#I have a couple commissions i gotta work on but in between them i wanna doodle if i have the time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

syddsatyrn · 2 years

Text

Love, Metal and Milkshakes Ch.4 (EddiexFemReader)

☆Pairing: - Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

☆Song: Still of the Night - White Snake

☆Warnings: Fluff, smut, swearing, drug use, cigarettes, protected sex. Characters are all 18+

Minors DNI, scram!

☆Words: 3.1k

☆Notes: I'm sorry this took so long guyyyys. I've been busy with commissions, work and many other projects you'll see in the future. Series Master List For the next few days, you felt like you were floating. Nothing could put you in a bad mood, not even your mom's excessive questions about Eddie. You were able to unpack the majority of your things. You decorate your room to fit your aesthetic while the reverberation of heavy guitar and bass flow through the speakers of your cassette player in the background. The walls are covered in band posters, and you added some white Christmas lights to the wall closest to your bed. You filled your closet with all your black clothes and organized them neatly.

While you did some laundry, you had time to repaint your fingernails and toes black. You carefully applied the black nail polish, focusing on each digit, utilizing the small brush to cover each corner.

You lay back and stare at the ceiling, trying to practice patience while your nails dry. The first thought that pops into your head is how much you missed that dorky metal head. You'd much rather be curled up against his chest watching a movie. Or cuddled up in the back of his van somewhere quiet.

You've never had feelings for someone so quickly. It actually makes you feel kind of nauseous thinking about it.

You confirm the polish has dried and opened the window. You reach over to your nightstand and pull a cigarette from the box. You carefully lean your torso out the window and light the stick between your lips. The smoke plumes from your mouth as you exhale. You rest your chin on your forearm and sigh. The previous song ends and changes to the next.

♫"In the still of the night I hear the wolf howl, honey Sniffing around your door In the still of the night I feel my heart beating heavy Telling me I gotta have more In the shadow of night I see the full moon rise Telling me what's in store My heart start aching, my body started shaking And I can't take no more No, no, no Now I just want to get close to you And taste your love so sweet And I just want to make love to you Feel your body heat In the still of the night In the still of the night Over here baby"♫

The sky is cloudless, with an orange and purple hues. The afternoon sky is always such a vibe. You puff on your cigarette, arm hanging out the window. Your mind wanders back to that classroom where both of you confessed a lot of feelings...physically. You feel your face get a little hot. Maybe it’s just the direct sunlight.

The phone rings loudly, it shakes you from your thoughts. You stub out the cigarette out on the coarse roof shingles and quickly shut the window.

"Y/N Pick up the phone!" Your mom shouts up the stairs. You practically sprinted to the phone in the hallway, your socks sliding on the linoleum as you picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" You answer quietly, dragging the phone to your room.

"Whatcha doin' right now?" Eddie asks.

You giggle, "Unpacking, cleaning, laundry..." You begin to list off all the productive things you've accomplished but Eddie cuts you off.

"Are you wearing pants?" he asks in a coquettish tone, only half joking.

"Pfff...and what if I'm not?" You scoff at his question.

"Come over to my place? We can watch a movie and get stoned with me. I'll order a pizza." He says trying to cast out a line, hoping you'll take the bait. Who turns down free food and weed?

"You don't have to bribe me to hang out, Eddie." You say with a chuckle.

"No bribes, I just wanna see you," Eddie says, his voice is like honey. You practically melt into a puddle on the floor.

"I uh...can be there in a couple of hours?"

You grab a pen on your nightstand and Eddie proceeds to give you directions to the Forest Hills Trailer Park.

"See you soon, Milkshake." Eddie says and hangs up.

You're never gonna live down that nickname. But it's starting to grow on you. If it wasn't for that fateful day when you ended up covered in an airborne milkshake you would've never met such a kind soul. You get dressed and pack up your backpack with some essentials.

You quickly laced up your boots and grabbed your skateboard. You take off after going through the monotonous routine of telling your mom where you'll be and reassuring her you'll be fine. You slid a pair of headphones over your ears and hopped on your board. You could have asked Eddie to pick you up, but it's so nice outside and you've grown fond of the crisp fresh air in Hawkins.

When you see the sign for the trailer park, you hop off your skateboard and carry it by the trucks. You make your way up the dirt path and spot Eddie's trailer with his van parked out front. You take a deep breath as you walk up to the front porch and climb the steps. You knock on the door and swallow your nerves.

You can hear muffled metal music playing behind the door and a pair of heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. Eddie opens the door and you smile. He’s wearing a Dio shirt with the sleeves cut off paired with his black jeans. Before you can even say hello his lips met yours. You swear your heart was going to beat through your chest. Eddie’s hand brushes a few strands of hair away from your face and cups your cheek. His touch sends a shiver down your spine as you quietly whine into his mouth. Your face glows red and your muscles tense up.

"Missed you." He whispers against your lips. You were at a loss for words, and Eddie takes great pleasure in catching you off guard. He loves watching you stammer and lose control of yourself.

"I…uh m-missed you too." You faltered as he laced his fingers with yours. He pulls you inside the trailer and shuts the door.

Eddie’s place looks relatively normal. There's an impressive collection of mugs in the kitchen and caps lining the wall above the main window. The smell of weed and Eddie's cologne already has you feeling hazy. He leads you down the hall to his room. Surprisingly his place feels rather comfortable, even though you've never been here before. Eddie leads you to his room and you take in the little details. Black Sabbath plays softly in the background through his cassette player, his warlock guitar hangs from the mirror on top of his dresser. Eddie’s room is lined with band posters and artwork, just like yours. His space was a little messy, more disorganized than anything. The metal head picks up an already lit cigarette out of the ashtray and places it between his lips. “Make yourself at home, sweetheart.”

You take a seat on his bed and drop your bag to the floor. Eddie sits next to you. You lean your head on his shoulder and he kisses the top of your head. His arm wraps around you and pulls you just a bit closer. Eddie puts out his cigarette in the ashtray on his bedside table. "I like your room, it's cozy." You remark while still looking around. You turn your head and see a pair of handcuffs hanging from the closet door knob.

"What exactly are those for?" You giggle and point to the cuffs.

"Maybe one day you'll find out." He says with a low voice that makes your legs squeeze together. Eddie quickly changes the subject. He doesn't want to scare you off. "I rented a couple of movies. I know you like the horror genre so I ended up getting Day of the Dead and Invaders from Mars."

"Both sound good." You say and slip your hand over his knee. He pulls a pre-rolled joint from the drawer and lights it. He takes a couple of puffs and hands them to you. You place the joint between your lips and inhale the thick earthy smoke. Your previous dealer never had stuff this good. He also refused to give you any deals or help you out because you turned him down for a date.

"I gotta admit, Munson. This is some good shit…" You comment and take another puff. “...I could get used to having a cute boy deliver my weed.”

“Only the best for my favorite.” Eddie chuckles. “I know this guy, Reefer Rick...He’s something else. But he hooks me up pretty often.” He explains and you burst out laughing.

“Reefer Rick? You’re kidding me. That's his name? Hilarious.” You giggle, Eddie is just happy he can make you laugh. He wants to hear that laugh as often as possible. He wants to be the one to make you smile all the time. He wants to be the one to make you do other things too…

When you hand the joint back, Eddie inhales as much of the thick smoke as he can. He leans in close, lips almost touching yours. Eddie cups your chin and slowly exhales. You've seen this done before but you've never actually done it yourself. You purse your lips and inhale, the smoke traveling from his lips to yours, from his lungs into yours.

When you both exhale you close the gap and kiss him intensely. He tucks some of your hair behind your ear. Being vulnerable isn’t easy for you, fortunately, Eddie could see right through your tough exterior. He sees the soft, squishy emotions underneath it all.

You decide to straddle his lap, sick of the distance between you both. He places his hand on the small of your back to steady you as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” You ask playfully.

“You. Always you. You’re like a virus or something.” He teases, his voice softens. “I think about you constantly and it’s intoxicating.” Eddie has been holding back his desire to ravage you and make you his. Last time wasn't enough, you both wanted more, but a high school classroom wasn't the ideal location.

You couldn't handle the tension any longer and something in you snapped like a distressed rubber band. Your lips enveloped his but this time it was different, you nipped his bottom lip, and Eddie's hand slipped under your shirt and up your spine. You part your lips and allow him entrance to your mouth.

Eddie was losing his cool. He couldn't handle how soft your skin is and how your bodies fit so perfectly together. He pulls away for oxygen and places sloppy kisses down from your jaw to your neck. You tug on his shirt and he lifts his arms in the air allowing you to remove it. His hand unclasped your bra and you both struggled to remove your top. You toss the clothes carelessly into an unknown corner of the room.

"Mmm, I think I'm in love." He comments while cupping your breasts and giving them a gentle squeeze. You roll your eyes and gently push him. Eddie lays back flat on the mattress with you still straddling his waist. You leave little bite marks and bruises down his neck to his collarbone. You could feel his cock harden and twitch under you. Just a couple of layers of denim prevent you from pure bliss.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're killing me," Eddie says with a quiet moan. He rolls you over onto your back and you yelp. His hands find the button of your shorts between sloppy kisses. Eddie gets up off the bed and tugs your shorts and panties down to your ankles. You kick them off and Eddie is struck silent by your nude frame laying in his bed.

"I have a present for you. But you gotta promise to be a good girl okay?" He asks and you nod. The phrase made you squirm a little. Eddie kneels down in front of the bed and parts your knees. He begins kissing your inner thigh keeping his eyes fixed on yours, waiting for you to protest.

You didn't, Eddie swiped his finger through your slit gently, feeling the slick wetness between his fingers. "Tell me if you want me to stop at any point okay?" He asks, making sure this is what you really want to do. You nod again and Eddie wastes no time and slips his tongue between your folds and moans at the taste.

You throw your head back and let out a breathy moan. Your fingers grip the sheets and your back arches. Eddie's tongue flicks and massages your most sensitive spot as he squeezes your hips. He adds more pressure and speed as the seconds go by. You can't suppress the whines that escape your throat. When Eddie adds two fingers, you cry out, "Please don't stop" in between heaving breaths, "m'gonna cum".

"I’ve gotchu pretty girl, don’t worry.” His words were dripping with desire.

