseok should open the door for her, Bee turns to you and hooks a finger under a strand of the rope, just under your breast. “And the final rule is more important since this is my first time playing with you. If something feels good, you thank me for it. Like this.”

Before you can even process it, lips softer than silk press against yours, chaste but unforgiving as you’re pinned in place by the harness in her grip. She smells sweet, slightly floral like gardenia or jasmine, and she tastes like strawberry chapstick.

When Bee finally pulls away, your head feels hazy, on a lag. Your lips still tingle from the missing contact, but you let out a dreamy, “thank you, Mistress,” without even thinking.

She grins at your reaction and turns towards the door, pulling you behind her with that finger caught on the rope. “God, it’s been so long since I’ve had a sweet girl like you to play with,” she croons back at you, before patting Hoseok on the chest with her free hand. “Thank you for the gift, Hobi.”

There’s a strangely smug feeling inside you as Bee leads you out of the office, back into the chill hallway and up the elevator. Hoseok trails behind, and some part of you is thriving in that feeling of being the focus of his and her attention. And even as you’re led back into the theatre, going right through the middle of the seats before veering off to the right to go behind the wings, the eyes on you feel electric.

Just like that woman that was on the stage earlier - it now sits empty in an interlude, the audience chatting amongst themselves - you feel like a pillar of desire, a pretty thing for everyone to look at, but only for a few to touch. The red cuffs and red rope lift you higher into that headspace, submissive yet superior in a way.

The attention of those strangers is addictive, and any uncertainty disappears with the need for them to replace those brief glances of curiosity with full stares, the kind of intense focus that you’d only receive by being out on that stage.

There are a fair amount of people backstage. At least three or four people in black shirts with STAFF printed in glossy block letters flitter around, chatting to the others or checking equipment. The lady from earlier is still behind there, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket, like one you’d see in a sick bay in high school. A large man, beefy like a body builder, tenderly hugs her from behind as they sit on a couch, and takes a bottle of lemonade from a staff member, gently encouraging her to drink.

You hear Bee catching the attention of a staff member holding a clipboard, chatting to him, but your attention is caught by the woman. Her face is glistening with tears, sweat and even some drool, and she looks exhausted yet elated, giggling weakly when her dom pats her clean with a paper towel. With a kind of delicate care and patience that seems at odds with his rather aggressive appearance, his lips move close by her ear, words just meant to be shared between the two of them.

When you did intense scenes with the guys, did you look like that? The thought sticks in your mind as Bee’s bright voice remains in the background. There was something so loving and meaningful about the connection that you felt to the guys after a scene like that, and the couple in front of you seems like a physical representation of that emotion.

Suddenly, pain spikes in your chest at the reminder that you’ll never have that connection with Jin again, that every week you’d have less and less moments like those. And instead of cherishing them, you were here, about to do a scene with a near stranger, in front of actual strangers.

Suddenly, your original idea of escaping the Villa doesn’t seem to be as appealing.

Glancing up, that pain turns to alarm as there’s a missing presence around you. Bee is finishing her conversation, waving away the staff member before turning to you, but the two of you stand alone.

“Mistress,” you offer up, biting harshly on your tongue when you realise belatedly you’re breaking her second rule already, “where is Hoseok?”

Before she can furrow her brows for your disobedience, they knit together instead in concern. “He’s getting a good seat in the audience, chickie. Were you not paying attention?”

Your cheeks heat, and you apologise in a rush, letting your eyes dart over to the post-scene couple one last time. She’s fallen asleep, his chin propped up gently on the crown of your head, and you feel like you’re intruding by observing them any longer.

Bee notes your distraction, but just sends you a bemused smile and grasps your chin so that you’re forced to face her. “We’re going to go on now,” she enunciates clearly, and the reminder of reality clears your mind a little, “I’m due to teach a demonstration on bondage, are you okay with that? It’s nothing too intense.”

You nod quickly. Perhaps there was something wrong with you, or perhaps you were just kinkier than you thought, but in your experience, being tied up or tied down felt calming and grounding in a way that you think is necessary given the whole new world of live exhibition that you’re about to undertake. “I’m okay with it, Mistress.”

“Good. Keep our rules in mind, chickie; let’s go have fun.”

For some reason, applause is not something you’d considered, expected or prepared for. Your cheeks heat the moment you step out, lights so bright that the audience is swimming silhouettes, and are met with passionate clapping.

Though you know it’s for Bee - she drinks it in with a proud beam, totally in her element on stage - it’s an audible reminder of the attention on you right now. If your panties weren’t soaked through before, you can definitely feel wetness on your thighs now.

“Thank you, thank you, it’s good to be back up here!” she cheers out, and you jump when her voice reverberates. The sound carries in here so well that just a speaking voice seems to fill the room. You wonder if later on, your own moans will surround you in much the same way.

Bee lets go of her grip on your harness and ducks her head in, quickly instructing you to kneel in a ‘comfortable way’. You’re surprised when the stage floor is solid, yet not as painful as you’d expect on your bare knees. You adjust a bit so that the pressure is off your kneecaps and ankles, and look up at the domme, listening to her spiel.

“Welcome back to our Red Members, and welcome for the first time for any newcomers. My name is Mistress Bee, I’m the resident bondage, suspension and shibari expert here.” She pauses while a few scattered claps ring out, and you preen when she shifts to the side, stroking the top of your head as she continues. “Last week I did a demonstration with the lovely Mikey on some common suspension ties. From week to week, I want to teach you all the ins and outs of suspension, because it’s a very rewarding craft for the dom and the sub, but it’s also pretty complex. So before we get into off-ground suspension, this week I want to show you my favourite intermediate step: sex swings.”

Your heart thuds, glancing up so quickly that her hand falls over your forehead and eyes, but she just smiles placidly down at you and pinches your cheeks playfully, making a few of the audience members chuckle.

“I have a pretty little chickie here with me today to help me out. Seems like she didn’t guess what we were playing with today, huh?”

Unsure whether it’s rhetoric or not, you carefully mutter a, “no, Mistress.”

“It’s a fun surprise, then,” she quips, before turning back to the audience. With slow, clicking steps, she makes her way to the side of the stage you’d come from, gesturing to a couple staff members.

Your mouth goes dry as a industrial-looking metal post gets lowered from the ceiling, running parallel to the ground, but taller than your arms could reach standing up when it groans to a stop. Two guys rush on stage with a black pile of leather and metal, connecting the chains to the metal pole in two different places. The major component is a flat piece of stiff fabric, clearly meant for your body, with two leather loops on one side to prop up your legs. With the way they’ve hooked it up, you’ll be side-on to the audience.

“Sex swings seem a little cheesy,” Bee begins, and you jump when her voice comes from behind you, varnished nails running over the bare skin of your upper shoulders. “But they’re actually a really good stepping stone for suspension. The dom gets used to maneuvering someone else that’s off the ground, and the sub can experience what it’s like not having their weight supported by the floor at all. They’re also far more cost-effective than good quality suspension gear.”

As Bee explains, your eyes wince against the lights, trying to make out the blurred lines of people in the audience. Hoseok was in there, right now, watching you. But you couldn’t see him. Your heart beats a little harder in alarm, but you force yourself to keep in the scene, wanting to make the most of this unique experience.

The jingle of metal echoes through the modest theater as Bee checks the stability of the sex swing, and soon enough she’s instructing you to stand up and come stand in front of it. You do so as quickly as possible without running over, so excited about being put up in the swing for her to play with that you can barely stand still.

“Let’s get these panties off first,” she decides, hooking in a finger and snapping the waistband against your hip to make you jump. You push them down before you can secondguess it, and just like that, you’re naked in front of a room full of strangers.

Getting up into the swing would be a little awkward normally, but Bee’s unending charisma and charm makes it feel easy. She holds it steady while you do a little jump to rest your ass onto the flat bed, then gets you to lie down, praising you warmly even as she gives professional advice to the audience.

Lying down is okay - your head hangs a little off the edge, so that your vision is upside down and your neck is arched, but the fabric is surprisingly comfortable so it’s no imposition - but one she slips those loops past your feet, resting them in the crooks of your knees, everything suddenly feels very real.

This is exposure in a very different sense. There’s not much give in the chains for safety, but it means that your thighs are spread wide open with no way to cover yourself.

Bee’s rapport with the crowd watching is a steady stream of reassurance, but by the time she lifts your wrists, using the clips on the chain and the loops on your cuffs to bind them straight up, leaving you entirely vulnerable, your chest begins to heave, breaths quick and shallow.

“Still with me, chickie?” Bee questions, and you let out a choked moan when she circles round to your top half, cupping your breasts and rolling your nipples between her fingers softly, the contact grounding you. “Give me a colour.”

Remembering Hoseok’s advice, you pause and take a moment to really think it over. “Green, Mistress,” you decide, trembling when she rewards you by sliding her hand down your chest and stomach, two fingers dipping lower to feel how wet you are, stroking your clit. Your back arches, thighs tense, but there’s nowhere you can go to escape the pleasure she gives you. “Th-thank you, Mistress.”

Leaning over you, patting your cheek fondly, Bee beams down at you. “Good girl,” she praises warmly, before glancing out towards the audience. “So well-behaved, isn’t she? Should I give her a quick reward before we continue?”

Your eyes slip shut in bliss as you hear the audience cheer and clap in your favour, imagining one of them to be Hoseok, watching you from below.

After hearing out the crowd, Bee adjusts her position so that instead of up by your head, she’s between your legs, that hand still lazily rubbing over you as the other grips your waist. “Alright, I won’t argue with that,” the domme quips teasingly, and chuckles as you go rigid suddenly when those two fingers plunge inside of you, crooking up to massage your walls.

There’s nothing you can to do move towards or away the touch. The swing has you completely at her mercy, and that just makes every stroke that much more overwhelming. Bee fucks you on her fingers with a swift, unforgiving pace, and you whine as the obscene wet noise echoes throughout the room.

You feel dirty; dripping on stage as your fists wrap around the chains and your pussy tightens around her. But the taboo and debauchery just turns you on more, and the moment she increases to three fingers, you no longer try to hold back or muffle yourself. A loud cry spills from your lips as she presses against your g-spot, and her gleeful chuckle arouses you even more.

The knowledge that an entire roomful of people are watching you is so hot that you feel electric, but it’s the reminder that Hoseok is somewhere amongst them that sends you over the edge. You spasm in the swing as you cum, hard, and Bee doesn’t let up for a moment, taking advantage of your restraints to continue to fuck you through your orgasm, her other hand joining to rub roughly at your clit to make you sob in oversensitivity. It’s not until your toes and fingers tingle with the force of it that she finally slows down, taking her hands off you with a cheery sigh of exertion.

“Thank you, Mistress,” you try to say, though it probably comes out slurred or garbled. You shiver as aftershocks periodically thrum through your veins, making your muscles twitch, and your eyes slip open to the feeling of Bee pressing a chaste kiss of approval to the back of your hand, still bound to the chain.

“Now,” she says, still a little breathless, “onto the main event. One of the more difficult things of…”

Though you try and stay alert, your body is exhausted and satisfied, and the suspension just makes you feel even more floaty than you normally would after a good orgasm. Your mind flits in and out, and you feel at peace until you hear the echoing click click of heels on hard floor, and see the blurry figure of Bee disappearing backstage.

Alarm flares red inside you, making your heart beat overtime and your nerves screech. You wriggle your arms and legs, but there’s no give, and even as you crane your neck to the side, the stage lights prevent you from being able to find your dom in the audience.

There’s no use in trying to stay calm. Even as that clicking returns, Bee already returning to you, you feel unsafe and anxious, the safeword on your tongue.

But it’s not the safeword that comes out when you find your voice. “H-hobi,” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as panic flares in your chest.

Before his name has even fully left your lips, there are hands on your shoulder, rough with callouses. There’s the familiar musk that grounds you, and the heat of a body that cradles your head and presses his lips to your temple, cooing sweet nothings to calm you.

Bee’s voice floats around you, apologising profusely not only to you but to the audience too, but as you open your eyes and see Hoseok, his eyes brimming with concern, you burst into tears of pure relief, wishing you could reach out to him.

Like he knows your needs without you even articulating them, he unclips your wrist cuffs from the chains one at a time, slowly helping you sit up as Bee’s hands are on your legs, taking off the loops that had held them spread open earlier.

The moment you’re up, you fall into Hoseok like he’s a lifeline, clinging to him as your tears wet his sleeveless shirt. His skin is hot against yours, and his chest seems to rise and fall faster than normal as he holds you tightly, stroking your hair.

“I’m here,” he chants over and over, the words like liquid comfort cocooning you. The audience slips away, even Bee taking orders from Hoseok on what to go get is tuned out as you lean into that feeling of security that Hoseok’s embrace gives you.

At one point, he wants to move you offstage for some privacy, but your legs won’t stop shaking. Without a word of complaint, he’s lifting you up with one arm under your ass and the other around your back, guiding you to wrap your arms and legs around him.

It’s all too easy to burrow your face into the crook of his neck and breathe in his scent, your heart rate slowing from the spike of adrenaline. By the time his weight shifts, and you feel the smooth, cool leather of a couch beneath you, exhaustion has seeped into your very bones. You barely have enough energy to focus back on his voice, but you force yourself to, blinking blearily as he cups your cheek and meets your gaze.

“I think I know what happened there, what spooked you,” Hoseok says slowly, his eyes deadly serious even as his fingers gently stroke your jaw. “Did you not like not being able to see or touch either of us?” You manage to nod weakly, and Hoseok’s brows furrow in internal guilt. “I’m so sorry,” he apologises hoarsely, “I should’ve warned her before, I should’ve been closer-”

He breaks off as Bee rushes over, face pinched, and hands Hoseok a folded up blanket. The feeling of the soft, yet slightly weighted fabric covering your naked skin feels like heaven, and it calms you just that little bit more.

Hoseok meets your gaze again. “Bee wants to chat to you, princess, to say sorry. Do you want to see her now or talk with her later?”

You feel guilty for saying it, but you just want to selfishly indulge in Hoseok now, no one else. “Later,” you admit, and the domme nods in solemn understanding, bowing her head at the two of you before departing.

“What do you need, Y/n?” Hoseok asks, in a voice so low it could be a whisper. You blink at him, at the deep concern on his face. “What can I do to make you feel okay? To feel safe and calm?”

You know the answer. It’s not something you’d admit normally, not something you’d request were you not feeling so terribly adrift and in need of comfort. You fist your hands in his shirt - wrists still adorned in red cuffs that said you were his - and wet your lips. “Kiss me?”