Your fingers card through Eddie's hair as you hold his head, your thighs lock tighter around his head as you moan his name. Your body trembles and he licks you through your high and you slowly turn into a puddle just for him. When Eddie raises his head between your thighs he wipes his chin.

"Mhmm…that's my girl." He praises while littering your shaking thighs with kisses. "You are so so pretty…" He whispers against your skin.

"Do you have a…uh." You stuttered, words getting the best of you. Eddie is surprised, he wasn't sure how far you wanted to take this.

"Condom? Yes." He answers. Eddie walks over to his dresser and pulls out a condom from his top drawer. Your blood is pumping hard and your face feels hot. Eddie tears the foil and drops his pants, his cock springs free and he slides the condom down his length.

He climbs back on top of you and you wrap your arms around his neck. "You want more?"

"Yes, please." You plead, and Eddie smirks and cocks his head to the side.

"So polite. This is a side of you I haven't seen yet. Your wish is my command, sweetheart." He says teasingly. The head of his cock presses against your entrance. He slid in rather easily and bottomed out and you groaned into his shoulder. He sets a steady pace and watches you unravel beneath him. You can feel him in your stomach, Eddie’s name and various swears escape your lips.

“That's it, you’re doing so well, lovely. Mmm…My name sounds so much better when you scream it.” He says in a low, gravelly voice. He continues to hit that one spot deep in your core.

“Fuck…Eddie…faster please.” You begged followed by another sinful moan. Your release is building, starting with a coil in your stomach and stiff muscles. Eddie’s mouth ghosts down your neck until he rests his chin on your shoulder. He isn’t far behind you, he feels you clench around him and can't contain himself any longer.

You dissolve into pleasure, chanting your boyfriend's name and squeezing him tight. Your back arches and you dig your fingernails into his shoulders.

“Fuuuckk…” Eddie groans and he spills inside of you, he continues to slowly fuck into your slack body. You ride that high as Eddie presses sweet kisses all over your shoulder and collarbone. He pulls out of you slowly and discards the condom in a small trash can nearby. Eventually your breathing goes back to normal, but you're exhausted. Eddie cant seem to find your shirt so he just tosses you one of his. You like his stuff better anyways.

Eddie replaces his boxers and throws on a shirt. You found your shorts somehow kicked under his bed. You pull them up over your hips as promptly envelops you in his arms. He whispers sweet praises in your ear which make you blush and giggle.

“So good for me…”

“You’re so hot. I am so lucky.”

“My good girl…”

He just sits and holds you there for a moment, one pressing the small of your back, the other on the back of your head. Stuff like this is the reason why you know he's not just using you for sex. Eddie is too soft to you, like he's afraid to break you if he's too rough. He takes your hand and offers you a cigarette, you happily pull one from the pack and place it between your lips.

“I'm gonna order Pizza, I’ll be outside in a few. There’s a lighter on the railing out there.” You walk down the hall and out the front door. The late evening set in and the sky was getting dark. You could see speckled stars across the sky, the air was crisp and cool. You light your cigarette and lean against the railing. It's getting kind of late, you seem to have lost track of time.

You're at that point in the evening where you need to decide if you want to go home or ask to stay with Eddie.

Speak of the devil, he pops open the door and joins you outside. Eddie wraps his arms around your shoulders from behind and you hand him your cigarette.

"Mhhm…so hear me out." He says while nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "What if you just stayed here? With me?"

"I was actually just about to ask you." You chuckle. Your mother isn't going to be too happy but you'll pay any price as long as you wake up to that face. "Can I?" You ask sweetly.

"Mhm…Be my guest." He says, punctuating his sentence with a peck on your cheek. He puts out the cigarette and you both head back inside. You called your mother and she wasn't thrilled.

"Just…be careful and use protection for god sakes." She harps. "Please call me if I need to come get you."

"Mooommm, I'll be fine. I'm hanging up now. Love you, bye." You hang up quickly and sigh. Eddie hands you a pair of his sweatpants. The evening went as planned, after eating you were exhausted. You fell asleep halfway through "Invaders from Mars" while curled up in Eddie's arms.

Eventually Eddie convinces you to come to bed with him. You reluctantly follow him and crawl under his covers. Everything smells like him, your clothes, the pillows. It makes you feel safe and relaxed, or is that just the marijuana lingering in your brain?

Eddie finally slides under the covers with you and wraps his body around yours. He cards his fingers through your hair and leaves a kiss on your temple.

"Good night, sweetheart."

42 notes · View notes

theremina · 1 year

Text

I fully expect to get shouted at for saying this. I still think it’s worth saying. ❤️‍🩹

The amount of reasonably well-off white people I’ve observed losing their entire shit over crappy AI theft these past couple months is… well, it’s completely understandable, of course.

But let’s unpack the fervor pragmatically.

As a classically trained full-time professional musician who has been honing their own craft since early childhood, and as someone who is used to being taken for granted, undervalued, even exploited, by folks who literally have no idea how much work and expense goes into doing what I do, I keenly relate to frustrations concerning algorithmic AI theft.

That being said, never have I ever observed a single one of the most reactive, aggressively angry white professional artmaking chums lashing out blindly over this problem come anywhere close to the same level of agitation regarding far more brutal atrocities: systemic racism/sexism/transphobia/homophobia, the climate crisis, Roe being overturned, anti-science / antivax rhetoric, etc. Yanno, shit that’s literally, directly killing people and the planet.

Some of the same dudes screaming “unfriend me if you’re going to post that garbage, and btw FUCK YOU” at the world right now are the same men who’ve opined in the past that I shouldn’t “get so worked up” over various systemically violent, directly life-threatening issues faced by millions, even billions of us.

Listen, I’m not saying artists don’t deserve to be concerned or upset. I don’t use any art generating AI myself, in large part bc I’ve seen how much needless pain and stress it’s causing a lot of my loved ones. For me, personally, it’s not remotely worth it.

That said, a lot of the same white, predominantly male artists we’re all watching yell at Cloud right now use Spotify, right? No judgement. I do, too! And a lot of you enjoy music with synths or samples that reproduce piano or string or drum or horn or choral vocal sounds? And you’ve probably watched a bootlegged television show or two in your day, yeah? Or resorted to 12 foot dot io?

Meanwhile, you’re out here literally damning random non-artists to hell for making corny-ass AI selfies? That’s the hill you’ve decided you wanna die on? Okay…

OR! Or, hear me out, what if you allowed your personal frustration over this issue to radicalize you less selectively? Mebbe? Could ya try showing up with a fraction of this passion to support reparations for Black Americans, or the safe and legal reproductive rights for half the population, or combating climate crisis, or disability rights, or universal income, orororrr, etc?

Look, I dunno. We live in an abattoir. Times are only getting tougher. Maybe before you decide to have another Totally Normal One that involves howling directly in the faces of disabled and low-income folks who aren’t in the fine arts or commercial arts industry and probably can’t afford a boardwalk caricature right now, let alone a $1K commission for you, you could try hitting the pause button, take several deep breaths and ask yourself: “am I picking healthy battles?”

(This is the exact same advice I try to give myself every single time I get worked up about something that isn’t literally life-threatening. I do not always succeed, of course. My shit stinks, too!)

Butt. Maybe next time you observe a friend getting excited prompting images for their own personal pleasure by using AI, consider restraining yourself from calling them a “lazy thieving scumbag”? Remember, not everyone can afford decades of training and school. How is your Facebook buddy who’s happily making endless Beksinski/Moebius/Ryden-derivative computer doodles for their own personal satisfaction managing to trigger your biggest, scariest threat response?

There gotta be some middleground between “woo this AI fad is fun and harmless” and “my barista friend sharing Meitu-lookin cybercosmonaut selfies on IG is stealing food directly out of my family’s mouth” worth exploring.

Sincerely, I get why folks are upset. But maybe don’t bring a nuke to a knife fight.

I promise you, this is a lesson I have personally learned the hard way. Maybe it doesn’t have to be so hard for you? Or —and this is my main concern, tbh— so hard on people who don’t deserve to be your punching bag.

I dunno. I’m just a bit shocked at how emotional some of you are able to get about this specific issue when your chosen line of work is largely run by rapists and racists and robber barrons. (Oh my!)

#maybe baby #ai art discourse #art theft #copyright #outraged white men #pick your battles #don’t bring a nuke to a knife fight

14 notes · View notes

hanghenfil · 2 years

Note

Can we know more about Ludo’s relationships? He has a wife apparently? :0c Does he have any kids too?

i gotta confess i haven't developed ludo a HUGE amount outside of his work yet but i will do what i can, anon 😌

(ludo 4 anyone reading this who doesnt know who he is yet)

ludo is married with two kids!

since his wife and him are different types of hanghenfil, their son is biologically ludo's via surrogate mother, and their daughter is adopted

he loves his family a lot and would do anythin to make sure they're safe (even though he's too busy to spend a lot of time with the kids more often than not...)

his wife is delyth, very glamorous, very dramatic, very much as brutal as her husband.

(delyth and the art belong 2 @melura so if u wanna know more about her u should go drop em some asks :) )

they've been together since they were like 16, much to del's parents disappointment....because their rich socialite daughter should not be dating a rowdy mafia bosses son!!!!

they thought she would grow out of it. she did not. now they're the ultimate power couple

as for their kids!

their daughter is an incredibly dedicated scene kid who spends her dads mafia money on importing hot topic legwarmers and deviantart points so she can buy commissions.

ludo loves her dearly but he does NOT understand what the fuck she is talking about 100% of the time ( she is also more @melura's domain so go ask them about delyth AND scene kid daughter :) )

their son is called maxwell, and heres a sketch of him but i'm working on some for an ask specifically about him so i'll go into more details about him there!

ludo loves him too but they have a little more strain since max was the intended ""heir"" to ludo's criminal empire but he is...very much not the type. stuff isn't terrible between them, but i imagine it's a little awkward :(

for more extended family, ludo's the only one who knows what happened to his parents. no one else has any idea--but they're presumed dead after ludo took over the family business.

thats about all i got rn! 😌

#ask #Anonymous #if u wanna know anything else feel free to ask i am. trying to do more ask stuff now #now that i have an OUNCE OF TIME.....#fredmusings #ludovic #maxwell #delyth

5 notes · View notes

irawhiti · 2 years

Text

hi happy waitangi day!

if you're white and ESPECIALLY if you're a pākehā aotearoa new zealander feeling guilty about colonising my people and running my family out of the country we're indigenous to, i'm accepting donations <3

i'm currently living with a family of racist white people because it was either that or become homeless, i have no license so i'm dependent on them to take me places which they haven't been great about and there's literally no public transport where i am. i had about $800 stolen from me literally on christmas day and owe money to my sister so i could pay rent over that time, but most importantly right now my laptop has been shutting off at random for weeks now and it took 20 minutes just to get it to start up a few days ago. it's shut off at least 5 times while i've been writing this. it's already been on its last legs for awhile now and i'm getting real nervous because if i lose access to a computer i'll get cut off of my only source of income since it becomes a Lot more difficult for me to apply for jobs and keep in contact with my job network to stay on centrelink money + i won't be able to apply for work-at-home jobs. i only make $300 a fortnight from centrelink because they're STILL keeping me on dependent allowance which i'm sorting out and $200 of that goes to rent alone, so even if i don't get cut off i Really cannot afford a laptop right now.

also i got the flu over christmas (potentially covid, there was a positive case in the house at the same time, but who fucking knows lol, these people refuse to take me to covid tests until after i'm already recovering) and now i have bronchitis (i had to buy 6 rapid covid test that got brought up by my sister for $70 and split 3 with her, the people i live with refused to take me to get a pcr test despite me coughing up blood at one point 🙃). i've got asthma and several disablities that mess with my breathing so i really cannot catch a break here, i've been waking up in the middle of the night unable to breathe so needless to say i've been kind of struggling with getting all my legal stuff sorted while this has been happening.

so like, if you wanna help out a disabled māori living in australia for waitangi day, any money helps! i really need a couple hundred dollars for a decent enough laptop to stay afloat and keep drawing (meaning i can't just buy a shitty $50 laptop unfortunately, it has to be decent enough for me to draw and take commissions so i'm looking at over $500 aud for a laptop with good enough graphics, i can pay for some of it but i can't afford that shit on my own :/). i'll update the post if i get donations and any extra money i might get will go towards buying medication and getting more of my teeth fixed, they're hurting like hell again and it's hard to eat and i'd like to get more work done but right now i've gotta choose between being able to get government money and spending money to be able to eat without pain lol

(also i have to use my friend's paypal because paypal screwed me over a few years ago, if you could leave a message to make it clear it's for me so we can keep track easier it'd help a lot <3 thank you)

paypal.me/hoodypet

$0/$500

#indigenous #maori #pasifika #signal boost #donations #donation #mutual aid #waitangi day #crowdfunding #new zealand #aotearoa

1K notes · View notes

hotwings0203 · 3 years

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

239 notes · View notes

taetaesbaebaepsae · 3 years

Text

hungry eyes (pjm)

Summary: Jimin's summer job is more often than not a pain in the ass, but you seem different than the other girls who need dance instruction at the resort.

A/n: A commission for @kpopnoobsstuff!

Warnings: dirty dancing au, some prejudice given race relations for Asian Americans in the 60′s but not a lot of detail, unprotected sex, public vaginal fingering, praise, dirty talk, Jimin is a jackass like over half this fic, a serious ankle injury, angst, mention of sex work (with an age gap), alcohol, smoking

Word Count: 8767 (i have a lot of feelings about this movie)

Rating: Mature

hey, hey hey baby

Of all the things Jimin had dreamed he'd end up doing, working as a dance instructor/gigolo at an expensive resort wasn't one of them.

Julliard wasn't cheap, though, and so every summer he ended up here at Sanders resort, teaching salsa and letting old ladies put hundred dollar bills into the back pocket of his slacks as tips.

Jimin fucking hated the crowd at the resort, hated the way they smelled like new money and champagne, how they looked at him like either a side of meat (the women) or like something that they needed to scrape off the bottom of their shoe (most of the men).

It's better than before, digging ditches during the summer and shoveling snow during the winter because no one is going to hire a Korean boy for an office no matter how good his English.

His hands had cracked and bled, forming callouses where they'd been smooth before and he finds himself running his thumbs over the ones on his palms while waiting for his cue in rehearsal.

When his coworker tells him of a gig he'd done, Jimin's eyebrow raised at his friend's paycheck.

Having to go by "Jimmy" instead of Jimin because the supervisors think his given name is too hard to pronounce puts a bad taste in his mouth, but he needs the money. It isn't as if he can tell his parents he's decided to be a professional dancer instead of a doctor or lawyer like they'd dreamed, and they didn't have the funds to help with tuition anyway.

So he spends every summer rolling his hips for the hungry eyes in the crowd, smiling and pretending that them purring, "Jimmy" in his ear doesn't make him shudder. It's the third summer before anything truly interesting happens.

Jimin didn't even like salsa or ballroom dancing or the mamba or any of the stupid easily learned dances he was forced to perform. He was a classical dancer, ballet being his forte, but this pays the bills and it's a way to keep his father off his back about his choice in colleges.

The older women weren't so bad, they'd give him anything if he whispered "noona," in their diamond decorated ears, but the younger girls, the ones who came there with daddy's money, those are the ones he doesn't fuck with.

The only woman he'd fucked with outside of work, in fact, had been Sunmi, his best friend since childhood, and even that not for years. Sunmi had followed him to Julliard and to the resort but they'd gone their own way after that and it wasn't as if they were ever in love, after all.

Despite the rumors among the staff, Jimin hasn't touched Sunmi outside of dancing in going on three years. He knew they looked like a couple, moved in tune with each other's bodies, and that's why they got paid the big bonuses.

Maybe he still got a little worked up after performances, liked to work up a sweat after at the dancer's barracks, and who could blame him when he sees you slumming it, tapping your toe to the music with your nose wrinkled and a little smile on your face.

He doesn't even have to say anything, just smiles at you, quirks his finger and you bounce forward ungracefully enough to make him laugh.

Sunmi snickers at him but he waves her off, knows she makes her rounds among the male staff that work in catering so she can't judge.

You know of Jimmy before you ever see him, having several members of the staff tell you in no uncertain terms to stay away from him, that he's trouble. You're surprised by how good he is, you can't take your eyes off him during the first dance performance of the summer. Jimmy Park certainly looks like trouble, with his sly smirk and the way he’d effortlessly flipped up his partner, Sunny, her skirt flipping up to reveal a pair of boyshorts stretched across her perfect bottom, and you’d swear he’d winked at you after.

You don’t think about the dancers for a while, busy touring the resort with your sister, who’d dragged you to the resort in the first place. You’d wanted to stay home and study, but your father had insisted that you join the family for the summer.

It’s boring, more for the older crowd than someone like you, a junior in college. You’re studying business because that’s what your father wants, but you like to write poetry, and you’re usually content to stay in your room and scribble.

It’s hot, though, the air conditioning not doing much to help the humidity, so you go for a walk, hoping there’s a bit of a breeze.

While you’re out, you run into a staff member, a dancer you think, but you aren’t sure, you’d been so busy watching the instructor.

“Girl shouldn’t be out this late at night alone. Might get in trouble,” he teases.

He’s cradling bottles of alcohol and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for stealing those?”

He laughs, loud and open. He’s cute, dressed down in a white tshirt and jeans, not like the stuck up staff members that do catering and management in the resort.

“Not if you don’t tell, baby.”

You bristle, but only a little. That’s what everyone calls you, after all, Baby might as well be your name. You’re the youngest and you’ll admit you’ve always been spoiled.

He shuffles the liquor bottles around to stick out his hand. “I’m BamBam.”

You shake his hand, a bit awkwardly because of all that he’s holding. “Interesting name.”

His face falls, just a bit, but then he smiles again. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Bambam pauses for a moment, and then cocks his head. “You wanna help me with all this? I’ll show you something.”

You’d been warned about being alone with men, you’d had some experiences in college that you’d never tell your family about, it’s not as if you’re a prude, but especially here, so many staff members whispered about how “dangerous” the dance crew was, but you’ve been bored out of your mind, and Bambam seems sweet, if a little flirty.

You shrug and take a couple of bottles, giggling when he sighs dramatically in relief.

It’s such a long walk that you start to get worried, but eventually you start to hear the music, a surprising amount of bass given the attitude of the resort in general, juggling two half liters of expensive vodka likely pilfered from the resort bar.

BamBam kicks the door open, nearly dropping the liquor, and you manage not to laugh but it’s a near thing. The heat almost hits you in the face, the music louder than you’d imagined, and you find your mouth dropping open, looking around at the dancers.

You recognize a few members of the dance team, but none more than Jimmy, the dancer you’d been unable to keep your eyes from earlier that week.

His partner, she’d introduced herself as Sunny and you’d noticed she was nearly as beautiful as him, is practically riding his thigh, her head thrown back as he moves to the music, and you turn your eyes away, embarrassed.

It seems intimate in a way that makes you feel a pang of envy. You’d had flirtations here and there, even a few flings at college (which you pray your father would never catch wind of), but here? In public, in front of everyone?

You try to tell yourself the heat in your stomach is from embarrassment instead of arousal.

When you look over, Bambam is looking over at you with a sly grin. He juggles the liquor bottles.

“You wanna try it?”

You gasp out loud and hope he can’t hear you over the music.

“The dancing,” he explains, all but yelling over the beat.

“Oh!” You exclaim, and his sly grin widens.

“What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing! Nothing!” You insist, and finally find somewhere to put down your cargo on a large table next to the wall, just to have something to do rather than be embarrassed.

Bambam shrugs and moves to do the same, and you’re just standing there, looking around at everyone and how free and happy they look, so different than the way they look during performances and during instructions.

Bambam is about to say something to you, leaned in toward your ear, when Jimmy walks up to the table, and you freeze like a deer in headlights.

“Hey baby,” he says in this low but melodic tone, and you have this weird sense like you always do when someone calls you that, as if they know you somehow, know you’re the baby and daddy’s little girl and are somehow judging you for it.

To be fair, Jimmy looks like he’s judging everyone, even when he’s pasted on a smile during a rumba class or smirking during a resort wide performance. You’re not sure if it’s confidence, arrogance, or anger, but you have to admit it’s a little attractive, the way his dark eyes flash when you put out your hand for him to take.