He pauses long enough that you think he may deny you, but then you feel his chest rumble with the words, “just this once,” before he dips his head and kisses you, slowly and carefully, like you might break. Your heart swells with every slight movement of his lips, but they’re gone all too soon, replaced by your own fingers as you touch your lips in wonder. “Better?” he asks in a strained voice, still stroking your back through the blanket.

“Better,” you reply, though already you miss his lips on yours. But feeling his arms around you, and his heart beat against your ear when you lie down is good enough for you, enough for now.

#bts smut #hoseok smut #bts x reader #hoseok x reader #ot7 smut #ot7 x reader #cypherwritersnet #kpopuniversenet #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader #namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader #jin x reader #namseok #bts fanfic #bts series

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jojoboisimagines · 3 years ago

Text

Johnny Joestar x Reader :: Wait for It :: Chapter 7

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Summary: Gyro is hospitalized, and now Johnny has no one to turn to. That is, until a former female rider shows him a little compassion.

..::..

The atmosphere out in this grassy field felt much better to say the least. Probably the most comfortable you’d been throughout this whole race. No fighting, no people, and plenty of roaming space for your horse.

You and your riding partner, aka Johnny, had mostly eaten your leftovers in silence. He had devoured the meal a lot faster than you thought he would. He’s still growing, you guessed.

Laughing to yourself earned a side-eye from him, before wiping his hands of all the leftover crumbs. Johnny heaves a content sigh, staring at the empty to-go box. The man did a couple of arm stretches, seems like the food really wore him out. Or made him sleepy.

Now that you had a chance to unwind today, you couldn't help but realize how calm he was around you. He wasn’t wary or suspicious of you as far as you could tell, and he wasn’t really pushing you away when having conversations. He was just..doing his own thing.

Perhaps he was too busy missing his riding partner to even attempt to start any real conflict on his own.

Before you knew it, Johnny was back on his wheelchair, wheeling himself towards Slow Dancer to mount again. You were pretty much done with your own food as well. It was good, but not nearly good enough to start a bar fight for.

Standing on your feet, you dusted any excess grass from your pants. You knew you were probably gonna miss this spot, but it was better to go ahead and move on. There was still a lot you needed to learn, according to your ‘mentor’.

A cool, satisfying breeze passed by as you walked back up to your horse Soarin’. It really was a nice day out. You glanced over to Johnny, but he wasn’t on his horse yet. Actually, it looked like he was a bit angry. Furious even, if his face getting slightly red was any indication.

You looked up to see a familiar face, yet one you haven't seen since the beginning of the race.

What was his name again, you thought...DJ...Damon...oh, Diego.

You had practically no idea who this guy was, aside from the fact he was British and had stolen the lead for the majority of the race. You didn’t particularly know him because he was a foreign racer, you mainly focused on the popular riders in your own country.

Yet it seemed like Johnny had some prior business with him, evident by him almost literally seething in his seat.

"The hell do you want, Dio, leave us alone!" He pointed at the taller man, hoping itd emphasize how he wanted him to back off.

"Hmm..Where is the Italian idiot anyway? It's almost strange seeing you without being latched to his side like a Chihuahua." Diego said, dismissively of Johnny's threat.

The ex jockey gripped the handle of his wheelchair so hard his knuckles might turn white in a matter of minutes. Though his face said something different, like he was trying to keep his cool but his body couldn't help but demonstrate his frustration.

He swallowed a lump in his throat.

"None of your business. Don't you have anything other to do than bother me?"

The Brit opened his mouth to say something else, before you caught his eye. The blue orbs quickly scanned you before looking back at Johnny.

"Oh? Having other racers aid you? Are you that desperate for help since you can't do anything alone?"

Johnny sneered. Did this guy get off on confronting someone just to insult and degrade them? There was nothing stopping Johnny from punching Diego in the face (except for onlookers, which he could care less about honestly) so he wasn't sure where he thought his hubris would get him, but if Jojo has any say in it, it'll get him in the hospital.

He had been so far in his own mind after that remark that he hadn't even realized your presence beside him now. You had already spoken up before he got the chance to tell you it wasn't worth it.

"Actually, I'm not helping him, he's helping me." You corrected the arrogant man.

Raising an eyebrow at you, he places a hand on his hip in a way that implies he really didn't care about what you said.

In that case, you wouldn't hold back either.

Dio puts his hand on his chest like a petty rich girl in high school.

"Who are you again? In all my time in this race I haven't seen you."

You knew that was a subtle jab about him being first and you being so far behind you were barely noticeable. Fists almost automatically balled up at that, but you'd control yourself for now.

"I'm sure you hardly look at anyone except your mirror. By now it's probably been splotched in horse manure by now, so really it's showing you what you've looked like all along."

Johnny snickers, and it's probably the cutest thing you've seen all day.

..in a friendly way of course.

His lip twitches, showing his teeth, a fang pointedly sticking out. Weird, you thought. You hadn't seen anyone with a fang in years.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dio tried to interrogate, but you weren't scared at all. In fact, you were just getting started on this guy.

"It means you look like horse shit, duh." Johnny answered, folding his arms. A small smirk still on his face.

“Watch it, Joestar.” Diego sneered. For someone who dished it out like second nature, he sure couldn’t take it. “One wrong move and I can ruin your standing in the race, AND your reputation--or at least, what’s left of it.”

You roll your (e/c) eyes. You’ve had enough of this guy, what was this, a playground?

“Dude shut up, if you want to prove anything then win the whole damn race and stop talking like you already have.” One more retort and you’ll fly off the handle at him.

Diego stays silent for a moment, before leaning in to your face, his nose inches from yours.

“I already have. You’re welcome to join me when you’re done playing in the mud with poor Jojo.”

Before you could reply, he reeled back and turned on his heel. You wanted to punch him so bad, how dare he talk down to you and your friend like this..

“Don’t do it (y/n).” You hear Johnny behind you. “As much as I wanna see it happen, he’s not wrong about being able to sabotage both of us.”

You grunted. “What could you possibly care about our ‘reputations’, Johnny? That was pure disrespect, and I can’t let it fly!”

“...” He was looking at the ground now, seeming like he was trying to find whatever reason he could to prevent you from firing off. Johnny sighs.

“Look, I’ll be straightforward with you. I’m not in the race for money or status.”

You turned around at that, fairly confused.

“I’m in this race to..learn a technique from my friend, Gyro. I could care less about the stuff Diego desperately wants me to so he can have ammo to bug me with. However, you seem pretty set on trying to prove yourself that you can do this. I’ve seen it when we train.”

“..Seen what?”

Johnny pauses.

“Your determination. This is probably gonna sound dumb, but your eyes, they’ve been different. Like there’s some kind of fire in them now. Honestly, since joining this race, I can relate. Its part of why i’m still deciding to help you after you’ve..” His eyes become sarcastically half lidded. “Gotten me into almost two fights now.”

A scoff escapes your lips. What on Earth was this man saying anymore? Though you wouldn’t deny, it was a bit encouraging to hear.

The scoff was a bit off-putting to him, and he took another pause. He looked a little...flustered? You weren’t sure what that meant. Did you make him feel stupid on accident?

“That’s why...I’m not letting you take the chance to have Diego potentially ruin all your chances. This training would be for nothing.”

Something inside you suspected there was another reason, but you wouldn’t question it. Walking forward to him, you bent over to meet his eye level in his chair.

“Fine. I’ll beat up Diego after the race is over. Let’s get to our horses.” You take the wheelchair handles and starting walking towards Slow Dancer.

You couldn’t see it but, Johnny had a faint smile on his face.

#jjba #jojo #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #diego brando x reader #Johnny Joestar #diego brando #johnny joestar x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #Steel Ball Run #jojo part 7

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avyssoseleison · 4 years ago

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Funnily enough I was going through a lot of your old fics yesterday for nostalgia reasons and now can't stop thinking high school enemies to lovers deancas ideally with some punk!cas nerd!dean maybe? Fully understand if that prompt doesn't tickle your fancy though

Please enjoy these 3.2k of enemies to homework buddies!

“Winchester.”

Dean will ignore him.

“Hey, Winchester!”

Dean will most definitely ignore him. Just keep on walking. If Novak thinks he can’t hear him, surely he’ll leave him alone. He’ll go bother someone else, and Dean will finally be free of him.

“Winchester!”

Dean hears, but doesn’t listen. He starts humming to himself when there’s suddenly a hand on his shoulder, ripping him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, you assbutt!”

And there he is, of course: Castiel Novak. With his dumb boots and even dumber leather jacket, and, dumbest of all, that small little frown that slowly morphs into a way too pleased smile the longer Dean glares at him.

Christ.

By the time when Novak’s smile turns into a full-blown grin, Dean finally musters up the strength to look away. The soft rustle of tree crowns in the distance reminds him of what a great morning he has been having, and what a perfect day it could have been, had Novak decided to leave him alone. As it is, his day might turn out a bit marred, after all. A bit more normal, perhaps.

“‘Assbut’?” Dean quips, way too late. “What kinda insult is that?”

“What kind of delayed comeback is this?” Novak counters.

“It’s not as delayed as your…” Dean doesn’t really know enough about Novak to be able to insult him in any meaningful way, and what he knows of him, he doesn’t want to use. So, instead, he finishes lamely with, “...development.”

Novak could not look any less impressed, especially because the raise of his eyebrow alone continues their little banter in a manner that clearly suggests that if anyone’s development is delayed, it has to be Dean’s. However, that level of insult is apparently not one Novak deigns to lower himself to, as he continues to look smug while busying himself with lighting a cigarette and blowing out a lungful of smoke with obvious relish.

Dean makes a face and pointedly waves his hand in front of his face. “Smoking’s bad for you,” he simply states, making Novak chuckle lightly.

“So’s a lot of things, if society is to be believed. I am not much of a believer, though, and I do enjoy the small pleasures in life.”

The small, self-satisfied smile Novak shoots him sends a strange feeling through Dean’s body, from his lips down to his very toes, and everything in-between.

Dean swallows. “What do you want, Novak?”

“Oh, nothing much.” Novak takes a drag while trotting along Dean who starts moving again, trying to put some distance between himself and the self-proclaimed anarchist. “I just have a small favor to ask you,” he says, sounding as though whatever he is asking for is actually not that small at all.

“Again?” Dean grumbles, thinking of Novak quickly copying his homework last week, secluded in that small parking lot that no one but Novak and some people in the know ever seem to use, and of what Novak did in return. “I’m not doing you any more favors, man,” Dean scoffs, and stomps on.

Nonetheless, Novak stays hot on his heels.

“Why not?” Novak presses, “I’m not asking for much -- I just need today’s Math homework. I didn’t hear Mr. Singer give us any, but Meg just told me he wanted us to solve like 15 fucking problems, and she didn’t do them either.“

“Of course not.“ Anything else would’ve been shocking enough — if Novak has a bad reputation, Meg Masters‘ is even worse. All kinds of rumors are going around about her, ranging from drug use to prostitution to downright witchcraft. Although Dean cannot confirm nor deny any of the rumors, he is inclined to believe most of them. And Meg Masters herself would probably laughingly accept any accusations -- she is that kind of person. And although Dean cannot help but grudgingly respect her for her attitude, he also resents her for it: and how could he not, when he works so hard to do what is asked of him, and stick to the rules? Yeah, the only way someone like Meg could shock Dean would be to actually do her homework for a change.

“Now, now,“ Novak chides playfully, even if it doesn’t seem like he cares all that much about it. “Meg does her best.“

“Just like you do, huh?“

At that, Novak‘s grin turns darker, a bit more dangerous. “So harsh, Winchester. I think you know better than most how sometimes, things are not as easy as they seem. That circumstances are different for everyone.“

“Yeah, yeah,“ Dean dismisses, with a pang in his chest, though he gets it. Unfortunately, he really does. “Anyway, I won’t give you the homework.“

“Why not?“

“Because why would I? I don’t like you and you only hit me up when you need stuff from me. Besides...“ he begins, then swallows back a proper explanation. “You know why.“

“Oh, I do?“

“You damn well know you do.“

“Hmm, alright.“ Novak takes another drag, unbothered. “Listen, if you give me today’s homework, I’ll make it worth your while.“

“Not interested,“ Dean says, already having a hunch of where this is going.

“No? Could be something similar to last time. You liked last time’s payment, didn’t you?” Novak asks, and it’s just like Dean expected.

Dean avidly fixes his gaze on the school building, still hidden behind some trees, but not too far off anymore. He will be safe there -- Novak would never dream of bothering him where anyone else could see.

“I fucking did not,” he argues, already feeling heat creep into his cheeks.

“Really? I could’ve sworn you did, what with all the blushing and squirming and your pants going--”

“Novak!” Dean barks with a swelling sense of despair. His entire face feels hot by now, and is probably as red as a tomato, “I sure as hell did not enjoy whatever you call ‘payment’ for last week. Besides, I wouldn’t even call it ‘payment’ so much as fucking ‘harassment’.”

There is a beat of silence. Then, “Are you serious?” Novak asks, in an unidentifiable tone of voice.

“‘Harassment’, ‘molestation’, ‘taking advantage’,” Dean recites, enjoying this now that he is gaining momentum. “You call it payment, I call it an affront, and--”

“Is that really what you think, Winchester?” Novak cuts in at the same time he stands still, his eyebrows drawn together in an unfamiliarly serious way. “That I harassed you?”

Dean stops as well. He looks back at Novak, his straight back and straightforward face, the way that he seems not just annoyed by the accusation, as Dean would have expected, but unsettled. As if he were taking Dean’s half-joke seriously, and reconsidering his own course of action.

Guilt wells up in Dean, and he holds his hands up in reassurance. “I didn’t--” he doesn’t know how to actually finish that sentence, so he just leaves it hanging.

There is nothing to say there, not really. What Dean said was half in jest, and half in… half in what he knows anyone else would think of the situation, or should think. It’s what Dean himself should think: that it was unexpected, unwanted, unreciprocated. That his animosity towards Novak just grew over it, that he truly hates him now. That there was no part of Dean that enjoyed any of it, no part of him that longs to do it again.

Novak keeps staring at him, though, reassessing. His stillness is as unnerving as his little smiles and contemplative looks usually are, even if in different ways. Regardless, he seems to come to some sort of conclusion as he takes in Dean’s still figure, the flush in his cheeks and whatever else there is to see, since he suddenly steps forward, closer towards him again.

“Harassment, was it?” Novak says, now with cold fire burning in his eyes that takes away Dean’s breath for just a moment. “Because I do seem to remember that you were the one who not only told me it was okay if I gave you a kiss on the cheek, but turned it into something more. By turning your head, parting your lips, not letting me go. You were the one who slipped me the tongue and kept going and going. You were the one who begged me to do more, kiss you more, touch you more, fu--”

“No!” Dean interrupts him, with burning cheeks and a stomach that has already dropped all the way down. “S-Stop making shit up, Novak. You know I’m not like that -- I’m not like you --, so I’d really appreciate it if you could leave me out of your fantasies. You were the one who harassed me--”

“--I just said--”

“--who pushed me to give him my homework in the first place--”

“--I asked you if it was okay to--”

“--and who made me do something I sure as hell neither enjoyed nor wanna do again.”