He doesn’t just lead you out onto the dance floor, he tugs at your arm, pulls you close to his chest, looks down at you as if you’re lovers and you suppose the way the others dance, that’s just how this goes, that’s how the dance goes, but when he slides his thigh between yours you can’t help but gasp.

He laughs right at the shell of your ear and it makes goosebumps pop up on the flesh between your neck and shoulder.

“You gotta move your hips, baby. Nobody likes a dead fish.”

It takes a few moments and more of your face feeling hot but you manage to get a rhythm and it’s hotter in here than you’d expected, sweat rolling from the fine hairs at your temples to your neck, his hands on your hips and his eyes on yours and it’s intense, makes you wonder if this is what you’ve been missing out on when you refuse to go with your sister to the staff parties that she’s been trying to drag you to the whole resort stay.

His face is so close you can see the sweat on his brow, the way his full lips are parted, leaning closer and closer in and you could swear he is going to kiss you, you even tilt your chin up, part your own lips, close your eyes.

Then he spins you, instead, and you feel dizzy, open your eyes, and see him striding off toward the back of the building.

You huff out a long breath, torn between storming out into the cool night air or following him, deeper into the humid building, like descending into hell if you were to believe the way your father’s pastor preaches at your hometown church.

You look back at the open door, the breeze cooling the sweat on your body and making you shiver, before you follow him, weaving between the people on the crowded dance floor with murmured apologies.

You follow him all the way out into the night, just on the other side, and you feel a little stupid for your dramatic thinking earlier, watching him exhale smoke from his nose, leaned against he back of the barn.

He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t make any indication that he knows you’re there.

“Jimmy?” You call, and you’d meant to be flirty, aggressive even, but it comes out small in the cold air.

He scoffs, takes another drag from his cigarette, glances over at you.

“What, you gonna pay for a lesson? Bet you didn’t bring daddy’s wallet with you when you followed Bam.”

“I-I didn’t-I don’t,”

He smiles then, not as much of a smirk, and it softens his face.

“Don’t worry, baby. I'm only teasing. I’m not gonna tell your daddy you’re out here slumming it.”

“I’m not-” your voice raises and he turns his head to face you, one eyebrow raised, and you lower your tone. “I’m not slumming it.”

He shrugs lazily, offers you a drag of his cigarette and you don’t smoke but you place your lips around the end anyway, wonder if you can taste his mouth on it, inhale and manage not to cough.

“Jimmy-” you continue, and he rolls his eyes and your heart races, feeling like you’d said something stupid, and maybe you have because he flicks his cigarette into the night, turns, bracing himself against the wall and when he’s closer you wonder if he’s drunk, you can smell some type of acrid liquor and the leather of his jacket.

“My name is Jimin,” he says, and there’s no slur at all around his words so maybe you’re wrong about that last part.

“Jimin,” you repeat, the name rolling around your mouth, feeling thick on your tongue like the red wine you sip at your father’s dinner parties. You find yourself tilting your chin up again as he nods sharply and your eyes keep flickering between the sharp line of his jaw and his full mouth.

“I know your kind,” he continues, and you haven’t even partaken in any of the liberally spiked punch at the party but you’re the one who feels drunk, your head light on your shoulders.

“My...kind?”

Jimin does that sharp nod again, shifts his body so that he’s standing in front of you now and your shoulders brush the back wall of the barn.

“Mmhm. Come out here on Saturday nights to see what all the fuss is about, you college girls with fur lining your purses, I swear to God I could taste the silver spoon in your mouth if I kissed you,” he breathes, his words rude and harsh but you don’t move, don’t push him away, can’t stop staring up at the flash in his eyes.

That’s what they’ve been missing, you think. That’s what all those college boys you’ve let put their hands up your skirt, grab your tit too hard in the backseat of their muscle cars, even let them fuck you over the hood of said muscle cars, hoping for some kind of thrill because it’s wrong and dirty but all you got was their cum seeping down your inner thigh and their murmured apologies and this ache between your legs. Because they didn’t have this, this energy you can feel in the air, the light in his eyes, something like anger and lust and yearning all wrapped into one.

It isn’t even for you, not really, you’re not dumb enough to believe that, but god, is it something.

“You could test that theory,” you mumble, sure that your words sound slurred, leaning into him, and his chuckle is bitter but it still sends a hint of a shiver down your spine. He traces his finger under your chin, the corners of that full mouth turning up.

“What makes you think I want to, baby?”

You’re cute, he supposes, in that way that all little rich girls are cute, with your bouncy ponytail that you almost always wear, your conservative dresses. After he’d left you outside with just the smoke from his rolled cigarette hanging in the air, he prided himself in not giving in.

He’s positive he could have fucked you, could have coaxed you to his room with a few short words, but he knows from the rest of the dance team (especially from Bambam, who’d bagged his fair share of the rich daughters of CEOs, bank owners, lawyers, doctors, and the like from the resort, considered himself a bit of an expert in the matter), that taking one of those types to your bed leads to nothing but drama.

Drama wasn’t something Jimin needed, especially since all the odds were already stacked against him in this job (in life, really, but who’s counting?) Jimin wouldn’t consider himself a bitter person, in fact throughout his childhood and most of his adolescence, he’d been positive, optimistic, always smiling. He’d gotten stellar grades, always did what his parents wanted, had even planned to work on law school after graduation. The one class he took was mind numbingly boring, and he had no aptitude for debating. He’d been naïve, foolishly thought that his father would support whatever he wanted to do, and since he felt most alive when he was with his friends, dancing, making their own choreography, he’d approached his father with an application to Julliard.

Needless to say, Jimin became less naïve day by day, after that. It was gradual, his fall from grace, as some people might say. He thought of it more as growing up, as becoming more who he should be - and if that was a bitter asshole who manipulated rich older women into his bed for extra funds, so be it.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t feel shame about it sometimes, or even guilt, especially like with Mrs. Jensen, nearing fifty but with the most beautiful green eyes and the way she called him “Jiminie,” had insisted on learning his real name, traced the line of his spine in bed before he got up to dress and murmured how he was the most beautiful boy.

“If I were twenty years younger, Jiminie. Hell, I were only ten years younger,” she’d mourn, those green eyes almost liquid, and he’d smile and tell her she didn’t look a day over thirty and she’d scoff but she’d also smile, and when she smiles sometimes Jimin thinks that if he isn’t careful, age gap or no, he might just fall in love.

In the end, though, he felt okay about what he did, it was a means to an end, and if he judged the denizens of the resort too harshly, that’s because they could take it, no skin off their teeth with their millions of dollars in the bank. They could dry their tears with hundred dollar bills.

It isn’t until daylight the next morning, when Jimin wakes up slightly hungover and chugs a glass of water, when there’s this flash of your face in his head, tilted up to his, this almost hungry look in your eyes.

He’d like to say he’d seen that look before, but he hasn’t. Not quite in the same way.

Jimin doesn’t want to think about it long, and for a while he’s able to distract himself with his morning workout and then rehearsal, but for the first time in several summers, he misses a couple of steps and Sunmi looks at him from the corner of her eye with a sly smile.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and she laughs and does a little piourette.

Jimin thinks later maybe she was hungover too, or had taken too many of those codeine pills she claimed were for her periods, but she loses her balance and goes down, too quick for Jimin to catch her, off the stage, her foot caught under her body.

She cries out but then bites her lip, hard, knowing that the supervisor was just around the corner, gorging himself on snacks and champagne while they all worked for hours to get the steps just right.

Jimin tries not to show it, but he knows as soon as he hops off the stage that Sunmi’s ankle is broken, and badly. It’s already swollen, already turning a bit purple, a bit of bone poking through, a streak of blood down her foot.

“Fuck,” Sunmi says in a pained whisper, eyes liquid when she looks up at him. “Jiminie, what am I gonna do?”

Jimin knows she doesn’t mean the ankle. He knows she means the next rehearsal and the next, the big dance they’ll be doing at a nearby resort, representing the dance troupe and the hotel. He knows she means her whole fucking life because if she loses this she can’t pay for Julliard.

“We’ll figure it out, jagiya,” he says softly, lifting her into his arms. Sunmi buries her face in his chest and Jimin makes hand signals at a wide eyed Bambam to distract the supervisor while Jimin carries her back to the barracks.

There’s nothing but nervous energy throughout your body the rest of the week, as you sit through your father gorging himself on shrimp, your mother chugging champagne, your sister flirting with the staff members at the buffet. You’re barely able to make conversation, not that anyone notices. You’re used to being ignored, as the baby of the family. All you can think of is the dance instructor’s full lips inches from yours, his finger trailing up your throat before he’s just gone and you’re all but swooning with the smell of him around you like a haze.

You’d seen him a few times that week, watching from far away as he twirled a few women around the dance floor, once at a resort performance, right in front and center, seen the way his nose wrinkled when they introduced him as “Jimmy Park.” He hadn’t given you a second glance, and while it stung, you weren’t one to give up easily, not after how you’d felt when he’d looked at you, really seen you.

You’re sneaking out of the resort room when it’s barely ten pm on the last Sunday, unable to wait any longer and shimmying out the back window just as you had the other night. You manage to remember the way to the barn, and even if you didn’t you can practically feel the music booming under your feet, the faint sound drawing you closer.

Your heart rate increases as you get closer and you stand near the edge of the building, a wallflower as always, but your eyes are searching the floor. You don’t see him anywhere, and after a few moments you’re sure your lip is turning into a pout. You do spot Bambam, your ambassador from the other night, and you figure he might know something about Jimin’s whereabouts.

Bambam goes uncharacteristically quiet when you bring up Jimin’s name, though, face blanching slightly.

You look at him curiously. “Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “No. Fine, everything’s fine.”

“Bambam?”

He won’t look at you, rocking back and forth on his heels, and then he freezes. “Hey. Baby.”

“Hmm?” You’re distracted, looking around at the crowd in hopes that Jimin will show.

“Didn’t you say your father was a doctor?”

It’s a whirlwind after that, your brief panic wondering what might be wrong, the internal struggle to know if you should wake up your father or not, knowing he’ll ask what you’ve been doing out and about, waking your father and having Bambam lead you both to the dancer’s barracks, where you see Jimin sitting on the coffee table, getting up when Bambam bursts in with your father, who is carrying his doctor’s bag.