“Oh, really?” Novak asked, raising an eyebrow, in what might constitute a challenge or a feeling of false imputation, or both. “So, if I told you I’d love to kiss you again if you let me copy your math homework, you’d tell me no? Would what, cry harassment again if I dared touch so much as your wrist or even came close to you again? Or,” he continues, voice dropping into a darker tone while he does indeed inch closer towards Dean, close enough to touch him, and who remains where he is, rooted to the spot, “would you tell someone about it? Mr. Singer, perhaps? Or the counselor? Hmm, one thing’s for sure, though.” He laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. It sounds pained, even to Dean’s ears, knowing. “You wouldn’t tell your dad, would you? That you made out with a guy, and liked it? That you wouldn’t mind doing it again, given the right circumstances, some good excuse? Such as taking the long way to where you’ve parked your car, past the small parking lot you know where mine is and where I usually hang out? So that, I don’t know, perhaps I might come over when I see you, and all you had to do was bat your long lashes at me, bite your pretty lips, and wait for me to make a move again?”

It feels as if all the air is sucked out of Dean’s lungs. Standing there in front of Novak, feeling the heat of both his words and his body, he feels seen-through, known; and as lacerated and repugnant as an open wound.

Dean wants to draw back into himself, into his safe shell, but he can’t. “You’re ridiculous, man,” is all he can mumble out in return as he twists his gaze away from Novak.

They remain there like this for God knows how long. Dean, looking somewhere between their feet and Novak’s almost heaving chest, and Novak, with his face hidden from Dean’s view, but his hands clenched into fists.

By the time Novak’s hands open again, it feels as though an hour has passed, though it probably were mere minutes.

“Alright,” Novak blows out on a breath, “let me make you a deal. Just so we’re on the same page, and we’re both absolutely clear on what is okay and what might be harassment or anything of the sort.”

Hearing Novak say that word again revives the feelings of guilt in Dean, but he knows he’s made his bed, so now he has to lie in it. So, he swallows and nods, feeling all of his body tense. “What kinda deal?”

“It goes like this: you either refuse to let me copy your homework and I won’t ever touch, much less kiss, you ever again. I’ll leave you alone. Or, you allow me to copy today’s homework at the very least, so Mr. Singer won’t call my foster home again, and you can choose whatever payment you want, as long as it’s somewhat reasonable. Money, cigarettes, beer, anything you want me to do, you name it. As long as you name it. I won’t give you what you’re not explicitly asking for.”

Dean frowns. “What? How is that a deal? It’s either you win or I do, no in-between. I mean, fine by me, but you get nothing out of it, so what gives?”

“It’s not that bad of a deal,“ Novak says, finally flinging his cigarette to the ground and grinding it out.

He gives no further explanation, though, which gets on Dean’s nerves even more. “You suck at coming up with deals, you know that?“

“Not really,“ Novak says, shrugging a little. “As I see it, it‘s win-win for you and win-lose for me. Which, for me, too: is fine. It all depends on what you want.” There’s something strangely soft in the way he is looking at Dean, something almost wistful. “And on whether you’ll actually express it.”

Put on the spot yet not, there isn’t much for Dean to do but nod in acquiescence. He’d like to pretend he still doesn’t get what Novak is going for, but he does, deep down. It’s both an in and an out -- what he was hoping for, but couldn't have asked for. Now he has to ask for what he wants, and if he doesn’t, he won’t get it. And he’s not sure he can. Not when there’s rules and expectations and the shadow of a man larger than Dean, larger than life itself, endlessly looming over him.

“Okay,” Dean says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Novak keeps staring at him in that stiffly intense way of his. “Alright. I mean, it probably would be pretty bad if you turned up without homework again, huh? Last I heard, you got into some pretty dire straits when Mr. Singer called your foster home, right?”

Novak huffs out a sound of amusement, his shoulders sinking in what looks like relief. “You’re well-informed.”

A furious blush threatens to stain Dean’s cheeks again. “It’s just what I heard. People talk. About you. And, uh, everyone else, I guess.”

There it is again, that soft expression. And Dean thinks he might recognize it now, impossible enough: Novak looks fond.

“They do,” Novak agrees, showing no offense at any possible implications of him being the talk of the school, which he most definitely is. “And yes, it was ‘pretty bad’, as you’ve said. I’d much rather not have a repeat performance.”

“Easy way to avoid it.”

“Yes, I’m working on it at the very moment.”

In spite of himself, Dean huffs out a laugh. “I meant doing your own damn homework. I know you’re smart enough to do it, even if you barely show up in class. You ace all the tests even when you weren’t there, so I don’t believe you couldn’t just as well hand in your homework if you fucking wanted to.”

Novak hums in open amusement. “Is that your own observation or people talking again?”

Feeling as though caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Dean just lamely stammers out a, “It’s-- it’s common knowledge, okay?” before setting into motion again.

Novak’s laughter follows him the first few steps, then he is beside him again.

“Who knows, maybe you’re right and I could take care of my own homework. But maybe I like not doing so, and asking certain other people for it instead.”

It’s obvious what -- or rather, who -- he means by that, that Dean is pretty sure his skin will never be anything but pink again. “Oh yeah?” he needles, “You got many people doing your homework? Giving them the same payment, too?”

“No,” Novak replies surprisingly quickly, “there’s only one person, and only one time I offered that type of payment.”

For a minute, they walk in silence as they almost reach the stairs of the school house. There’s few other people around, most of them just entering the building or looking at their phones, unheeding of the pair.

“So, we have a deal?” Novak eventually asks into their waiting silence.

“You can have today’s homework,” Dean relents, holding out on what he knows Novak is actually going for.

“Thank you, Dean,” Novak says with a gummy smile.

The sound of his name stirs Dean him up a bit more, reminding him of the only other time when Novak called him by his first name: when he was crowding Dean up against a wall, removing his glasses, and kissing his cheek so softly that Dean needed more, needed to be closer to this other guy, to this enigma of a person.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean mumbles.

“As for your payment…?” Novak probes, though with his voice in a whisper as they are close enough to other people now that they might otherwise be overheard.

“Don’t know yet,” Dean says, his voice clipped.

“I’m sure you already have something in mind.“ It’s completely uncalled for Novak to say this in such a low and heady way.

“Maybe you do, but I don’t.“ He doesn’t know, he thinks. He can’t, is why. He won’t, he tells himself.

“Dean,” Novak says, using his first name again, as if they were friends or something more, sounding intimate in the most casual way, and that does it.

“Damnit, Novak, I want—“ Dean bursts out.

Novak looks at him in expectation, all of him turned towards Dean, listening.

He won’t, he won’t, he can’t.

Can’t he?

“—time,“ Dean finishes lamely.

Novak pulls a face that clearly says, ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed.’

Which is all the worse.

“Listen, Novak, you… you might be right.“ Dean pulls a face. “I can’t believe I just said that. But yeah, I might have an idea of what I want, what I’d like to have,” he pointedly does not look at the other boy or anything else but straight towards the school. “But you’re also right in that my dad wouldn’t— I can’t--” He swallows, tries to shake the thought out of his head, but it unfortunately stays stuck. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll think about it, okay?”

“You will?” Novak asks, sounding hopeful.

“Yeah, sure. Maybe.“ He blows out his breath, scrubs a hand through his own hair, and continues, “Might take me some time, though. Maybe a long time. Maybe forever.“ He laughs mirthlessly. “So, today’s homework might actually turn out to be a freebie for you.”

The expression on Novak‘s face is hard to read, but undeniably one he usually does not show in public. For a second there, Dean thinks Novak wants to reach for him: his hand lifts and opens just so, swerving in his direction. Before anything comes off it, though, he drops his hand again, burrows it in his pocket and says, “Take all the time you need, Dean.“

He might have to, Dean thinks. Probably nothing will come of this, not right now, maybe not for as long as he is as young as he is, dependent on his father’s will, bound to him for freedom. Perhaps, though, some other time, in some distant future, or hidden behind some bleachers, he might find a taste of liberation, or the touch of Novak’s lips again.

Dean turns away from the other boy as the school bell rings, the call-back to the present not quite as oppressive with blue eyes and a soft smile still impressed on his mind.

#simpingfortimstoker #miriam writes #destiel #punk!cas #nerd!dean #spn #oooooooh boy this was a pain and a half to write #not because of the prompt itself but because i wrote the story in chunks over a couple of days #and about halfway through the tone suddenly changed so i had to readjust (rewrite) what i already had #and ive been struggling to make this into something that i like #but i actually like how this turned out (and am shocked by its length lmao)#and i hope you like it as well!#funnily enough i usually skip punk cas stuff but when i read your prompt an idea immediately came to mind #and i was like 'yeah lets give this a try!!'#fanfiction

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ramuoto · 4 years ago

Text

TOP 10 MANHWAs

if anything good came out of 2020, it’s my discovery of manhwas.

well, it’s not like i’ve never read a single manhwa in the past 15+ years but tbh, the ratio of manhwa:manga i consume on a weekly basis has jumped exponentially this year. previously it was like 1:99 and now it’s like 90:10 LMAO.

so, just to remind myself that the world is still full of good things, i had to make this list. which i will probably edit in the future, if i can be bothered to. :)

anyhow, this list was not made in any particular order, just whichever came into mind. it’s loooong so be prepared! (I’ve read way more titles than mentioned but just included the ones worth checking out)

for whoever stumbles across this list, i hope some of these resonate with you and i hope they make you as happy as they made me.

pic credits: https://geekculture.co/geeks-guide-to-transmigration-novels-avoid-death-at-all-costs/

1. Ebony

https://mangadex.org/title/41838/ebony

Bahahah omg he looks evil there! But our dearest archduke is hardly that aww. Soz, I just ripped off the covers of the manhwa cos I can’t find a panel I liked more than another. I mean, this manhwa is a GEM. I can’t even begin to describe this because everything about it blew me away. This is not something you read when you are craving for fluff, or just wanna have something brainless after a hard day at work or if you just wanna have some eye candy lol. This is something you pick up on a weekend, when you have time, because you need those hours to digest, appreciate, clutch your chest, tear a little because you find yourself falling in love with these characters. It doesn’t have any of that cliche isekai, romance, revenge themes going on. It has a solid plot, backed by incredible characters, beautifully woven by the authors and artist with incredible pacing that keeps you on your toes and keeps you looking forward to the next chapter. Maybe I would have been happier if I found it after it was completed lol. HAVE I CONVINCED YOU ENOUGH TO MAKE YOU WANNA READ IT?! like, idk, just go. JUST GO READ IT GDI.

p.s. it says there romance but naaaaaaah, dont go in with that expectation. :) this story is so much more than that.

2. Bring the love

https://mangadex.org/title/44472/bring-the-love

This...this!!! THIS MANHWA NEEDS MORE LOVE. If you need a lot of fluff, a little, ok maybe quite a bit of sadness and tragedy, sweet sweet romance, cutie pies, please, look no further!!! Again, pacing, character development are so important to me and this manhwa aces it. I love the 2 MCs very much. And the side characters too. :)

3. A Stepmother's Märchen

https://mangadex.org/title/39474/a-stepmother-s-m-rchen

When I first read this, i fucking cried. like please don’t ask me why. it’s not like its an absolute tragedy but I was just rooting for the MC so much and I really want for everything to go her way. That’s how much I adore this MC!!! I LOVE HER. I LOVE HER MORE THAN YOU DO NORA! HAHAHHA. okay soz. I need to keep this spoiler-free.

Anyhoo, there is nothing typical about this time travel plot. Sure, she goes back to try to undo the stuff that went wrong but phew, she certainly changed things so much everything that comes her way have made it so her previous experiences can hardly help aaaaaaand that’s what makes it fun! I sometimes wish the pacing could be a little more consistent, and there could be more characters I could love a little more wholeheartedly (so i wont have to be in so much despair when i read this sometimes lol) but omg the art, isn’t it pretty?! I’ve re-read this soooooo many times but the art blows me away all the time. And have I already mentioned how much I love her?! I LOVE YOU SHULI! AND I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY!

4. Lady Baby

https://mangadex.org/title/34691/lady-baby

I literally LOL-ed when I saw this cover. WHO THE HELL ARE THEY. WHAT LADY BABY?! ehehehe. okay anyway, uhm, this is already incredibly popular. im not sure if i need to elaborate but yes, it’s adorbs!!! i dont think i like the MC as much as i love her family lol. and everyone else who adores her. im looking forward to when they get older. :) actually not really. please stay cute for as long as yall can! but yeah, i do wish the plot can move a lil faster. i want to see more character development in the other kids too COME ON!

5. Death Is the Only Ending for the Villainess

https://mangadex.org/title/47754/death-is-the-only-ending-for-the-villainess

am i allowed to reveal how shallow i am rn? like the previous choices were all like ‘wow-deep-plot’, ‘wow-character-development’ and this one i just included cos of AESTHETICS ALONE?! the novel covers are breathtaking!!! the manhwa art is amazing as well. and the harem is great! LOL. as for plot... uhm... it’s alright. it’s pretty engaging and i quite like the MC, she’s smart and independent and i love how she views them all antagonistically at all times HAHAHHA. her past is kinda... weird though and i do wish they’d stop referencing it. cos... girl why do you wanna go back to reality!!! stay here! it’s way more exciting!

i love the whole isekai/reincarnate/transmigration theme and this is honestly one of the better, not-so-cliche or cheesy ones HA.

6. Beware of the Villainess!

https://mangadex.org/title/47286/beware-of-the-villainess

do you already see the whole villainess theme?! am i suppose to start feeling embarrassed about my choices?! NO! cos this one is AWESOME!

again, another wildly popular title. for good reasons. it’s hilarious, our MC is as real and candid as it gets and LOOK AT THAT BLUE HAIRED BEAUTY. DO YOU SEE HIM?! IMPLANT HIM INTO YOUR MEMORY NOW!

it’s highly entertaining and breaks all isekai-reincarnation-villainess plot stereotypes. definitely one of the titles i look forward to every week.

7. Who Made Me a Princess

https://mangadex.org/title/32506/who-made-me-a-princess

what? why did i choose this?

BECAUSE OF CLAUDE OF COURSE. ahahaha. okay aside from the amaaaaaaazing art and the beautiful people, the plot is not too bad. a little extreme at times but it’s interesting enough to keep me going. it’s currently on hiatus though and i was highly annoyed by how the first season ended. (YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENED? NOTHING.)

i hope the plot can move faster in the next season! and that our dearest MC athanasia can you know, finally be a little more useful... like omg just tell lucas already!!! and tbh girl, no matter which guy you choose, i approve. :D

8. The Flower That Was Bloomed by a Cloud

https://mangadex.org/title/37648/the-flower-that-was-bloomed-by-a-cloud

i featured this before, mostly out of frustration HAHAHA. do you see why i chose this cover?! yeah, i support this (unpopular) pairing okay! the other one is doomed!!! no matter what the author is trying to do now!! I DONT SUPPORT IT!!! lol.

anyway, i had to feature this cos the art is unique! and the story is great. :) and i looooooove listening to the ost while i read it. it starts out kinda slow but as the pace picks up, you won’t be able to stop. and you find yourself conflicted at various points. it did win an award for a reason.

no matter what, i still think dowun is best for her okay. it’s dowun or nothing. he’s devoted to her, we all know that! he just needs to ditch that annoying female guard!!! ok yknw what, maybe nothing is better. :/ *cries*

9. Solo Leveling

https://mangadex.org/title/31477/solo-leveling

why do i even bother? this manhwa is popular enough.

the art is great. the MC is great. i use him and his gang as my wallpaper.

im just not sure i like how this season’s plot is progressing. :/ but i guess it brings us nearer to solving the mystery in the first leg of the manhwa. i just enjoyed the whole part of him leveling up and now that he isn’t really leveling up anymore... idk. am i hoping for more plot shit like bleach (oh wow now u quincy?)... idk man. anywho, no regrets starting on this series and marathon-ing it to death.

cross fingers the plot picks up and doesnt get too complicated for its own good.

10. The Reason Why Raeliana Ended Up at the Duke's Mansion

https://mangadex.org/title/31606/the-reason-why-raeliana-ended-up-at-the-duke-s-mansion

okay, tbh, by the time i reached 10, i still have like 15 other series i was considering LMAO. i even considered lengthening this top 10 to top 15. but that would just be more of me and my nonsense. so... why did i choose this?

COS I LOVE THE 2 MCs!!! they’re adorable. the plot is again, kinda far-fetched at times (i literally laugh my head off at some parts) but it’s isekai-reincarnation okay! anything is possible in whatever magical crap country you end up in! lol. and i like how straightforward it is... in the sense there’s no 2nd lead. like okay i mean they are there but we all know they have no chance. oops. sorry!

and cos i can’t give up on the other titles i have, imma just list them down, without pictures... cos im tired. HA.

11. Doctor Elise

https://mangadex.org/title/29474/doctor-elise

Kudos to the huge improvement in art style lmao. The good... lovable MCs, engaging plot. The bad... sometimes lengthy, incredulous medical moments (i work in the medical field so i... idk. sometimes this borders on iryu LMAO and i need to remind myself this is romance) otherwise, this is a highly highly entertaining read.

12. Seduce the Villain's Father

https://mangadex.org/title/46775/seduce-the-villain-s-father

This is another of my ‘father-love’ whims. MC is adorable and ML is handsome. enough said.

13. The Villainess Lives Twice

https://mangadex.org/title/49644/the-villainess-lives-twice

This is like a lesser version of Ebony and Bring the Love combined HAHAHA. The plot and premise is great and it’s awesome to marathon! I don’t find myself loving the MC as much as I should but the ML is a darling! I just find her a little toooooooo gloomy. Like come on girl, be more spunky!

14. The Stereotypical Life of a Reincarnated Lady

https://mangadex.org/title/46790/the-stereotypical-life-of-a-reincarnated-lady

I dont know why I like this so much HAHAHAHA. It hardly has a plot. I just find the MC and ML amusing i guess lol.

15. I'm Stanning the Prince

https://mangadex.org/title/45586/i-m-stanning-the-prince

Sometimes I wonder if I should be ranking this higher but I kinda feel this manhwa is trying to achieve too much with an underpowered MC. I love her... but I just don’t like how she’s just a pawn of everyone else and I dont know how she can change this situation of hers. It’s cute though. the MC and ML. and the ML reminds me so much of american/jap Mackenyu.

16. The Villainess Reverses the Hourglass

I HAD TO. the art is so pretty! but girl, dont use the hour glass so much! you look a little too old! i would appreciate it if MC stops basing too much of her moves on the “past” tho like idk you are gonna sound unoriginal soooooon like develop your own thoughts soon okay? <3

17. Inso's Law

ANOTHER ONE. omg. im a lil on the fence regarding this but i like MC too much. and her harem LOL. i dont see where the plot is going either but i just hope for a happy end... ):

18. Why Are You Doing This, Duke?

HAHAHA. this is sooooo sooooooo cute, i would have ranked it top 15 if it wasnt licensed by tapas tho cos they are a joke. WHY NOT TAPPY GDI.

19. Miss Not-So Sidekick

Uh-oh. Is this a top-20 list now? anyway, the MC for this series is GOLD. im not liking where it’s currently heading tho thus the lower ranking.

20. IRIS - Lady with a Smartphone

omg IVE NEGLECTED THIS FOR TOO LONG. lemme go buy more chapters hahahaha. it’s a tad too lengthy... otherwise i like the MC and yummy ML!

still not enough?

Special Mentions - Okay, these will be unranked cos I don’t think these are that good but probably still worth a read.

I've Become the Villainous Empress of a Novel - this is new, im looking forward to how it progresses wheeeee.

Lady to Queen - It’s a ruthless manhwa. There was a point i started reading all sorts of sadistic content (i was running out of content i swear) and this was one of the better ones. I appreciate the MC very much. the plot now is a little weird and im a bit wary of the MC’s sister... hopefully the ML can be more useful. he’s pitiful though. but dude come on, dont rely on the wrong gal.

Goodbye, In-law - I’m not sure if i like the current progress buuuuuuut MC and ML are cute so who cares.

The Duchess' 50 Tea Recipes - plot is still engaging. MC and ML are cute. i dont know where the plot is heading towards though.

A Falling Cohabitation - this is interesting and fun but a lil lengthy.

Light and Shadow - the sequel is out!!! i highly enjoyed this entire series!!! i would have probably ranked it a lil higher if i did this post earlier but too many series have overtaken this in my heart lol.

This Girl Is a Little Wild - is the hiatus ending yet? i would add it back to top 20 if it came back LOL. it’s highly entertaining tho. ML is adorable.

The Duchess With an Empty Soul - pretty nice. MC and ML are a little boring. i think it can end soon. LMAO.

A Capable Maid - it’s amusing how she gets her powers for all sorts of situations lol. the prince is creepy tbh. and im secretly rooting for the other king hehe.

Beware of the Brothers! - it’s cute and heart-wrenching at the same time! not too sure im digging the latest plot development but okay... i’ll take it. they’re all cuties.

Living as the Tyrant's Older Sister - hehehe. it’s cute. duke is kinda silly but the latest chapter made me squeal!!!

The Evil Lady's Hero - idk where the plot is going but MC and ML are adorable!!!

The Dragon Next Door - HAHAHA. it’s hilarious.

The Youngest Princess - she’s growing uppppp noooooooooooo

Virtues of the Villainess - ginger is hilarious. i dont see where the plot is going tho... and cant say i like the ML yet. i dont even get to see him much, hello?!

The Justice of Villainous Woman - pretty wholesome... i like the MC! (the ML is fine. no one else to contend with so...) can u end already?! lol.

Amina of the Lamp - hey, what happened to this? it’s pretty inconsistent but i do like the MC and ML... and the art...

The Villain's Savior - this is some sadistic shit. i reserve it for when i feel sadistic. i pretty much wanna see MC happy but idk if she’s making the right choices. :/

I Don't Want to Be Empress! - HAHAHAHA uhm it’s getting interesting. i just want ML to step up more...

La dolce vita di Adelaide - I FINISHED THIS! and it’s wholesome, feel-good and cute. some parts felt a lil extra but ah whatever.

The Black Haired Princess - plot. move. faster!!! otherwise the MC and ML are pretty cute.

The Abandoned Empress - im a lil on the fence but i know how popular this series is. it started out HORRIBLE. i hated the ML so much. and then i found the green hair boy creepy. like MC, you need better taste in boys. it’s certainly getting more interesting now though. so please, continue to make my money’s worth!!!

Lucia - i. am. not. guilty. of. anything. *smut warning* anyway go read the novel. it’s better. hehehe.

What's Wrong with Secretary Kim - i do not need to elaborate any further.

Past loves

I created this section just to remind myself, that what i could like one day, i could hate the next LOL.

The Monster Duchess and Contract Princess - I know this is wildly popular. but i lost interest in it once she grew up. i dont think she’s particularly lovable. soz.

Survive as the Hero's Wife - another popular choice. I find the plot kinda boring now. MC and ML are cute though.

Sincerely: I Became a Duke's Maid - another popular one. again, boring plot. like cant it end yet? oh you mean we need to wait for the real female lead to show up? dont need luh.

I Am a Child of This House - wow. the plot is shit now. and i do not support the MC and her guard. soz. she’s OVERPOWERED tbh.

This Is an Obvious Fraudulent Marriage - idk what happened but my enthusiasm for this died.

Charlotte and Her 5 Disciples - i don’t get it. i dont get their obsession for her.

#manhwa #fav manhwa #ebony #bring the love #a stepmother's marchen #lady baby #death is the only ending for the villainess #beware of the villainess #who made me a princess #the flower that was bloomed by a cloud #solo leveling #the reason why raeliana ended up at the duke's mansion

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foolscapper · 4 years ago

Text

Someplace Warmer, Someplace Safer - (How the Wild Things Start Universe)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is not edited/beta'd, so please forgive any rough spots! I'll be cleaning it up and posting it on ao3 at a later time! This also takes place after How the Wild Things Start, and is based on a request sent in by @saintedjack -- thank you!

WARNINGS: PTSD responses, MENTION OF CHILD ABUSE (SEXUAL), please tread carefully if that's hard for you!

In the year of our Lord 2020, Sam Winchester didn't think that Christmas would feel so much less... sore of a spot. Maybe that's because he's practiced a handful of Christmases with Leia and Lilly now and has realized with some clarity that holidays can sometimes be about as good as the number of kids who get excited over it. When it was just him and Dean, it was a coupla beers and memories of little kids who sat in hotel rooms waiting for their parent — singular. Now Lilly is coloring pictures of reindeer and eagerly reminding Dean of what she wants for the hundredth time. ("Yeah, yeah, I got it," Dean grumbles, without even the smallest bit of heat to it, "How could I forget when you drew it on my bedroom wall?") Meanwhile, Leia's fourteen, so the appeal of a 'Santa Claus' isn't really there for her; she and Sam are too alike on that front, having lost whatever magic Christmas would've had when they were very little. But she loves that Lilly loves it. She helps her hang up tinsel and all those basic holiday ornaments around the bunker. When Sam and Dean are out to get the kitsune her dietary needs, she prays to Castiel, makes him trek all the way to Lebanon — just so she can ask him to drive her to the rental box in front of the liquor store for holiday films. Anyway, uh. Sam feels... good. He feels good about it. About Christmas.

First time in forever, he knows, but things evolve over time, right?