“What the fuck-” he hisses in a low voice, looking right at Bambam and not even acknowledging you.

Your father, for his part, rushes to the couch, where Sunmi is bundled in blankets but still shivering, sweat on her brow, and when your father yanks back the blanket you gasp because her right foot is dark purple and swollen.

For the first time, Jimin looks at you, and there’s nothing but dark fury in her eyes. “Get her out of here,” he demands, and Bambam’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.

“Jimin-” you start, and he scoffs, turns away from you, toward your father, thanking him for coming and explaining what happened, ignoring you as if you were never there at all.

You wait anxiously in the living quarters, and you wince when you hear Sunmi cry out as your father works on her ankle. It takes hours, and while you wait, Bambam explains what happened and you just cock your head, confused.

“Why didn’t she just see a doctor?”

Bambam frowns, but before he can answer Jimin is stalking into the room.

“Yeah, why didn’t she just see a doctor?” Jimin mocks, staring at you with glittering eyes. “It’s that easy, princess?”

You don’t know how to answer, your face feeling hot, and you want to look away but you can’t. “Explain it to me.”

Jimin laughs, bitter and low. “You’d never understand, Baby. We can’t all call daddy and have him throw money at the situation.”

“Jimin, she brought him here to help us, we should be kind-” Bambam protests, and Jimin waves a hand at him.

Jimin turns to you, takes your hand and even though his eyes are still glittering with anger, your breath catches in your throat at his touch.

You’re perched on the arm of a chair and he leans down slightly, brushes his lips just barely over the back of your hand, all the while looking into your eyes.

“Thank you, princess, for deigning to help us peasants,” he says, voice low and charming and absolutely dripping with venom.

Anger rises in your chest, tightening in your throat but you stay quiet, jerking your hand from his and looking away.

Your father tersely gives instructions to Jimin after both Sunmi and Jimin refuse a hospital, and Jimin nods, but you see his face fall when he says something about how she is not to bear weight on her ankle for six weeks at least.

Your father is escorting you out with a blank expression but you’re looking back at Jimin and he’s watching you with those dark, glittering eyes.

It’s only a few days before your father has to go back and visit Sunmi, and he’s barely spoken a word to you, angry that you hadn’t told him about your friendships with the staff, you suppose. You can’t bring yourself to care, you’re an adult and even if he’s paying your tuition, he doesn’t have the right to tell you with whom to spend your time.

You insist on going with him to check on Sunmi, and you do sit with her for a few moments before you hear Jimin and Bambam arguing.

“Can’t someone else do it?”

You know Jimin’s scoff well by now, it seems like that’s what he’d been doing most of the few weeks you’d known him.

“No, Bam, someone else can’t do it! No one else knows the routine, it’s a special stage for Sunmi and me. Maria’s on maternity leave and Sooyoung can’t learn it in two weeks on top of the final rehearsals for the final show.”

“Do what?” You ask softly, standing in the doorway and shutting Sunmi’s door behind you.

“Can’t go a week without princess butting her head in,” Jimin mutters, and you huff out a breath.

“It’s a special dance stage,” Bambam explains. “Sunmi is expected there and so far she’s been able to get out of rehearsals but if the performance doesn’t happen, the supervisor…” he trails off, and you fill in the gaps.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Can’t fix this with daddy’s money,” Jimin snaps.

“I wasn’t trying to-” you cry out, and then lower your voice. “I wasn’t trying to fix it, I just...I wanted to help.”

Jimin laughs. “Help? How? You shivered when I so much as brushed my hand across your hip when we danced.”

Bambam raises an eyebrow at that and you keep trying to fight down anger.

“I could...I could learn,” you insist.

“You are a dance instructor,” Bambam reminds him helpfully, and although Jimin is still incredulous, that's how it happens.

That’s how you start to spend three days a week at Jimin’s small bedroom, learning the steps to the most complicated dance you’d ever heard of. That’s how you start to fall in love with him.

I wanna know, oh

This is stupid, he thinks, over and over. This is so fucking stupid and it isn’t going to work and I’ll fail and Sunmi will be fired. Hell, I might be fired.

You keep stumbling in the heels you’d be required to wear for the dance and you’re taller than Sunmi so that throws off the whole performance and you only have just a touch of rhythm and you have an attitude and the list goes on and on.

The two of you are two weeks into rehearsals when it all comes to a head. You’d huffed out a long breath or given him a withering stare before, when he’d snapped at you or corrected your steps roughly, but usually you let it go.

There’s not enough room in his tiny space, and it’s not like the two of you were exactly friends, so it’s tense, for the most part.

One day, at the last rehearsal of the week, he spins you and you miss a step, stomp down on the top of his foot with your heel and he cries out and curses.

“This is never going to work,” he mutters when you try to help and you let out an annoyed almost growl that, in other circumstances, he might find kind of cute.

“You could give me a little goddamn credit, you know!” You yell, and he stops rubbing his foot and looks up at you.

Maybe he’d been a little dramatic, it didn’t hurt as much as he’d put on, but if that happened during the performance….

“Credit for what?” He bursts out.

You put your hands on your hips and you’re wearing this barely there white croptop and a flowing skirt and (not for the first time), he notices the swell of your hip, the outline of your breast.

“For one, bringing my father to help Sunmi-”

Jimin barks out a laugh at this, his eyes returning to your face. “Takes a real saint to call daddy-”

“Second,” you continue firmly, voice raising over his, “for working three days a week for hours to try and help you and your girlfriend keep your jobs!”

He opens his mouth to correct you but your voice keeps rising, your eyes full of fury.

“And last of all but most importantly, putting up with your constant bullshit! I can’t do anything good enough for you and I really just want to punch you and leave.”

Jimin pauses, stands up straight and looks at you for a moment. As much as he hates this situation he can’t let you quit. He needs you, more importantly Sunmi needs you, and he’ll never forgive himself if he fucks things up for his best friend because he can’t control his temper.

“Do it, then.”

Your eyes widen. “Do what?”

Jimin pats the middle of his chest. “Hit me, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You look at him incredulously.

He smirks at you, makes a little come hither gesture with his hands. “C’mon, princess. You scared?”

There it is, that flash in your eyes that he’s come to know well even during such a short time, and it makes the hair on the nape of his neck stand up.

You punch him, just at his diaphragm, weakly, and he laughs.

“C’mon, Baby. You can do better than that.”

He takes a step closer and you just keep looking at him, your canine piercing your bottom lip, still breathing hard from the rehearsal.

He can’t deny it makes his dick twitch in his sweats, the fire in your eyes, the way he can see the outline of your erect nipples through that croptop.

He leans down closer to your face. “Still wonder if I could taste that silver spoon on your tongue,” he whispers, and then you slap him across the face, hard, making him stumble back with a laugh.

He nods, and you start to gasp out apologies but he holds up a hand.

“Let’s get out of here.”

It’s been hot all week, and there’s on and off summer showers that come from nowhere. The thunder rumbles as you reach the parking lot and Jimin’s car, a clean but beat up Mustang.

You dance around a bit as Jimin reaches into the pocket of his sweats for his keys but he curses instead. When you look in the window, cupping your hands, you see the keys in the ignition.

You sigh and stand up to tell Jimin but he’s removing his leather jacket and wrapping it around his fist as you watch, open mouthed.

He busts the back quarter window as if he’s reading the newspaper and unlocks the door, leaning over to pop your lock before cranking it up.

You stand there for a moment, shocked and oddly aroused.

“You coming?” He asks, looking up at you from the driver’s seat, and you scramble inside.

“You’re crazy,” you mumble as he pulls off at a speed that should have scared you but instead filled you with exhilaration.

He looks over at you, as if confused. “What?”

“I said you’re fucking crazy!” You yell, laughing, and he starts to laugh too and you’ve never heard him like that, open and loud instead of derisive and bitter and there’s rain pouring into the back window but he doesn’t care and you can’t imagine ever feeling that free.

You have that feeling again, the one you’d had standing outside the barn with him, that energy like he’s wanting and hungry all the time and just like then, you want more.

You push that out of your head, though, he’s made it clear where his thoughts lie, and that’s with Sunmi. That’s the whole reason you’re doing this, to help her, help them. It’s certainly not because you just want to be near him, because even when he’s angry at you the way you feel with him makes you feel like you never have before, not because you want to memorize the bow of his lips, the line of his jaw, how his eyes crinkle up at the corners when he smiles.

“Where are we?” You finally ask when he’s pulled off into a clearing in the woods.

“You’ll see.” He grabs your hand and tugs you behind him and your heart skips a beat.

You end up practicing at the river for hours, and you ask questions and he answers them, about his family, how he started dancing, Juilliard and why he’s doing this job.

You’re not surprised that he wants more, he’s too good for this place and you can see it, even though you’re no expert.

He talks a lot more than he ever has, tells you so much about himself and you have fun, laughing and talking with him, he’s barely teaching you anything at all.

Finally, he’s sitting on a high log, swinging his legs and looking down at you as you sit on the shore.

“We haven’t practiced the lift because it’s best to practice in the water,” he says, and that’s how you end up waist deep with his eyes on yours and his hands on your hips.

“Ready?” He asks, quietly, as if there isn’t only the woods and the river and the birds to hear him.

You nod, your mouth dry, but then his hands slip up to your waist and you’re not sure you’re ready at all. Of course he’s touched you during rehearsals, here and there, but not like this, not this close.

“Jump,” he commands, and you do, think you’d have done anything he told you, but he lifts you up effortlessly and you try not to stare down at him as your heels lift off the riverbed, try to look ahead like he’s taught you but it’s impossible and when he lifts you over his head, telling you to hold the position, you go straight into the water, coming up sputtering.

He laughs, pulls you close, and does it again, and this time it works, this time you hold it and he slowly lowers you back down.

Your body slides down his, your nipples brushing his chest, his breath on your throat, and surely this is too close, surely you won’t be doing this on stage in front of people.

“Baby,” he murmurs, close to your ear, like it’s your name, and you shake your head.

“Call me Y/n.”

He says your name and you watch how his lips shape it before you tilt your chin to kiss him, pressing your mouth to his without thought, your lips parted.

His tongue in your mouth is hot, hungry just like you knew it would be, and your arms tighten around his neck. You hear the water moving and gasp into his mouth when you feel his hand slide up your thigh, under your skirt, sliding along the river water soaked crotch of your panties.