Whatever makes them happy makes him happy, and it doesn't help that Dean's starting to get into a bit of a frantic holiday mood himself when he realizes Cas and Leia rented National Lampoon's Holiday Vacation. With one girl on either side of him, his brother chatters on and on about classics, movies like A Christmas Story and the Grinch, and Sam can only roll his eyes in good humor and sound fondness. It's a good day. He hasn't had a nightmare in days — hasn't slept-walked in almost as long (not that it stops Dean from keeping the front door locked, so Sam can't wander out again and scare the shit out of them). It's the day before Christmas, though, and there's plenty of cereal, boxed mac 'n cheese and canned Chef Boyardee, but absolutely nothing that rightfully belongs on a dinner table for the holidays. "I'll be back; just gonna pick up some stuff," he says, while the three are in the middle of Mr. Grinch, you're a bad banana, Mr. Grinch, with the greasy black peel-. Dean snaps out of the trance that had made him 10-years-old for a moment and looks critically at Sam; Lilly doesn't look away from the television, but Leia's sharp gaze shoots to Sam at the same time as Dean's. Dean says, "You sure you don't want us to go, too?" And Sam waves it off. Waves both of them off, since Leia's trying so hard to judge him under her bangs "I'll be fine. Just hitting the grocery for something that works for tomorrow. Please try not to feed them straight sugar while I'm gone?" "Yes, honey," Dean huffs, but there's some hesitance in the way he turns to look back at the TV. He couldn't really blame him, considering what shitty lucky they had apart. Or, well... considering the guilt that still festers in Dean like old, greenish wounds. Sam knows it's there every time his brother glances at pale scars intersecting on his arms, or when he manages to rouse him from a bad dream, or when Sam spaces out at the dinner table until something startles him to attention. Sam's screwed up, and Dean's still gnawing at his own leg for letting it happen. ... Shit happens. Sam tries not to think about it anymore than he has to, because it's not like the muscle memory ever goes away, nor those phantom smells or those reels of the monster rings. No, no, he's not going to think about it. Because today's a good day. It's a good week. He takes the keys to the truck he's kept to himself, makes a mental note to call Castiel and see if he'll stop by for visiting. The air outside is cold and bitterly unfair to the lungs, but he tugs his jacket tighter around himself and wills the old truck AC to start heating him back up. The drive isn't far, and the people at the place he's driving to know him well enough. He's not sure if that's a good or bad thing, especially now that they see him changed so drastically; he's pretty sure Dean just tells them all he'd gotten deployed somewhere and ended up hurt, or something. Sam doesn't bother figuring out the cover story, because he's not ever going to be in the mood to talk about it with Joey Behind the Counter or Leticia Stocking the Shelves, no matter how much he likes them. The bell to the store rings, they wave him in, ask him about his plans for the holidays, tell him all about their kids — he surprises himself by talking about his own, albeit vaguely, because you never know who is truly safe. And even though he has little to no skill in hearty, holiday feasts, he knows the basics from television: cranberry sauce, turkey, stuffing, eggnog, so on and so on. Despite his complaint to Dean not to overfeed the kids on sweets, he ends up grabbing two boxes of themed cookies, too. It's not until he walks out the front door that he feels something's off. He'd never claim to still have the powers he did at age 22, but — the hairs on his neck stand up, goosebumps running along his arms beneath his thick coat. It's hard to say what even caused it; there's nobody around. He glances uneasily left and right, and then makes a slow, cautious walk toward the parking around the corner. His heart thumps in his chest and his mind plays cruel games with him: what if it's a hunter coming for him? Looking for him and his family, after what happened at their old cabin? It hasn't been that long. "Hello," a little, polite voice chirps from seemingly out of nowhere. Sam nearly leaps out of his skin, teeth snapping together as he turns in a fraction of a second — ready to fight, dropping his grocery bags as his hand reaches around the back of him. (Bright lights, feral howls of pain, blood on dirt and black eyed spectators-) His breath catches at the startled teenager with sandy-blonde hair standing in front of him. He's dressed in clothes he's clearly worn for a long time, the knitting on his gloves and cap frayed. The smell of an alleyway greets Sam belatedly, and shame creeps into his face when he realizes just what he's actually looking at here: some homeless kid whose smile has faded into a look of uncertainty. Wanted a buck, but ended up with some over-sized freak having an episode at him. "S—sorry," Sam chokes out. He's trying not to let himself get pulled under, but the lights have... always been so bright. The kid seems appeased by the way Sam steps back, though, and moves to rather calmly start collecting the fallen goods from the ground; for a moment, Sam wonders if he's just gonna take them for the trouble, but the boy starts putting them back into the brown paper bags they'd come in. "It's fine. I must be scarier than I thought." It's said in such an easy way, and he looks up with a kind, gap-toothed smile. "I was going to ask if you could spare some money, but I can see now that I should have made my presence more obvious." ... That's a way for a teenaged boy to put it. It reminds Sam of a particular angel of Thursday and his straightforward, over-complicated way of talk. With a somewhat forced smile, he bends down to quickly collect what the kid hasn't. "No, no, I'm — I'm good at being on edge. It wasn't you. Sorry for... that." He's not sure how to put it. He has a hard time remembering how to talk to people, sometimes. There's something particularly distracting about this one, though. Maybe it's the fact that he's so youthful, covered in dirt and red in the nose. Looks at him like how Leia had — with the hope that Sam can help him. Or is he just projecting? He pinches the bridge of his nose, smiling tiredly. "What's your name, kid?" The boy says, almost proudly, "Jack." "... Um, well. Jack. I'm Sam. It's good to meet you. I think you deserve something nice for not thinking I'm a total weirdo, so... if you wanna carry a bag to the truck for me, I've got some cookies and dollars to offer you?" It feels kind of demeaning in a way, like he's giving the poor kid some basic task to 'earn' what Sam'll give him. But Jack just nods and walks along side him. "Thanks, Sam," Jack says. He says Sam's name like he's testing out the weight of it, forming it carefully in his mouth. Despite Jack's appearance, he radiates something... well, something. It's warmer than the weather. "Where are you from, Jack?" Sam asks, tilting his chin forward to look down. His voice is softer, more careful. "From everywhere," Jack says, and looks over at Sam. "I honestly don't know. I've just always been... like this." "... Homeless?" Sam offers. Jack cocks his head to the side, gazing ahead of them. "Homeless. Yes." It's not a long walk, so it's not like there's much more to talk about before they reach the old truck. They load up the groceries, and Sam provides one box of cookies (in this case, the box that is less crushed from falling on the asphalt). It feels like a meager kind of offering, all things considered. "Here — I mean, if you like sweets. I bought way too many, so... Um. And — " "I like cookies," Jack says as a matter-of-factly. "Thank you, Sam." Doesn't feel good enough, though. Sam gnaws his lip and feels... some sort of way about all this. Like he's doing something the wrong way, here. Leia and Lilly have ruined him for life. "Where are you heading, anyway? Do you live in town? I've never seen you here before." Jack's already got the box of cookies wrenched open, and he's eating them too fast, a lot like how Sam used to eat his rations when he lived in a cage, in the dark. Sam's already predicting that he's gonna get sick, and he can't really hide the wince as the crumbs start to collect on Jack's old jacket. Jack looks like he's unsure how to answer, not for the first time. "I'm just moving around. I have nowhere to be, as long as it's — " He struggles for the right word. "Safe." "Safe," Sam says. Jack nods with a mouthful. "Shafe," he says. Sams hands twitch nervously at the thought of sending the boy away with his 'rewards'. Whatever the hell cookies constitute as, anyway. It's not safe out there, that's for sure. It's gonna be below freezing for a while in Lebanon, and — He sighs softly. No... No, it's not smart. Not smart to being a stray into a house full of supernatural lore books, weapons, monster children. He would freak out. He'd panic and he'd know where they live, and he could tell anyone with an ear open about where a guy named Sam lives with his odd little family. But... "You want me to drive you somewhere? I mean, there should be a homeless shelter around here somewhere, if you need somewhere a little less... this." He gestures to the world around them, swathed in a fine layer of snow. Jack seems mildly uncertain, a crooked line of uncertainty to his lips. Sam recognizes maybe he looks like he's one-half a serial killer in his plaid, with his weird flinching and nervousness. "You don't have to, but... I don't want you to freeze out here." After a moment, Jack does seem to relent; nobody likes to be cold, and Sam could tell even if he was handling it well, it was not a pleasant experience he wants to endure any longer than he has to. So he nods at last, and Sam nods to the passenger seat. "Climb aboard, then. I think I remember the street and everything; you'll be warm in no time. And, uh. We can get you something better than cookies, actually." "I don't know what can be better than cookies," Jack replies, sliding into the passenger seat, "But I'm willing to consider it." The truck stutters to life, and Sam makes a beeline for the nearest Taco Bell there is. Cheap, but you get a hell of a lot with a little; he and Dean were no stranger to that particular drive-thru back in the day, when Dean was too tired to eat expired food and Sam was too tired to go buy himself a decent salad and sandwich. The Helping Hands Homeless Shelter is a good distance, so Sam learns a few things in-between Jack scarfing down burritos and soft tacos: he's fourteen or fifteen (he thinks?; Sam's mortified by the thought of him being on his own all this time), his mother died when he was born, he's not sure where his father is, and he's always been moving. No grandparents, no uncles or aunts, nobody that he's familiar with. Once the last wrapper is thrown on the floorboard as designated, though, Jack looks uneasy. "... Is this 'a trade'?" Sam glances over, brow furrowed. "A what?" "A trade," Jack reaffirms, and his eyes — glance down, towards Sam's crotch. Sam feels like he's going to puke, his stomach twisting and heart lurching. He almost slams on the brakes then and there, in the middle of the street, but he manages to avoid doing anything so fucking stupid as to scare the kid. Sam and Dean have both had their fair share of close calls growing up — Sam's had to scream at peeping toms through hotel windows, or weird men at gas stations who keep sizing them up while they read magazines, or — But. But they both had rules, and Dean always had an extra eye out on him. The thought of — the implication of it, it makes his blood boil, rushing in his ears. He thinks of Lilly and Leia and — Sam's been quiet too long. So Jack speaks up again. "It's alright. I don't do anything if they don't ask first. If they don't have something to give me," Jack says, confidently, and Sam wants to scream. "No," Sam manages, voice tight. "No, that's not okay. Anyone who asks something like that, they're monsters, do you understand me? They're evil, and you shouldn't trust them. Not for a second." Jack leans back more comfortably in his seat, confused — but glad. Sam's hands are itching for a blade and someone to hunt. A monster in a ring to rip into. He breathes out instead and looks at the road. It doesn't take long before Jack finds himself tired of the quiet, though, and his gaze moves to Sam's wrists, instead. His hands. The sliver of arm that peaks out under his sleeve. "What happened to your hands?" he asks, innocently. Concerned. Sam's shoulders sag, like the kid has gone and popped that balloon full of rage. "... Monsters hurt me, too," he says weakly, because he figures the kid deserves the truth. "A different kind of monster, but monsters all the same." Jack reaches over, and Sam startles at the hand cupping over his damaged knuckles. "I'm sorry," Jack says. "About the monsters." Sam kind of wants to cry, honestly. "Me, too." He was supposed to get a Christmas dinner, in and out of the store, nothing more to it. He was supposed to just give the kid some money and maybe a snack. He's supposed to just drop him off somewhere a little warmer and safer. (Leia looked at him like a hero, once, like he was going to swoop in and save her; Jack isn't looking at him like that, though; he's just a guy giving him a ride and cookies). Sam's phone rings. He doesn't need to look to know it'll say DEAN in white letters on the screen. Just a minute 'til they get to the shelter. (You're not a hero, you barely managed to protect your girls, he reminds himself.) "Sam?" Jack asks. Ring, ring. Ring, ring. (But Leia looks at him like he’s a superhero. A shaking, high, rabid superhero, hopped up on demon blood, with hands so tense and locked, they look like claws in the darkness. And beside her — a crying boy, a few years younger than her. There’s a burn on his leg, a shake of his shoulders. Worst of all, there’s skin sloughed off around him, and it’s only then that Sam realizes the boy looks different than he had an hour before. A shifter? A small, scared shifter. Like Glenda had been.) He pulls over on the side of the road. Reaches into his jacket pocket, retrieves the phone with a shaking hand. When he answers Dean and hears his brother asking nervously what's taking him so long, he can't help but look at Jack. Jack, who is looking at him with an uneasy amount of trust. How he has it, Sam's not fucking sure, but he feels like he has to do this. (He thinks of two little girls, holding hands as they watch Christmas cartoons.) "I — I'm bringing someone back with me," he manages. "His name is Jack, and he — needs a place to stay, for a little while." He does a u-turn, driving toward the bunker as snow begins to fall once again, soft, delicate. Jack looked awed, still looks awed. He looks at Sam like this was destiny. Fate. Something. "I thought so." "... You thought what?" Jack smiles slowly with that warm, gap-toothed smile. "That something about you, it felt like an angel."

#spn #supernatural #spn fanfiction #sam winchester #jack kline #dean winchester #cw child abuse mention #cw csa mention #cw ptsd descriptions #how the wild things start #myspnfanfic

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seijurosempress · 4 years ago

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@shoichee I hope this meets your expectations✨ (Bc I refuse to tolerate any more bullying today. Also- Matchup under the cut)

First, I just want to say- I’m sorry. (but not really). I know our love for Hayama runs deep but the moment you choose violence with him, that’s it for you. RIP. It was nice knowing you 😔 But, remember when we first spoke and I asked you if you shipped yourself with Imayoshi and you refused to answer my question? Well- [Insert ‘Surprise shawty’ tik tok audio]

Best Match: Imayoshi Shoichi

Your subconscious knew what it was doing when you picked out your URL. The moment you said you related to Dazai and then proceeded to talk about socioeconomic issues revolving around globalization while we simultaneously talked about dumb stuff I knew there were only a few guys that could handle your energy and Imayoshi hands down tops that list

Even though Hanamiya out of all people might say Imayoshi doesn’t have the best personality, I actually think you two can balance each other out and understand each other in a way other people may not be able to

Honestly, right off the bat, y’all will probably bond over some form of teasing. Whether it’s making some remark aimed directly at the other, or one of you takes a jab at someone else and the other happens to overhear, it will be the start of a beautiful relationship

Gemini and Leo’s have really good chemistry so it’s no surprise you’ll manage to get along, regardless of your- argumentative natures.

You two are like the two sides of the same coin. While he presents himself as a kind and easy going person, speaking politely to others- until he inevitable shows them his real personality- you, on the other hand, can come off a little cold and critical, scaring people off when you first meet them even though you’re genuinely kind and easy going once you start to talk to them

If you guys meet purely by chance, maybe you’re in the same class, you’re introduced because of a mutual friend, or because one of you overheard the other, the moment you hear how the other carries themselves in a conversation will automatically peek your interest.

Have you ever seen that meme where they’re like “oh you wanna kiss me so bad”? yea, that’s you two. I can see you getting into the most amusing squabble, just trying to throw the other one off, Imayoshi smirking if and when one of his comments goes right over your head

You’re both pretty smart (I spent a solid hour trying to double check this and still failed but I’m like 80% sure his IQ is pretty up there) so I can see you two meeting because of that too

Scenario:

Imayoshi is just minding his business, checking the updated class rankings posted in the hall across your classroom. Why? He doesn’t know, if he’s being honest. It’s not like anyone could ever surpass him, he’s been at the top of his class each time since his firs- What’s this? He got bumped down? Who the hell are you? Wait no, he knows who you are. He’s heard your name before countless times, mostly followed by your voice as it traveled throughout the hallways, your laugh bubbling out of your small frame soon after in reply to whichever friend had just made a funny remark. Funny. You didn’t seem all that smart at first glance, could he have actually... made a mistake? His gaze flickers to the other side of the hall where he immediately found you, eyes wide and a small smile adorning your features as you listened to your classmate speak. A low hum escapes him as he analyzes your appearance once more. He notices the way your makeup highlighted your already attractive features, the small accessories added to your uniform making you look put together and stylish. Maybe he had underestimated you, he though as he saw you take your turn to speak, your answer leaving your classmate open mouthed with a baffled expression. He felt the slight tug on his lips, the beginning of a small smirk forming on his face as you smiled widely at the response you had gotten. However, the amusement only lasted a split second, his features falling in disbelief when you turned around, tripping over your own feet and falling face first into the open classroom door. “What are you staring at?” Someone, probably Sato, asks as he strolls up beside him. “Nothing” he sighs, adjusting his glasses on his face. Is it really nothing though? a small voice inside him asks just as a series of curse words and noises fall from your lips, eliciting his own to quirk up into an amused, lopsided smile. Even if it is “nothing” for now, don’t be surprised when both of you “coincidentally” find yourselves bumping into each other more often from now on as he tries to figure you out.

I can see him realizing he has feelings for you while you two are hanging out. Maybe you two will be studying after you asked him to tutor you in math since it’s his best subject, or well, attempting to study at least as you’re nearing half an hour of your 5 minute snack break. He’ll probably be doodling in his notebook while you scroll through Instagram, and it’s not until he looks up to see you so focused on whatever was on the other side of the screen, your fingers quickly tapping away as a smile pulled at your lips that he asks what you’re doing. Without a second thought, you absentmindedly tell him about whatever argument you’re getting into in the comments section under a random photo you came across before you’re back to focusing on the matter at hand.

His whole trademark is that he’s good at analyzing people, and as a Gemini, he is not an exception to his own skills. He’ll suddenly come to the realization that, while he enjoys pushing people’s buttons, he enjoys the thought of you two being a team even more. While you can be loud and social, making and laughing at jokes, you also know when to get serious and get stuff done, something that that he would appreciate considering he likes respectful and considerate girls.

The problem now is- he may be aware of his feelings...but are you?

He’ll probably try out multiple ways to hint at his feelings towards you but they’ll just go right over your head. In your mind, you can’t see anyone having any romantic feelings towards you and sure he may be acting a little weird, but you’d probably just shrug it off as it being all in your imagination.

Meanwhile the whole time Imayoshi is just standing there like- Is she serious? No one can be this oblivious???? but yet ✨here you are✨

Now it’s his turn to be frustrated by your conversations because you’re just not getting it? So he decides to try something more straight forward. Girls like pickup lines, right?

He could literally see the moment your brain stopped working. Your face flushed red as a nervous giggle bubbled out of you. All common sense left your body as you made finger guns at him, giving him a slight nod before turning around and walking quickly out the room

it would take you a few minutes to collect yourself, strolling back in the room 30 minutes later, leaning against the same spot you left him moments prior and giving him a pickup line of your own. *queue Imayoshi’s mischievous smirk* “Oh? Is that so?” (he’s such a little shit he’ll probably pretend like he didn’t say anything first to get back at you)

I can see this going back and forth for a while until he finally asks you out on a date, but this time he’ll make sure to do it in a way that will prevent you from escaping and leaving him alone and confused again

Your PDA is most likely kept to a minimum, partly because of your Venus in Virgo and partly because he doesn’t like spontaneity. Your outward relationship will consist of hand holding and pecks but that doesn’t mean your private life remains the same, just because you’re dating now doesn’t mean you’re suddenly immune to his habits or him to yours

You say you want to spend some quality time together? “How about a movie night?” he asks, his smile deceiving you long enough to trap you in his arms as a scary movie plays in his blacked out bedroom. “I don’t like scary movies” you whine, your body pressing into his and a pout pulling at your lips as he “innocently” chuckles, “Oh really? I must have forgotten”

You say you’re a bit cynical about relationships but I think it’s because your Neptune, Pluto and Lilith are ruled by air signs. This means you enjoy spontaneity and creativity in what you do and therefore always gravitate to doing things in which your outcome depends on yourself and not other people. Imayoshi is the kind of person that respects other people’s needs as we can see when he allows Aomine to skip practice if that’s what works for him. This will help you maintain a healthy balance in your relationship, allowing you to be able to feel more at ease and not trapped or like you have to be a certain way with one another

You decide to keep pursuing dancing? He’s proud of you, and will not hesitate to show off and boast about your achievements to the rest of the team

You had a rough week and you want to spend the whole day gaming with headphones on? It’s fine he’ll take the opportunity to relax and go fishing

On the other hand, you want to go shopping? Suddenly he’ll find himself walking hand in hand with you as you and his sister stop at every single store only to leave with more bags that you can carry.

At first, you would insist you could both take care of yourselves at the mall, but he soon found out that you two should not be left alone. She might be his sister but she’s younger and impressionable and she looks up to you? And you can be a bit scatterbrained so you lose track of her time so you always end up bringing her back really late, along with an armful of shopping bags that he’ll only have to go back and return within the week because being hasty runs in his family and his sister didn’t pay much attention to how much money she was spending

Overall- I think that what really makes you a good match is your ability to communicate with one another. Both of you are pretty honest and straightforward (although your executions are vastly different) which will help you navigate through any obstacles in your relationship

You keep each other on your toes and bring fun into your relationship while also settling down, talking about serious stuff and getting genuine advice from one another when you need it the most. The balance you maintain allowing a stable foundation for the relationship to grow and blossom. He did something hasty? It’s okay, you know exactly what to do to fix it. Someone keeps hitting on you insistently? He’s already walked over to intimidate him to go away. You want to spend quality time together but he wants to go fishing? There you are by his side, scribbling in your notebook and reciting your poetry to him as he listens carefully with a small smile on his face that you’ll definitely not tease him about later. You need help with your math again? he’ll tutor you in exchange for you making him a bento with his favorite meal. Until he learns that you somehow burned half the rice and left the other half uncooked. Perfect balance of give and take.

Bonus: Takao Kazunari

You are literally the girl version of Takao omg. (I literally JUST got your message about being the new Takao too smh I know I’m slow but let me finish this first)

You two are so alike and you would make the most chaotic duo but as much as I want to ship you two, I can just see you two being really good friends so I feel the need to include him in this

Midorima would be so done with your shit, he’d probably see you two together and immediately turn around and start walking the other way because he just KNOWS you’re bound to gang up and bully him

The first time you saw is lucky item you probably burst out laughing and thought he was joking until you saw his face flush red

After that, every time you ask about it he just grumbles out his answer, still salty about your initial reaction

Takao never fails to remind you either, trying to hold back his laugh whenever you try to make it up to Midorima but he ends up ignoring you, or you somehow just manage to make it worse

When it’s just you and Takao, you could be minding your business when suddenly one of you makes ONE singular little comment and that just sets off the other, adding onto it until both of you are crying with laughter

Honestly, the only time I can see you taking one another seriously is when you’re having discourse

He’s an optimistic person while you’re a realist which can set off some very interesting discussions between the two of you, your argumentative nature leading both of you to talk about anything and everything as you challenge the other’s ideologies

If you decide to try out a relationship, it’ll be filled with excitement and adrenaline, both of you needing very little persuasion to try out new things

You’ll be his partner in crime and he’ll be yours. You want to mess a bit with your younger neighbors? Why not? You want to go check out the new mall a few town’s over because they have a store you’ve been wanting to check out for months? He’s your man.

While the relationship is fun, you both can get a little ahead of yourselves, going with the flow and getting sucked into your own world; you’ll need someone to ground you

Usually, this role can be plaid by Midorima but it proves to be a bit problematic when he’s nowhere in sight

The amount of times you two have lost track of time or gotten caught up in something because you ran into some friends or even met new people and got lost in conversation, by this point Midorima has probably given up trying to keep track of your whereabouts when you’re together

I wouldn’t be surprised if you two ended up making your own language. He’s good with kids and bad at being quiet while you enjoy making new words and trying out sound effects which he would without a doubt find amusing. You’d probably go as far as to make children believe they’re actual words, could you imagine Midorima’s face when he goes over to Takao’s house and his younger sister starts talking to him in the made up words you taught her

Ultimately while your personalities are very alike, you tend to clash at the wrong points and it would take you working together to compromise to make a romantic relationship work

Both of you surround yourself by others, often finding yourself in the middle of everything, your personality constantly making other people gravitate towards you. This can prove conflicting when you’re together as now you’d have to learn how to share the spotlight, so to say

While you love fashion and makeup and shopping, the poor man just wants to enjoy his trading cards

Although you should use it to your advantage and make him drive you around in Princess Mia’s Midorima’s carriage.

Your might also find yourself more often than not at a crossroads, your realist point of view conflicting with his positivity which can lead to arguments between you two

Overall- a relationship with you would be exciting. There would never be a dull moment and you’d constantly encourage the other to have new experiences and make the most of your time. But moving into a more romantic territory would mean that you’d have to learn how to prioritize things in your life, knowing when to buckle down and get things down and how to successfully come to terms with and work out your differences.

Sidenote: I meant to make these a little longer but my brain cell only has so much KNB knowledge stored in her small little filing cabinet that may or may not be a single folder covered in dust and stuffed in some corner

#matchup request #[🏀].asks #i meant to have this ready early today #but i may or may not have fallen asleep #sorry #i'm slow #it really took me a whole ass week to write #but to be fair #i struggled a bit with your mans #bc I went strictly off what I could gather from the anime #which are CRUMBS

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honeybunchcalum · 4 years ago

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College Apps- JJ Maybank

Pairing: Reader x JJ and Reader x John B (Platonic)

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: College applications...suck. Maybe you can make them suck less for JJ, if you knew the right thing to say. AKA comforting a stubborn JJ.

Warnings: mention of abuse (a brief, vague mention, less than is in the show) + language

A/N: I know my John B fic didn’t get too many notes, but I enjoyed writing this one, so I’m posting it :)

Also a HUGE thank you to @alltheannie for your kind words and your editing to make this fic the best it can be!!

Stress, deadlines, wasting time, and the blind hope that everything will turn out ok. What could be a better way to describe college applications?

You only wished you could start your Common App essay with those lines, but you decided against it--this was not a teen movie. It was your dreaded application that would determine where you’d be spending the next four years.

You wondered what you could possibly say about your life that wasn’t the same as the thousands of other essays that would pour into admissions offices. You laid on your back, seemingly enamored with the ceiling fan’s spins as your friends John B and JJ started airing their frustrations.

“This is such a BS question-- ‘What challenge have you faced and what did you learn from it?’ my ass. What makes you think I wanna write it all out for some stuck-up admissions guy?” JJ thought out loud.

John B added, “How the fuck am I supposed to write something about myself and make it sound good?”

For you, it was the opposite. Living on the richer edge of the Cut, bordering Kook territory had not presented you with many challenges in your life. The problem came with reflecting on your life to find an appropriate hardship to write about. You decided that just agreeing with your best friends’ stance on the prompt would be the easiest solution, since your struggle with it made you feel a bit guilty.

You sighed, sitting up. “John B, I’ll edit yours, and JJ, I don’t know what to tell ya.” You were usually the mediator within the group, level-headed and realistic.

John B moved closer to show you his screen with what he had written so far.

“Thanks, Y/N,” JJ sarcastically grumbled. “UNC isn’t even gonna accept me anyway. All they’re gonna see is some poor kid from the island with a sob story about his dad.” He shut his laptop, showing defeat.

You shot him a glare--you’d always hated when JJ talked about himself like that. He was undoubtedly more than that to you, the Pogues, and everyone who had ever met him.

“JJ, don’t say that, you’re way more than that--and that will definitely show on paper, and even when you interview and show your Maybank charm,” you assured the blond. “Also, you’ll regret it if you don’t try, just saying.” You turned back to John B’s screen to read his essay as you leaned on his shoulder.

“That’s also BS, and you know it. Why am I even trying? There’s thousands of other kids out there, and I’m done” JJ said, frustrated.

“Because you worked so hard, JJ, and you can’t blow it now. Everything that has happened with your dad and stuff doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve a future, or that you shouldn’t try!” you snapped.

The stuffy bedroom fell silent. You knew as soon as it fell out of your mouth that it was too far.

“Fuck you! Just because we kissed doesn’t mean you get to tell me shit, or psycho-analyze me, or whatever you’re trying to do to fix me, Y/N!” With that, JJ slammed the door to John B’s bedroom. There was a loud “I’m fuckin’ done,” before he rattled the screen door of the Chateau on his way out.

“Shit! Why the hell did I say that?” You sighed, upset that you had not fully registered the weight of your words until you’d said them.

“Yeah, uh… why the hell did you say that?” John B replied from his bed. He patted the spot next to him with a reassuring “C’mere.”

As soon as you were halfway onto the bed, he pulled you into him. He was warm and comforting, and smelled like ‘boy’ and salt water. It was probably the cedarwood from the cologne you’d gotten him for his birthday last year. It was a bit of a selfish move since it’s a smell you loved, but it comforted you in times like these (which were more often than you’d think).

You sighed and just focused on the rhythm of John B’s heart rather than yours. He rubbed circles on your back as you laid your head on his warm chest.

But soon everything just hit you. You were upset that JJ wouldn’t listen, frustrated with yourself since you’d said something without thinking, and now annoyed at the repetitive circles on your back.

You pushed John B’s arm off your back, adjusting yourself so you were facing him.

He started, “So you’re up to at least one kiss with JJ, three with me, and two with Pope and Kie. Very interesting information, Y/N…”

“That’s what you got from this, John B?! It’s actually more like, four, with JJ, but still! Not my point,” you groaned and flopped flat on the twin-sized bed.

The Pogues were a rather touchy group, definitely unafraid of showing physical affection, which was sometimes in the form of less-than-sober smooches. But each with JJ was sober, and meaningful, to you at least. But John B didn’t have to know that.

“Did you understand what I was trying to say? I know I said it wrong, but…” you trailed off, waiting for the brunette to reassure your thoughts.

“I did, but I don’t know why it bothers you so much--that’s just how JJ gets sometimes. He gets heated then leaves, he’ll get over it.”

“I wasn’t talking about that part,” you paused, “never mind, I’m gonna go find him.”

On your way out of the room, John B’s voice made you turn around.

“I think you feel something else about JJ, but I don’t wanna get into that.” He sat in the silence that he created.

The two of you were waiting for the other to say something. He wasn’t wrong, you did feel a little different each time you had kissed JJ. But it was nothing, just a product of you being around him all the time. Fuck, now that John B had noticed, that meant whatever you were feeling was obvious. “What gave him the idea of that? Had I slipped up somewhere?”

“What the fuck? Are you serious?” you spoke after a few seconds, anger tinting your tone.

Your impulse got the best of you, determined to keep up your façade. In one swift movement, your lips were on John B’s. It was well-received, his lips beginning to mold to yours. You pulled away after a few seconds, out of breath of course.

“And there’s your fourth one, you’re tied with JJ now, ok?” On your way out, you left a bewildered John B on his bed as the door slammed shut.

Now there were two things you’d done today where you weren’t totally thinking. They just kind of happened, and you didn’t exactly understand why.

------

You reached the Boneyard, and sure enough you knew the figure sitting and staring off into the water was JJ: the smoke cloud he blew confirmed it. When it wasn’t the venue for island-wide keggers, it was the place that you or any of your friends would go to when you needed to be alone, and that was understood. But you had to break that unsaid pact today, because you’d really fucked up, and only talking could fix it.

You approached JJ and slowly sat down on the sand next to him, not saying anything for a few seconds. He let the silence settle because he knew it was killing you. Two could play at the ‘pushing-buttons’ game, so you started saying your piece.

“I’m just tired of you rejecting every nice thing I say to you. You deserve everything, all the love that we all have for you, and every single fucking compliment I give you. And I’ll admit it--yes I was meddling and trying to analyze you and what I said was too far.”

You laid it all out, which was typical for you to do. As a writer yourself, you were a natural communicator-- straightforward and heartfelt.

The blond turned away from you. “I’m tired of being messed with. Just stop trying to figure me out all the time. I can’t even figure some of my shit out! And don’t say anything to that, y/n,”

“That’s really hard for me, you know?” you felt tears welling in your eyes as you let out a laugh. The love you had for this boy was overwhelming, and began to run down your face as you wiped the tears.

“I really fucking care about you, JJ, you know? I just appreciate you so much...It hurts that you always reject it because I know you deserve it.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t,” he said sharply.

You leaned forward and grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to make sure your words really reached him. You looked him straight in his eyes. “You are a great person, JJ Maybank, even if you don’t believe it. And I’ll be damned if you don’t get into UNC. Your application essay is literally amazing so far.”

“Did you-”

“I read your screen over your shoulder earlier...I’m also kinda sorry about that too.”

JJ chuckled, but was still cold towards you, you could just sense it. His blue eyes had wandered as you had gripped his shoulders.