“Jimin,” you moan into his mouth, and he just kisses you harder, presses his hand harder against your cunt and you want more more more.

You’d imagined it, late at night, sore and exhausted from rehearsing and you could feel his hand on your hip as he’d turned you, slid your hands down your body imagining they were his, but this is so different, so much better than you’d ever dared to dream.

Suddenly, he pulls away from you, and you whine.

“We should...we should get back,” he says, voice slightly hoarse, and he wades back to shore while you’re left wanting and aching.

would you be my girl?

You’re quiet in the car, your head spinning, and he doesn’t say a single word until he pulls back up.

“Want me to walk you back to the resort?” He asks quietly as he turns off the car.

You blink at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He doesn’t look at you, his eyes down in his lap, and you open the door and slam it when you get out.

Jimin knows he should stay put. He should stay put for so many reasons. It’s too much drama, you’re a guest of the resort, you’re a little rich girl with daddy’s money, you deserve better.

But he sees your shoulders shaking and he can’t help himself from getting out, rubbing your shoulders as he leads you inside. You’re shivering now, it’s after sundown and you’re soaking wet.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on your shoulder. “I’ll get you some tea and some warm clothes.”

He turns to go and heat the kettle but you grab his wrist, tug him back.

“Nobody makes me feel the way you do,” you say in a quiet and shaking voice. “Even when we argue I-”

“Baby. Y/n. Don’t,” he pleads. He feels like he’s right on the edge of something, like he’d fall over with just a single push from you.

All these things are flashing through his head, moments where he’d let himself notice how he felt when you’d do this little growl in frustration when you missed a step, the way your mouth turned down at the corners when you were focused, how you set your jaw when he said something to make you angry. After just a few weeks he’s all but memorized the lines of your body and he’d blamed it on being focused on the performance but he knows somewhere that it’s something else, that you mean something else to him.

“Why?” You ask, sounding almost pained and he can’t stop looking into your eyes and he can’t speak either so he kisses you first this time, one hand at the nape of your neck to pull you close.

We aren’t from the same world, he should say. It won’t work and I’ll break your heart or you’ll break mine and I don’t know if I can take it.

He should say so many things but instead he says nothing at all, just kisses you and kisses you until you jump just like you did in the water, wrap your legs around his waist this time instead and he carries you to his bed, peels off your soaked clothes while you keep kissing him in between, his mouth, his throat, his chin, and it makes him laugh.

You’re bare beneath him and he doesn’t even realize that he still has his wet clothes on until he slides over you to kiss you again and you hiss.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and smiles at you and you blink, have this expression he can’t quite pinpoint. “I’m usually better at this,” he finishes after pulling off his tshirt, and you open your thighs with this slow smile.

“We’ve got time.”

His breath hitches in his throat because that’s probably not true, after tonight you’ll probably avert your eyes when he looks at you in public, come to him late at night like all the others.

Instead of saying that, he curses under his breath and looks down at you, slips his fingers through your slick, sliding two fingers inside you as you arch your back.

You’re so wet already and he’s barely touched you and it makes him groan.

“Look at you. Such a pretty baby,” he praises, moving his fingers because he loves the way your face goes slack, your mouth parted as you writhe against his hand.

“God,” you whimper, voice a little slurred. “Please.”

Jimin feels like he might burst before he even gets out of his sweats, wants to make you come before he does but you lock your legs around his waist, surprising him and he falls forward, catching himself on his palms.

Before he can catch his bearings you drag your tongue along his throat and he groans.

“Baby, you’re full of surprises.”

You smile against his mouth and push down his sweats with your feet and it makes him laugh again, he’s found himself biting back smiles so often with you that it feels good to let it out.

Then his cock is sliding against you and you’re so hot and wet that he bites down on your lip. You cry out softly and rock your hips against his, panting out his name and then he can’t do anything else but slide inside you, burying his face against your throat.

He thinks, too late, that he should have flipped you over, focused on your ass and the line of you spine instead of like this, looking down into your face and the way your eyes focus on his. He knows better, but you’re rolling your hips up to meet his and biting your lip and you keep moaning his name and he can’t stop now.

Your nails rake down his back and he leans up to fuck you harder, hoping to focus on your breasts bouncing instead of how pretty you look beneath him.

“Baby,” he breathes. “I’m gonna-”

He doesn’t get to finish because you’re making the prettiest sounds, moving your head from side to side and your cunt clenches around him like a vice.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

It’s been fast and sloppy and he’s almost embarrassed when he comes inside you, but you lock your ankles around the small of his back and pull him down again.

After he’s made that tea he promised earlier and you’re sitting crosslegged on his twin bed, facing him, you call his name softly.

“Hmm?” He asks, distracted by how you look now, your hair mussed, skin slightly flushed.

“Does my mouth taste like silver?”

He frowns until it hits him, what he’d said to you that first night, and then he’s laughing again and tackling you to plant kisses along the side of your face.

Jimin is gone when you wake up, leaving you a note to lock up. No heart drawn there, not even his full name, just a -J at the end. You assume he must feel guilty about Sunmi, assume maybe he never meant for things to go too far and now here you are, heartbroken, and you still have to keep your promises and finish rehearsals and this dance with him.

You stay in your room at the resort for two days, until your scheduled next rehearsal with Jimin, and you feel like you’ve cried enough that when you see him, it’ll be easier.

You walk into the studio already dressed in your leotard and shorts, and he’s standing at the record player and even the set of his shoulders looks stiff, and it makes your heart ache.

You don’t speak, just start taking off your sneakers to put on the heels that you have to practice in, and it’s Jimin who says your name, softly.

Your real name, not Baby, not sweetheart, and it seems like all the tears you’ve cried the last two days are stuck in your throat.

You take a deep breath before looking up and the words come out before you know what you’re saying.

“I know you’re going to tell me that it was a mistake. I know you’re going to tell me you love Sunmi and I understand. Let’s just not, okay? Let’s just not talk about it because I’m embarrassed and I’m sad and I feel stupid-”

Jimin sits on the floor with you, moves close and presses his forehead to yours.

“I don’t love Sunmi. I mean...I’m not in love with her.”

Your heart does a backflip. “But I’m a mistake.”

Jimin lets out a heavy sigh, shakes his head softly, looking into your eyes.

“Jimin,” you whisper, and then he kisses you and you forgot what you were going to say.

There’s two weeks until the performance and you spend all of those days irrevocably in love with Park Jimin.

“Why do you stay?” You ask him one night while you’re lying with your head on his chest after he’d bent you over the arm of the recliner in his room, rough, and you love it but you know he’s angry because they wouldn’t let him change the choreography of the final dance, wouldn’t let him do anything but teach old ladies the foxtrot.

He’s been stroking his fingers along your spine and you wonder if that was a stupid question when he freezes just for a moment.

“It’s not like it’s easy, Baby,” he says, simply.

“It should be,” you insist, and you press a kiss between his pecs, knowing it isn’t something you can understand.

You know you’re privileged, know that your father would flip his lid if he knew you were getting fucked by the dance instructor four nights a week and most days too, because your father didn’t think he could provide for you. You’re sure that if he found out, your father would disown you and you’d lose your tuition money and your apartment back home.

So when you and Jimin are walking back to the resort from the studio, holding hands and laughing and you catch sight of your father in a golf cart, you gasp, tug Jimin’s hand to hide behind a nearby building.

Jimin lets you lead him there, doesn’t protest, but his face is like stone when your father passes and you can relax.

“Jimin-” you start.

“Tell me again how it should be easy, Baby,” he says, his voice like ice, and when you try to take his hand he pulls away.

You make up, eventually, it only takes a day before Jimin gives in to your apologies, the kisses you plant along his shoulders while he’s trying to stretch before practice, but in the end, he’s right.

It’s not easy at all.

just a fool to believe

Jimin knew this thing with you wouldn’t last forever. In fact, he’d been preparing for the performance to be the last night, the last time he’d see you look at him like that. He starts to dread it, starts to stay awake later at night to watch you sleep so that he’d have more memories of your face pressed against his pillow.

He’s always known you’ll leave him, whether it’s in the middle of the night because you realize you can’t let your father find out, after the performance when you’ve done what you’ve said you would, or at the end of the summer, when you’d return home to your college and your friends. Hell, maybe even a boyfriend. He tried not to entertain that, it made his throat feel tight to wonder if you have some Ivy League jerk with a letter jacket waiting for you, but it’s crossed his mind.

He knows he’s not good enough for you, knows that if his own bosses can’t even use his real name to introduce him he’ll never have someone like you, not long term, anyway. He’s used to being someone’s dirty little secret, with this job.

He’s always thought that you’d leave him, but in the end he has to leave you.

You’re full of nerves, counting down the days to the performance, and it’s only three days away when Sunmi comes up to you, sweating on her crutches, and your eyes widen. She’d barely left her room, knows that if the supervisors find out it’s her foot instead of an illness like your father had told them, she’ll be cut from the team.

“Sumni, what-”

“Jimin’s gone,” she bursts out.

“No. No he’s not gone,” you say confidently, but you can feel your heartbeat in your ears.

Sunmi is near tears and she nods her head sadly. “He’s gone, they fucking fired him!” Her voice breaks and you put out a hand to steady her. It feels like you’re moving underwater.

“He wouldn’t leave without...without telling me,” you say, less confident with every word.

Why wouldn’t he? Why would he come to you, a summer fling, someone he doesn’t even know that well?

Because he loves me, you think. But does he? He hasn’t said it. He hasn’t made you any promises.

“What about the performance?” You ask, feeling like you’re floating farther away from her as you speak.

“They replaced him,” she chokes out, crying openly now, and you hug her, comfort her so that you don’t break down yourself.

You find out from Bambam why, and it’s all your fault. Apparently one of Jimin’s so called students had caught you and Jimin in the studio, seen you through the window and in a bout of jealousy reported him for “cavorting with a guest.” It was against the resort’s rules, even though Bambam says all of them had done it, at least once and usually more.

It doesn’t matter. Jimin had been caught and he’d lost his job and probably his tuition and it was all your fault. You’re like a zombie the last three days, your mother asks if you’re okay and your father keeps ignoring you, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You can’t care about anything. You don’t have any idea where he lives, you can’t even write to him, and you lie in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about how he joked that your mouth must taste like the silver spoon you were born with and how it used to make you laugh.