“You have so much to say, and I know you can say it right on the page, no matter how much you grumble about it. And you have charm that can win anyone over,”

“Even you?”

You groaned, “God, JJ! I knew you’d bring that up!”

“How couldn’t I? I’m the only one of us you’ve kissed sober, which has to mean you feel something, right?” By this point, JJ was practically yelling. He sounded a little hurt by your hesitation, forcing you to choose your next words carefully.

“Ok, so maybe it does. Does that mean that you’ll listen to what I have to say about you, if I say that I possibly feel something like that about you?” You posed the question. “Also, did you really need to bring it up with John B in the room?”

“Look, I wasn’t thinking. And don’t get on me for that because you said some pretty messed up shit while you weren’t thinking.” JJ did have a point. “Also, yes, maybe I’d give in if you told me about said feelings,” the blond raised an eyebrow and knew he’d won.

You sighed and looked out onto the water--practically anywhere but at JJ.

“Fine. JJ you’re pretty cute, and also a good kisser,” you started as you felt your body heat up with a kind of nervous excitement.

“I really appreciate that, Y/N.” He looked down with a smile. Soon the tension dissipated with JJ’s joking, “But how do you feel?”

“Oh shut up, wasn’t that enough embarrassment from me for you to believe all the mushy stuff I say about you?”

“Nah, I’m still feelin’ a little down, so more would definitely help,” JJ smugly said.

You groaned. “Maybank, ya got me. I think that maybe… I like you as more than my dumb friend.”

“That’s enough for me,” his eyes lit up as his eyes flicked from yours to your lips. You could sense what he was going to do so you automatically leaned into him as your lips practically crashed into his. It felt electric, but more obviously--it felt natural. You just knew how to kiss him and he knew the same. He pulled away and you both looked down, unsure of how to react to something so pleasurable, but maybe not the most accepted considering the Pogue-on-Pogue macking rule in your friend group’s constitution. But that made it all the more enticing.

JJ broke the silence. “I actually do feel a lot better, and no, it’s not just because you’re also a pretty good kisser. But,” he paused, “because of everything you said. God, you’re gonna love hearing this too much, but you’re right.”

You gave a smile in response. You were ecstatic that he took your words to heart (and maybe a little more since he admitted you were right).

There was a chill in the air, so JJ instinctively gave you his hoodie and pulled you into him. He smelled like salt water and cologne.

“So what am I up to now, 5 kisses, and John B’s at 3 drunk ones?” he teased, in line with his competitive nature.

“Actually, John B’s at 4,” you laughed, “but he thinks he’s tied with you, so don’t tell him.”

“Well, just to be sure that he doesn’t catch up…” he leaned down and smiled into a sweet kiss. Your smiles stuck as you and JJ spent the rest of the night at the Boneyard, half of the time figuring out how you’d keep this from the Pogues (for now) and the other half enjoying each other’s company.

Tagging some obx mutuals and blogs: @darkrosekuwonu @alltheannie @alexandracheers @ptersparkers @singledadharrington @ificanthaveu @pogue-writings @poguelifesurfshop

#JJ #JJ Maybank #JJ Maybank fanfic #JJ Maybank fic #jj outer banks #JJ x reader #JJ maybank x reader #jj maybank.#jj maybank obx #outer banks #outer banks netflix #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fic #jj obx #jj.

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weirdochick56 · 5 years ago

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Mr. Evans II- Chris Evans AU Chapter Eleven

Teacher!Chris Evans x Student!Reader

Warnings: Explicit language. SMUT. DIRTY DIRTINESS.

Disclaimers: I don’t condone relationships of this kind, this is for entertainment purposes only. Please be gentle on my word-porn.

Word Count: 5, 347 words

A/N: This shit got dirty REAL quick. As I was writing it, I was so fucking confused by what my fingers were typing lmfaoooo. Also this story is nearly coming to an end and IDK what the hell im gonna do after. PLEASE stay safe and healthy y’all!

Read Chapter Ten here!!

***

(gif isn’t mine!)

You take a long gulp of the bottle.

“It’s like I’m stuck, you know?” You say looking off into the water. “Like I don’t know how to exist or move forward or hell, even back.”

Noah, the guy you’d met at the pool, nods in understanding, taking a sip from the bottle. “Yeah. I get that, but your situation is hella complicated. I get why.”

“I guess I just have never felt one hundred percent in it, you know? Like I could never fully let myself be happy because at any moment that shit could burn down. I’ve always felt like someone was out to get us, like all the fucking odds were stacked against us,” you mumble, shivering when a breeze swishes past the dark night.

It’s been a while since you had met Noah and he was a pretty cool dude. You just clicked- it was just like that with some people you know? You just get along from the get-go. You got to talking, slowly downing the bottle in the process of course and the more time ticked by, the more your tongues loosened.

You didn’t like to play into stereotypes or anything, but you were almost entirely sure Noah wasn’t one-hundred percent straight. But maybe that was just you.

You were at a healthy buzz right now but that wasn’t gonna last long at the rate you were chugging from the bottle.

“You wanna be with him?”

You sigh, hating that there wasn’t even a little doubt in your mind or heart at the question. “I do. But I don’t know how to go about it, you know? It’s all just so jumbled for me.”

Noah releases a little sigh, laying down on the cold gravel. “I know right? It’s like you love someone so much but you also know that being with them could be dangerous, no only to you but to the life you’ve built around yourselves individually. So it’s hard between choosing everyone else or your own selfish ass.”

You glance at him, raising your brows. “From personal experience?”

He laughs but it’s a bit strained- dry. “Yeah. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly uh- straight.”

“What?! I had no idea!” You mock gasp.

“Shut up.” He laughs, slapping your arm playfully. “Yeah well, he’s actually the most beautiful human being I’ve ever met. But we’re keeping it on the dL. Neither of our parents is exactly supportive. Mine are still a bit touchy even though they’re starting to tolerate the fact that their son is gay and his- well they have no idea. If they did that situation would go awry real quick.”

You sigh, laying your head drunkenly on his shoulder. “Aw, I’m so sorry Nini.”

He laughs, casually wrapping an arm around you. “Oh? Is that my new nickname?”

You nod. “Yep.”

“You know something, Nini?” You suddenly mumble in a slur.

“What?”

“You’re not selfish for loving him- whoever he is. You’re brave.”

“Yeah? And why do you say that?” He hums.

You take the bottle from his grasp, taking a long drink. When you’re done, you sluggishly wipe your lips.

“Because I’m a fucking coward,” you mumble shakily. “I’m so fucking scared of feeling. I just shut down like a robot,” you confess, quietly chuckling. “I numb myself so that I don’t have to face the reality of it all. You face that shit head-on. You’re staying and fighting for your love. That’s super admirable.”

Noah rubs your arm comfortingly. “Thanks.”

You nod, swishing your feet in the water. “It’s true. I wish I could just be with him.”

“Then be with him,” Noah says, simply.

Just like that. As if it were that straightforward.

“It’s not that easy. There’s so many things to consider.“

“Let me ask you a question,” he quickly quips. “Do you love him? Like really truly love him?”

You swallow harshly, gripping the bottle tightly in your hands. “With every fiber in my body.”

Noah nods firmly. “Then that’s it. And listen, I’m going to be honest because it sounds like everyone in your life has been lying to you and telling you basically all you need is love to make it work. It’s not. Relationships are hard fucking work. Especially if it’s one people will have a variety of feelings on. It takes effort, time, sacrifice and you know where all that comes from?”

“Where?” You pout drunkenly.

“From you. You have to be sure you want it you have to be willing to stay and fight. But you also need love. Without love, there’s nothing. If you’re sure you want to be with him, if you think your love is worth it, then I say go for it. It doesn’t have to be this huge announcement either. It’s your relationship- it’s there for no one else but you two. If you feel comfortable later on, then do sure you can tell people.”

You ponder on his words drinking more tequila, before finally speaking in a defeated tone. “I’m scared.”

He shrugs. “Life is really just one big risk you either choose to take or not. Plus, it’s like I told you; relationships are hard work. You have to keep working at it. Even when it gets hard.” He licks his lips. “He gave an ultimatum and from what you told me, you’re not going to be here for much longer. So not to pressure you or anything, but if there was ever a time to act this feels like it’s it.”

Maybe he’s right.

Needless to say, by the time Noah walks you home, you’re both absolutely hammered. You make sure to call him a taxi because it was late at night and you also make him promise to text you once he got there.

After he’s gone words keep ringing around in your head over and over and over again. And so do Margo’s. In fact, you felt like you were flying on a cloud of thoughts all whirling and detaching and stringing together back again.

You start replaying everything in your head- your whole relationship. From the start to now. Like a movie.

And your heart breaks even more because you realize right there and then that at some point, the movie suddenly stops.

The movie stops.

It hits you that you’ll have no idea how it ends. What’ll happen with you two. Where you’ll end up.

For some odd fucking reason, it makes you feel sick to your stomach to think about it that way, and your skin crawls. If you let him go, you’ll never him know how the movie ends... the thought tortures you slowly to sleep as it goes round and round in your noggin, pounding you with unbearable guilt and anxious thoughts.

When you do fall asleep, though, you have a strange dream that night. Or more like you have a nightmare.

You’re standing in your room and it’s just like it was when you went to sleep that night, except that on the other side, the usual long hallway isn’t there anymore. There’s only darkness.

Your anxiety kicks up because you know what the darkness is without even touching it.

It’s the not-knowing. The pitch-black emptiness which you’re expected to walk into blind. Fucking alone.

You start hyperventilating when the pressure to walk into it becomes too much, thrashing harshly against the invisible force pushing you into it. Screaming, salty tears, kicking...

It’s all too much. Your breathing is labored and your skin burns with hot tears.

And then suddenly and like a warm blanket- two muscular arms wrap around you from behind, tugging you into a hard chest.

Chris, your mind instantly whispers.

He easily tugs you back towards the room, hugging you to his front tightly.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

And in that moment of terror, with his familiar scent and soothing voice and tight embrace, he’s safety. He’s warmth and familiarity.

...he’s home. Your home.

You just lay there with him, holding each other.

The next image flashes by instantly and suddenly the darkness is back. But this time you don’t panic...because Chris is right there with you, holding your hand. And for some reason, you know -you’re one-thousand present sure- he won’t let go.

He rubs his thumb softly over your thumb, looking at you with those alluring blue eyes of his, that soft yet capturing gaze that made you feel all fuzzy.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” He repeats his earlier sentence.

You wipe happy tears. “I’ve got you too.”

He smiles adoringly down at you, smile lines crinkling endearingly at the corners. “I know.”

And without a second’s thought you plunge straight into the darkness.

You gasp loudly, sitting straight up in bed. Your heart races, thumping harshly against your rib cage as beads of sweat trod carefully down your temple and side of your face.

Click.

Something in you suddenly clicks and it all becomes clear.

Was that all that was needed for realization to hit you? A single moment? A single split second in which the fog clears? A split-second where your vision suddenly elevates and the whole landscape is all there? The whole picture is laid out before you?

It’s early in the morning and you wince when the bright light of an early day hits you in the face, flopping over in bed.

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, quickly unlocking it before checking your contacts. You have a new text message. You click on it.

Hey, Hermosa. I got home okay. Thanks for the taxi, lol.

You smile gently, typing back.

Yeah np, Nini. Thanks for the advice. Needed it.

Your phone buzzes.

Ngl, kinda shocked we still remember that. Lmfao. Ur welcome tho.

You groan softly into your pillow when your head starts aggressively throbbing.

Sobriety sucks butt.

“Honey, are you okay?”

Your dad and Kennedy watch you as you haphazardly stuff your face with bacon and eggs then gulf it all down like a dog- brows raised and jaws slack.

Downing your warm coffee in one go, you get up, pushing the chair back with a loud screech and almost trip running over to the sink to put your dishes inside.

“Yes. I’m good. There’s just something urgent I have to go take care of,” you rush out, leaning down over them and giving each a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“I love you guys!” You yell, already half outside and still pulling on one of your sneakers as you clumsily hopped around.

You slam the door shut, running off as soon as you finish putting on the shoe.

Your head pounds inside your skull even having downed three aspirins and having a warm shower and your breakfast swishes inside your stomach with your harsh sprinting but you don’t stop.

Not until you reach his house.

You don’t think. Just feel. Feel how right this was. You’re done being scared of loving who you love. You had what you had and it was what it was, but what you had was him.

Chris.

All this time, he said you were his light. You were his angel.

But really he was your light. He was your angel.

You needed him just as much as he needed you- if not more.

Fuck everyone else.

This was yours. He was yours and you were his and you were done fighting it. Officially.

You had the realization that before, you’d always been just the tiniest bit reluctant. You subconscious put up your own walls to protect your heart, never fully allowing yourself to work on your relationship, never fully giving your energy to it.

But not anymore. No more walls. Just you. Just you, your love and a foundation for a fresh start.

You were exhausted- not of life or him or of the curveballs it keeps throwing your way. You’re tired of fighting yourself.

That’s the real fight you’ve been having this whole time. With yourself. You’re your own damn enemy. And isn’t that fucking tiring?

But you’re done.

Knocking loudly on the door, your chest inflated with so many emotions and with adrenaline pumping through your veins, you tug at your short shorts, hating that this was the first thing you saw and threw on.

Unfortunately, the next thing you saw was a short ass crop top so you were basically running around in your underwear.

You freeze out the nerves as soon as they start to set in when footsteps pad your way. None of that.

When Chris opens the door, you nearly fall over.

He gives you a once-over, his hair messy, and dark bags under his eyes. “Sweetheart what-“

You stare at him for a few seconds as does he, eyes wide and lips parted.

“Chris,” you breathe.

But you catch yourself and before you know it, you’re spilling all your damn beans right on his front porch.

You needed to. You had to get this off your chest or you would go absolutely insane.

“Chris before you say anything, I just want to apologize. I’ve been a huge fucking hypocrite. But I realize my mistakes and I-“ you laugh incredulously, looking at him. “I just want to be with you,” you mumble meekly, your voice low.

Not because you didn’t mean it, but because you were terrified of his reaction.

His eyes soften and he opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“No, stop. I just need to finish what I have to say, okay? You were right. You scare me. What we have scares me. But I’m not willing to let you go just because I’m scared. I-” you swallow tears back down. “Being scared isn’t an excuse to let you go. God, I’ve never felt emptier in my life than these past few weeks. Not even when I was gone for two years. At least then I knew I was faraway from you. That I was somewhat safe from all these...feelings.” You gulp. “But being here-“ you shake your head. “Knowing that you’re just a few blocks away- I just want you to hold me, to make love to me, to love me in the way only you know how to.” You chuckle breathlessly. “God, I am so in love with you. Y-you complete me. You make me better- you’re the best fucking person I know. And I know I’ve been an asshole to you, or well let’s be honest we both have, but I guess mostly me- um anyway. I just- I’m here to stay.” You sigh softly, letting the words roll of your tongue like a vow.