The night of the performance, your mother demands that you go, dresses you in this stupid pink dress you’ve never liked and rolls your hair, and you’re picking at your food when they announce that the performance is about to start. You’re sitting in the corner, against the wall, hanging your head.

Tears are welling in your eyes as you hear the familiar opening bars, but then there’s a loud feedback sound as someone kills the microphone and you look up, startled.

Jimin is standing at your family’s table, wearing a white tshirt and jeans, a leather jacket, similar to the outfit you’d first seen him in, and you wonder for a moment if you’re dreaming.

Then he says your name. Your real name, not Baby, not sweetheart, and you blink up at him, shocked.

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” he says with a smirk, and takes your hand to pull you up.

this could be love

You don’t leave him after the final dance, like he’d thought, but he was right that it wasn’t easy. Nothing worth it ever was, he supposes. You run away with him, live in his tiny college dorm on his twin bed, and he still doesn’t think he deserves you.

You still apologize for getting him fired from that shitty job and he still cops an attitude and tells you that you’re spoiled sometimes but it ends in hot and hungry kisses or an impromptu dance session around his record player.

It isn’t easy but he wants it, and so do you, and he hopes that in the end, that’s all you need.

#park jimin x reader #jimin x reader #bts imagine #pjm x reader #bangtanheadquarters #btscreatorsclub #noonasinnetwork #bts commissions

229 notes · View notes

duskamethyst · 3 years

Text

not a bad thing.

a/n: we often see fics involving cats turning into a human hybrid but i wanted to switch it up. i wasn’t sure if i wanted to make him full on quadrupedal or just half human-cat. spoiler: i chose the latter.

word count: 2.8k

genre: fluff

warnings: n/a

pairing: catboy!shinsou x gn!reader

summary: shinsou is infested by a quirk that turns him into a cat. how is he going to turn back?

you and shinsou are on patrol before suddenly alerted that there is a robbery from the jewelry shop nearby. the both of you quickly get into offensive mode and spot the running criminal, one that you’ve never seen or known of– probably making their debut tonight. they have the physique of a human but the head of a cat. none of you have any idea of what their quirk is but judging from their figure, you probably have the gist of it.

“okay, they’re running into an alley!” you inform shinsou who’s running right behind you. “i’ll try to get them from the back while you try to distract them.”

“hey, wait–” he calls but you already left him when you turn to the other side of the building to execute your plan.

you stalk the criminal behind the wall who’s running towards your direction before jumping in front of them and startling them. your quirk allows the ground to turn into clay and objects to molt into shapes you desire with a touch. the ground between you melted once you activated your quirk, but the offender is quick to stop and turn around and face shinsou instead.

“we got you cornered. please don’t resist.” shinsou says, activating his quirk at the same time. realizing that they have no other options, they sprint forwards into shinsou’s direction to make a break for it. shinsou swiftly uses his scarf to grab a hold on them but unfortunately, they’re so much quicker and are able to smoothly avoid the restraints– thanks to their feline capabilities and senses.

“shinsou!” the culprit is closing in and before shinsou can defend himself, he’s met with nothing but a soft peck on his lips. the both of you are surprised and they easily take the opportunity to escape and disappear from your sights.

“are you–” concerned, you run up to him who is still baffled and wiping his lips with his sleeve.

“fine,” he grunts. “but they got away. hopefully the police are notified by now.”

“i’m sorry, it’s my fault. i didn’t think it through.” you sigh defeatedly. “but hey, at least someone got a kiss!” you joke, eliciting an eye roll from the male.

“shut up, it’s not funny. what am i gonna write in our report? ‘got kissed by a villain’? goddamn it.”

you laugh, “it sounds romantic, though.”

a loud banging on your door suddenly interrupts you from your sleep. you glance sleepily at the clock from your bedside table– 2:24 a.m. maybe turning on sleep mode wasn’t a good idea.

you look through the peephole and open the door to a very distressed shinsou in his hoodie.

“what’s going on?” you move to the side to let him stomp in before closing the door behind you. it has only been a few hours since the incident earlier. he stays silent as he stands in the middle of the room and it kind of starts to make you feel worried. “shinsou?”

he turns around with a glare and he sighs to recollect himself, “promise me you won’t laugh.”

you blink at him once, twice. “i was in the middle of my sleep, i don’t think i’m in the mood for a joke right now.”

“promise me.”

“okay, okay. i promise!”

once he gets your word on it, he slowly pulls the hoodie down from his head– and you can’t believe what you’re seeing; shinsou now has cat ears!

“what– what’s that?!” your hand finds its way to your mouth as you try to hold in your laughter. is this a joke? was he forced to do this?

“you promised–” he pulls back the hoodie on his head to hide his new ears that hold the same shade as his hair.

“i know! but– but it’s a good look on you! you look so cute!” you start giggling and walk up to him. “oh my god, can i touch it?”

“what?! no!” shinsou steps back, protecting his new ears with his hands.

“oh, come on! you trust me with this, right? i bet i’m the first person you looked for!”

“y-yeah, but–” he stammers, “but that’s only because you were with me! i bet it was their quirk that made me like this!”

you manage to corner him to a wall and you quickly take off his hoodie to reveal his ears again that are pushing backwards as some sort of sign of defense.

“i promise i’ll be gentle.” you coax, hands already reaching up to his ears before he could answer. you scratch behind his ears like you normally do with cats and he slowly relaxes to your touch.

before he feels like he’s about to purr and humiliate himself, shinsou smacks your hand away, “cut it out.”

“why? i thought cats like that?”

“and i’m not a cat.” he looks away to hide his face, feeling like his cheeks are turning warm. “anyways, i don’t know what else it’s gonna do nor how long.”

“but we gotta tell the hero’s commission about this. i don’t know if you wanna stay over or something but i really wanna see what’ll happen tomorrow.”

“so you can laugh at me even more? when my tail shows up?” he snorts.

“pshh, no.” shinsou squints at you for a moment before you groan defeatedly, “okay, maybe?”

he rolls his eyes, “don’t mind me then.”

if your sleep last night was disturbed by knockings from the door, this morning you’re woken up by a frantic shout of your name from the living room. you quickly get out of bed to check out what’s happening.

“shinsou– oh my god!” you squeal both in amusement and shock as you notice a fluffy indigo tail coming from shinsou’s back. shinsou, however, looks beyond unamused.

“ït’s getting worse.”

“aw, shinsou.” your lips feign a pout. “you look ador– ack!” he throws a pillow at you. “fine, i’ll report this to the commission.”

“could you, maybe...” he mutters before you turn back to your room. “leave out the details? i feel embarrassed.”

you tilt your head questioningly, “but isn’t that the most important part? to find out how to undo their quirk?”

shinsou just remains quiet, his eyes staring down onto the ground. feeling as if you don’t want to make his day any worse, you comply. maybe you can find something out by the end of the day or maybe he can only hope that the quirk won’t last much longer anymore, that there should be a time limit for it like most quirks do.

you leave the room to take a quick shower and write in your report. a couple of hours pass by and you think about cooking for your guest today. shinsou is still laying on your sofa, looking very much in despair while his fluffy tail wags up and down, making you feel nothing more than mesmerized by it.

failing to fight the urge, you quietly sneak behind him and tug on his tail. the startled male turns to you annoyingly.

“at this point i just wish claws would come out so i can put a scar on you.”

“and i will throw a bucket of water in your face.” you tease. “anyways, i’m gonna cook for both of us now. you can do whatever you like. you’re a cat anyways, i can’t really tell you what to do.” he glares at you while you stride off towards the kitchen laughing.

you call out to eat once you’ve finished cooking. nothing too special, just fried rice and stirred veggies that are enough to fill your empty stomach. you’re not going to take any complaints and you’re not the best cook either but it’s the most you could do right now.

“ack!” shinsou coughs after taking the first bite of his meal and quickly gulps down some water.

you look at him dejectedly, “hey, i know my cooking isn’t that good. don’t need to rub it in my face!”

he shakes his head, “no, it’s just– i think my taste buds aren’t working well.”

“you’re just trying to make me feel better.” you scowl playfully but shinsou only chugs his drink each time he tries to put food inside his mouth. “don’t tell me you only want to eat fish now?”

“i hope i don’t. but– meow?” realizing what slips out from his mouth so casually, he puts his hand over his mouth in shock.

“meow?” you repeat.

“shit, i– meow.”

“shinsou, are you okay?” you look at him curiously.

he shakes his head again, his cat ears pushed back. when you stand up from your seat to check on him, he quickly dashes to the corner of the room and faces the wall. you carefully walk closer to him but as you are about to put your hand on his shoulder, shinsou turns around and hisses at you– his tail slightly fluffed up.

you take a step back in wary, “oh, um, okay? i’ll get you a fish? is that what you want?”

shinsou only growls lowly, his irises narrow and tail wagging in annoyance as he watches you walk back into the kitchen to get food for him.

oh boy, this is bad. he lost his speech abilities.

thankfully, you have some raw salmon in your fridge. while you wait for it to defrost, shinsou only curls up in the corner defensively. each time you try to get closer to him, he’ll either growls or hisses at you. as much as you want to be offended (he’s close to you after all), you can’t help but think it’s rather adorable to see him like this– behaving like a cat though you can see that he still has his attitude.

you then try to sway him with the fish, gently placing down the plate in front of him before he sniffs his food and crouches down to eat it without using his hands.

“that looks... so inhumane.” you sigh. “maybe i should feed you?”

you take a slice of salmon from the plate and bring it in front of his mouth in an attempt to feed him. he looks at you warily for a brief second before sniffing it again and opening his mouth to nibble on his food.

“that’s a good boy!” you giggle, reaching to pat his head but he shies away as he chews his meal. okay, he probably needs some time.

you patiently feed him until the plate is empty and give him some water to drink. you then finish up your brunch and do the dishes while shinsou lazes around on your sofa. to your surprise, shinsou is quick to warm up to you when he sits up and scoots from his seat, giving you room to sit next to him. even more surprising when he lays his head on your lap right after that. it makes your heart throb and embarrassed at the same time.