“I’m here to stay,” you repeat softly but firmer this time, swallowing thickly at the sweet after taste.

You’re panting by the time you’re done, both thanks to the running and the little speech you just gave, but your gaze never leaves his. Not for the whole five minutes, he just stands there, looking at you with glimmering eyes.

“Chris?” You whisper.

“Say that again,” he breathes.

“Say what?” You frown.

“Tell me you love me again,” he mumbles, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

You smile a little, looking him in the eye. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” you repeat breathlessly. “I’m here to stay- if you’ll let me that is,” you add on in a clumsy, sheepish way.

He smirks, instantly yanking you into a hug. His arm wraps around your waist and head and your arms slither their way around his broad back. You melt into him, half with delight and half with relief.

The embrace says all the things you weren’t strong enough to say, it was passionate, warm, loving, fierce. You slid into eachother like to puzzle pieces. Like you were meant to be there- in eachother’s arms.

Chris holds you tighter to him, using your trembling body, which you hadn’t even noticed was shaking, as an excuse you stuff his nose into your hair and press your chest to his.

“I missed you,” he breathed into you- easy as air. A breath he’d been holding for far too long and needed to release.

A breath that, once uttered, made you instantly freeze.

You slowly parted away from him so you could properly peer into his eyes and because you have no idea how much being back with him was going to be for you emotionally.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, tears sprouting from your eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just scared. I’m always scared.”

He shakes his head at you, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. “I get it, sweetheart. I was scared too. But we’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

He holds his arms out again, but catches himself before wrapping them around you and pulling you to him entirely, the question clear in his eyes; was this okay?

This embrace wasn’t like the one a few moments ago, this one was cautious because you were walking new ground. A ground that was undiscovered but all the same exciting.

A ground that was the foundation for a new path to happiness. A new beginning.

You simply nod in response, too tired to try to fight your need for his warmth off.

He wastes no time pulling you to his chest- nice and tight and you instantly hug him back, loving the feeling of safety and warmth you felt there.

You realize that no matter where you go or who you’re with, nothing will ever feel like being in his arms. Nothing will ever feel like home. Not like him.

His hold tightens on you- like he’s afraid of letting you go and you tighten your own hold to signify your own heightened emotions.

The buzzing in your skin, the racing of your heart, the flush of your face, the fluttering of your tummy- all the emotions that made you feel like there was endless hope and warmth and good in the world- you missed it all.

You listen to his slightly accelerated heartbeat and nestle your head against his chest. “So we fight?”

He heaves a heavy exhale. “We fight.”

You lick your dry lips, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

He pushes you back slightly, brows raised. “Really?”

You can’t help but smirk a little bit. “I think I still have a little bit more fight left in me.”

You shift in his arms, resting your head on his chest an adjusting the leg you’d hastily thrown over his waist.

After your talk, you’d agreed that a little alone time was in order. So you threw yourselves onto his bed and did what anyone in your position -with unspent sexual frustration and endless simmering desire between your souls- would do and cuddled.

“Sweetheart,” he begins, twirling another strand of your hair in between his fingers.

“Hmm?” you mumble drowsily, drawing a new pattern on his chest with your fingertips.

“Do you love me?”

You pause, brows furrowing. Leaning up on your elbow, you peer down at him. “What?”

He smiles a little. “You heard me.”

“Why do you ask?” You blush bright red.

He chuckles, brushing a hand against your cheek. “Well, I’m not like you, angel. I actually need to hear the words. Again,” he adds cheekily.

You stare at him blankly for a few seconds, contemplating his face. He was perfect. Even the small dips or indents on his skin. Every sharp and soft line, every curve and dip and area of soft flesh.

Beneath you, his muscles strained against his soft pajamas and his warmth surpassed layers of skin and clothing in order to deep into your bones, warming you entirely.

But that wasn’t what made him beautiful. No.

It was the fact that he was such a dork when it came to Charlotte Brontë and Bram Stroker even when he tried to hide it. It was the fact that for years he put aside his own pain to focus on the futures of his students. The pain of losing his wife.

It was that he looked at you like you were his beginning and his end and everything in between. It was the fact that he was unwilling to relent to everyone and everything telling him he couldn’t have you and that he was willing to forgive you.

It was that he was still here. Still fighting even when everything could be lost.

He wasn’t just perfect. He was authentic. And he was beautiful just the way he was.

You finally nod, whispering lightly. “I do. I love you more than anything in the world.”

You’ve never meant anything more in your life. And it didn’t matter what would happen next because you’d be together when it happen and you’d take it on together. You’d always have eachother.

He beams adoringly, running his hands through his hair.

You instantly raise a brow. “What?”

He frowns at you. “What?”

You chuckle, a tiny smirk tugging at your lips. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

“Wrong? Nothing is wrong. Why does something have to be wrong?”

You instantly smile, patting his cheek as you hook your leg over him tighter in order to get more comfortable. “You just ran a hand through your hair; something’s definitely wrong,” you say as if it’s obvious before softening. “C’mon talk to me.”

He looks into your questioning eyes for exactly three seconds before breaking. “Dammit, why do your eyes have to be so big and…shiny? I can never lie to them,” he mumbles under his breath.

You laugh pressing a little kiss to his stubbled cheek. “It’s my secret superpower. Now; spill.”

He sighs, looking down at his hands. “Nothing I guess I’m kind of second-guessing now. N-not of us o-or anything!” He rushes to explain immediately after. “Just-” he sighs again, looking back down. “I dunno. I feel like I’ve been pressuring you. What if this isn’t what you really want?” He gazes into your eyes, concern swimming in his deep pools. “Is it?”

Unable to hold back a snicker you grin lightly at him. “I just gave you an entire speech about how much I want to be with you and you’re questioning it? Bit late, don’t you think?” You joke lightly.

He deadpans. “Y/n.”

You sigh. “Yes, it is what I want. No backing out this time.” You hold out your pinky with a tiny giggle. “Pinky promise?”

He raises a brow at the small finger, scoffing at the notion. “Angel, I’m a masculine manly-man do you really think that I’m gonna pinky promise you? No.”

You wiggle your pinky with a tiny pout. “C’mon!”

He sternly peers down at you (again for exactly three seconds) before breaking down once more, half-heartedly linking your pinky with his and grumbling for a second time about how your eyes were “unfairly adorable”.

You laugh tightening your finger on his, as you gaze into each other’s eyes tenderly. “I pinky promise to always be with you. No matter what.”

He smiles softly, repeating your words back to you with the tenderest look in his eye. “I pinky promise to always be with you. No matter what.”

When you take your pinkie back, he rolls his eyes, chuckling. “I can’t believe you made me do that. I hate you.”

Lightly shoving his shoulder, you place a soft peck on his cheek. “You know you love me. Plus, c’mon, I came looking for you here, I can’t leave without at least a pinky promise.”

He smirks, wiggling his brows suggestively. “You do realize this means I won, right?”

“Won?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Yeah. This time, you came for me. So I won.”

You snort. “Asshole.”

He chuckles as you suddenly grow serious.

“You know, I hate that you know me better than I know myself. I can never hide from you,” you whisper as he grips your face with his hand.

“You don’t have to,” he says sincerely, looking directly at you. His dark gaze pierced your soul and your breath hitches, forming a huge lump on your throat. “Not from me. Not ever.”

You shiver under his touch, leaning into him. You bite your lip as you gaze at him from under your lashes. “What if what I’m trying to hide is ugly?” You husk.

He simply smiles, like what you’re saying is utterly impossible. “Then you don’t try to hide it. I want to see it all. Because you know what? In the end, I know it’s all going to be beautiful.”

You can’t keep the damn goofy smile from tugging at your lips as you softly kiss his nose. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you breathe. “I love you so fucking much.”

He pecks your cheek lightly in response, resting his forehead on yours.

“Who are we without scars, without stories to tell? Your flaws make you who you are, angel. And I’ve fallen in love with you. All of you.”

You smile softly at him, your heart thumping loudly inside your chest. “You make me all crazy, you know that?” you mumble.

He laughs, closing the distance between you two and brushing his lashes against yours. “I’m sorry.”

You giggle against his lips, softly moving yours against them as you peer into his darkened eyes and wide blown pupils. “No, you’re not.”

He rubs his thumb across your cheekbone tenderly, tracing your skin like he was afraid you’d break if he pressed too hard or rubbed too much.

“You’re right- I’m not,” he breathes hotly against your skin, playing with your lower lip.

You press your nose to his, pressure building in your chest as you slowly begin straddling him. “Do you want me?”

His other hands grips your other cheek, gaze pinning yours down with ease. “All the damn time,” he responds without hesitation, voice growing deeper and more primitive.

You smirk down at him, forgetting entirely about everything and everyone else.

“Really?”

He looks at you incredulously. “Are you serious? How do you not know what you do to me, sweetheart?”

“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t. What do I do to you, Chris?”

Your pussy begins pulsating rhythmically, panties damp at the implication.

He inhales sharply, clamping down on that plump lip. “Shit sweetheart. You want details?”

He seemed startled but turned on all the same.

You bite your lip, feeling your nipples harden under the soft fabric of the shirt and nearly let a moan slip when it rubs against the sensitive nubs as you move.

“Yes. I want you to tell me exactly how much you want me. I want you to tell me how you’ve imagined me before. What you’d do to me if you’re given the chance,” you rasp all in one breath.

As you speak, you grind your down hips on his, enjoying the much-needed friction it created in your sensitive spot.

He clenches his jaw, eyes ablaze with that fire you missed so much.

“Careful sweetheart,” he grits out through clenched teeth, hands dropping to your ass and hips. “If you get too close I might burn you.”

You look him in the eye, knowing damn well your own unquenchable fire was swaying sensually back and forth in your eyes. You wanted him—bad. In fact, you fucking needed him. You needed him like you needed air to breathe. Fuck, you ached for the feeling of his cock inside you, claiming you as his. Because damn you were his.

“Then burn me,” you say with full intent.

His eyes snap shut, fingers digging into your flesh.

“Jesus Christ, Y/n. If we don’t stop right now I can’t promise I won’t fuck you ‘til you’re screaming.”

Your pussy instantly grows wet at his words, pulsating far more aggressively than before as you move your hips faster.

“Fuck Chris. Have you dreamed about me?” You pant.

He looks up at you through heavy-lidded eyes, dick stirring in his pants. “Almost every night,” he admits without shame or hell- even embarrassment.

Than only makes you more flushed.

You lick your dry lips, his eyes following the movement. “Yeah? And what am I wearing?”

He closes his eyes, hands traveling down to your thighs before rising gradually up to your waist, pushing fabric out of the way. You tremble beneath his fingertips and he uses the chance to guide your movements against him, his long fingers setting a rhythm for you to move to.

He hisses with pleasure. “Y-you’re wearing my t-shirt. Only with panties underneath.”

You inhale deeply, chest rising but not falling just yet at the vivid image. “Mhm,” you hum softly. “And where are we?”

“My bedroom. You’re sprawled out on my bed, sleeping.”

You bite your lip. “Are you hard yet?”

“Hell yes,” he breathes, digging his nails into your ass. “I can see your ass from here. All of that for me,” he moans softly against your chest as he adjusts you and his grip on you so your tits are closer to his face.

You arch back at the sensation of having his hard cock rubbing against you from beneath his pants.

“You’re moving around in your sleep and I’m getting harder because you look so damn innocent but sexy all at once. Like you’re just asking me to ruin you.”

You moan against him, accidentally brushing your nipple against his lips in the frenzy of your dry humping.

You freeze for a second, letting the sensation sink into your cells, warming them with electrifying bliss before moaning louder when Chris lightly opens his mouth to take one of them in over the thin material of the shirt.

Your mouth falls open at the sensation and your finger rake through his hair, tugging on the strands harshly as he gently suckles on the sensitive bud, rolling his tongue around it with expert sensuality.

His eyes meet yours as he does this and neither of your looks away as he flicks his tongue back and forth, causing your whole body to nearly overload with bliss.

“Fuck Chris,” you mewl, digging out nails into his scalp.

He stops sucking, using his finger to play with them instead. Your mouth falls open in a choked-up scream as he continues narrating his dirty dream for you.

“Even from there I can see how soft your skin is. How perfect your tits are and how good they’d fit in my hands. It’s torture until I walk over to you and grab one of your ankles gently in my hands…”

“Yes?” Your breath hitches as he hits a sensitive spot.

“And the other one too. Then I slowly part them. I don’t want to wake you yet. Not like that.”

You bite your lip, holding back a moan.

“When I’ve completely opened your legs, I slowly crawl up your body, kissing your legs as I go. When I reach your inner thighs, I slowly lift my shirt up….” he trails off, his thumb softly grazing your sensitive nub.

Your head flies back at the sudden jolt of pleasure it sends up your spine. “Shit Chris,” you groan.

“I start leaving open-mouthed kisses all over your soft skin. You’re shifting in your sleep, growing wetter, but you still haven’t woken up. Finally, I kiss your pussy.”

At the words coming out of his sinfully soft mouth, you feel your stomach clench, mouth capturing a silent scream and swallowing it back down.

He keeps you moving against him, his fingers gripping your thigh and his thumb working soft circles into your now soaked panties.

You gyrate into his hand rhythmically, fully concentrated in how good he felt.

“Uh-huh,” you finally grit out.

He continues speaking, voice strained and tone nearly drowned out entirely by animalistic frenzy. “You slowly peel your eyes open as I’ve begun flicking my tongue over your clit back and forth.” He copies the motion he describes with his thumb, smirking viciously when you nearly fall over him.

“I’ve been doing it over your sheer lace underwear this whole time, but when you are finally awake, your smell and your taste become too much for me to handle. You intoxicate all my senses sweetheart. I just want you on my tongue. I want you to ride my face until you cum in my mouth.”

And that’s all he needs to add to his jerky thumb movements for you to cum. Hard.

As if he can sense that you’ve reached a climax, he watches you with hunger, drinking in the sight of you coming all for him. “That’s right, sweetheart. Cum for me. All for me. Fuck, Y/n.”

You convulse, cursing like a damn sailor into his mouth. “Fuuuuck Chris!”

When you’re done, you slouch against him.

He hugs you to him and the rumble of his laughter travels through you, causing your sensitive insides to tremble. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You lift your head carefully. “Yes.”

He smiles. “Good. Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to make love to you.”

“Oh.”

Read Chapter Twelve here!!

***

The flashbacks to Mr. Evans I are real. Omfg.