“uh...” he looks content but you’re unsure if he’d allow you to touch him. however, you decide to try your luck and begin to gently caress his hair.

shinsou flutters his eyes open at the touch and doesn’t fight back but instead his eyes slowly shuts again as he leans into your hold. his head nuzzles against your hand as you continue to stroke his hair. you take it as a sign that he has finally loosen up and you waste no time to scratch him behind the ears. over time, you can almost hear him purring on your lap. your heart squeezes in glee at the thought that shinsou finds comfort and warmth from you.

“you’re not hard to please, huh?” you chuckle as you watch the male endearingly; maybe he should just stay like this so you won’t have to put up with his smart mouth so much. you’ve heard about how cats are able to provide humans oxytocin but currently you’re not sure if it’s because he is partially a cat or because it’s shinsou himself.

the both of you stay in the position for quite a time as you idly flip through channels on the tv screen. truth be told, shinsou is the only one that feels comfortable right now. you want to move because your legs are starting to feel numb but you feel bad if you wake or move him. fortunately, you are saved by the bell when there’s a knock on the door.

shinsou’s ears perk up as his attention is drawn towards the door.

“hold on, i think i got a package.” you stand up from the sofa and head towards the door to greet the delivery man.

shinsou watches you as you stand there and engage in little unnecessary chats while you sign on the paper. the man gets excited when he recognizes you as one of the pro heroes and somehow it drags into a long conversation before he realizes that he’s running out of time and needs to deliver his packages to the other customers. with a brief handshake, he finally leaves your doorstep and you turn towards a vigilant (half) man from your sofa.

his indigo eyes narrow down at you as you walk up to him, gaze piercing through you as you find your seat next to him again.

“what?” you look at him in unease. he shifts closer to you and scrunches his nose as he takes a sniff from you and a low growl rips from his throat as if something unpleasant just flared through his nostrils. and to shinsou, it is– the scent is still you but it’s somehow tainted now and he doesn’t appreciate it.

“hey, i already took a–”

shinsou suddenly jumps on you, his hands pushing you roughly by the shoulders as his bigger and muscular build hovers over you. your heartbeat is running a mile once your eyes are locked with his. you hung around him a lot before and there were some unintentional brush of the hands here and there, but this is probably the closest you two have been and you’re starting to feel nervous.

“shinsou? c-cut it out.” you whimper but the male doesn’t budge at all and instead his lazy eyes just continue to bore into yours.

if only you have a water quirk, you probably would spray his face by now.

once shinsou’s grip softens, you try to wriggle away. however, he leans down closer to you and stops an inch away from your face. you want to brace yourself for what’s to come but you have no idea what to expect either, but there’s an unshakeable feeling inside you that wishes to feel his soft lips on yours. you blush at the thought– you probably shouldn’t feel such way towards your colleague and especially when this is the work of the criminal’s quirk, you should keep this professional and not let your personal feelings be involved.

however, your little wish is granted.

your eyes almost go out of their sockets when shinsou gently presses his lips onto yours so tenderly. you can see that the absurd fury he had has subsided and he turns rather calm as a soft sigh escapes from him. slowly, your own eyes close as you give in to the kiss.

it feels all too quick before he pulls away and gazes at you with those half-lidded eyes. it’s a dreamy sight and you just want to pull him back but you notice that his ears are slowly disappearing.

he blinks a few times before letting reality finally hit him and realizing the compromising position the both of you are in. a tinge of pink creeps on his cheeks and he quickly pushes himself off of you.

“your ears and tail are gone!” you squeal, voice masking the dread inside you that he’s back to normal but you’re also glad that the quirk has worn off.

“thank god.” he sighs. he tries to remember the details of how he even got on top of you but nothing pops in his mind. he might have the slightest idea but he doesn’t want to believe it. the thought of it makes his ears and cheeks burn hotter. even if he did kiss you, he doesn’t want it to be like that– not when he’s under a damn quirk.

“do you remember what happened?”

“the last thing i remember is when we’re having brunch.” he murmurs, still trying to put one and one together.

“oh, boy. you should’ve seen yourself! you suddenly started acting like a–”

“listen. you are to forget what just happened.” he cuts you off immediately.

he’s so used to putting up a stoic attitude around people. he always deliberately tried to look cool especially around you and made sarcastic remarks to annoy you but that was one of his confusing ways to express his liking to you. and now the fact that he might have looked so vulnerable in front of you, it’s just too humiliating.

“but–”

maybe this time, shinsou thinks it’s okay to finally use his quirk on you.

#shinsou hitoshi #hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinso x you #shinso x reader #shinsou x you #shinsou x reader #shinsou fluff #bnha fluff #my hero academia fluff #shinsou fic #shinsou #mha fluff #r; writes #pro hero shinsou

166 notes · View notes

superhero--imagines · 3 years

Text

Etsy Store Here l Ko-Fi l Commission Info I Instagram I Zine

- So like- you guys have seen those good review videos on snapchat right?

- Where these public figures will try trendy food and rate it

- So Atsumu is there as a popular volleyball player, known for having a loud charismatic personality

- And you’re there too

- You can decide what it’s for: maybe you’re an up and coming writer promoting your book, a content creator on social media, a noteworthy chef, whatever-

- You’re both sitting side by side

- You’re Introducing yourself when Atsumu gets a whiff of you

- You smell good- you can decide what it is, maybe your perfume/cologne, or your shampoo

- Whatever it is it makes Atsumu feel like he’s drunk

- All lightheaded with a flush creeping up his neck

- It’s attraction at first sniff

- When he gets past the smell and takes a look at you, well dang you’ve kinda got a cute face huh?

- Maybe not something as flashy as the models/athletes he see’s

- It’s something gentler

- You’re still cute though

- You on the other hand-

- You look calm

- But I promise your soul has left your body and it is currently on another plane of existence SCREAMING INTO THE VOID

- You knew an athlete was going to be doing this with you

- But you didn’t think it was THE ATSUMU MIYA

- you’re a huge fan

- Would it be unprofessional to ask him to autograph something for you?

- Before either of you can mess up this feeble attraction you have (you with your fangirling and him with his bad pick up lines) they bring out the first thing you guys are trying

- “Oh, it looks like one of those grain bowls!” You say

- Atsumu nods next to you

- “I see some mixed grains-“

- “A lot of olives and tomatoes”

- “There are two dressings!” Cue Atsumu making the Pikachu meme face

- Lololol

- “I’m struggling to mix it tbh” you confess and Atsumu nods beside you

- “Oh I gotta great idea!”

- He makes a little well in the middle of his plastic bowl, puts both his dressing in there, closes the lid, and shakes it.

- While he’s shaking it, the bowl slips from his fingers and flies across the room, landing on the floor and spilling everywhere

- You both look at it, and then at the crew

- “Y’all wouldn’t happen to have another one?”

- You end up having to share yours with him

- “It’s good!” You say, but your eyebrows are threaded and your expression says otherwise

- Atsumu gives you a skeptical expression

- “I mean- it’s not bad it’s just-“

- “It’s hella bland” Atsumu finishes and you nod

- “Yeah they’re really giving us nothing here”

- “It needs some acid, y’all wouldn’t happen to have hot sauce would ya” Atsumu asks

- And to his surprise, your hand dips into your bag and you pull out a bottle of hot sauce

- You put it on your portion before offering it to him

- “So does everyone carry hot sauce in their bag now?” He asks, half teasing and you shake your head

- “Nah, just me and Beyoncé”

- Atsumu laughs

- The verdict?

- “It’s good with the hot sauce,” Atsumu says in between bites

- “It was better with the hot sauce” you nod in agreement

- “Also, that was a lot of food! I couldn’t finish my half, so I feel like it’s a really good quantity”

- You look over to Atsumu who’s polished his portion

- “Unless you’re Atsumu,” you say with a giggle

- “Unless your me,” he says with a grin

- You guys are really vibing tbh, and the crew picks up on it too

- It’s always cool when the guests are good to work with, it makes everyone happy

- The next thing they bring out is a matcha latte

- “Oooo I like that foam on top”

- Atsumu stirs his drink getting the matcha evenly in it

- “They have that lid on top to sip from, that’s how you know they charged you too much for this drink” Atsumu jokes and you laugh

- You got a cute laugh, he thinks

- A smirks curling on his lips but it promptly disappears the second he takes a sip

- “Oh that’s terrible”

- “It’s really bad”

- You’re gagging

- “I didn’t think they could make matcha this bad”

- “They literally charged y’all $15 to give ya grass in a cup with some coconut milk huh?”

- Verdict

- “No”

- “Never”

- While the crew is getting you ready for the next course you guys chat a little

- “So you guys have a game next week right?” Atsumu perks up at that

- Ah so you’re a fan?

- Well that helps his odds

- “Yeah, it’s supposed to be a tough one.”

- “I like your odds though” and it’s true you think their odds are super good, they’ve got Bokuto and Hinata after all

- Plus they’ve all got really good communication with each other

- “Well maybe ya can stop by at my next game and see the outcome for ya self”

- Atsumu’s not joking he’s being serious

- But before you can say anything it’s time to film again

- The last thing you guys try is a three-tier cake

- “It looks pretty,” you say, it’s layers of cream with a nice thick layer of strawberry in the middle

- “ ‘s not enough jam” Atsumu appraises

- “Big strawberry fan?” You ask and Atsumu shrugs

- Normally he’d say something like ‘let me take to dinner and then you can find out

- But he doesn’t wanna put you on the spot on camera so he shrugs

- “I’d rather have fruit than cake ya feel?”

- You nod

- “Fruit, nature’s candy,” you say with a very serious expression

- Atsumu laughs so hard he cries

- You both take a hesitant bite

- After all, that matcha latte looked good too

- “Bruuuuuh,” He says immediately after

- “Can we get another slice?” You ask between bites

- “Is it soaked in something?”

- “I think it’s like a cream?”

- “The cake is soaked in a cream liquor,” the crewman behind the camera tells you

- “I don’t even care that I’m not supposed to have alcohol,” Atsumu says shoving cake into his mouth

- “It’s so good!”

- Verdict

- “We ate too much, and ... it’s somehow hard to breathe?” You’re slumped back in your chair and Atsumu is in a similar state

- “It’s all that sugar” he shakes his head

- “Worth it though”

- “Oh one hundred percent”

- And that’s a wrap

- “It was really fun working with you guys!”

- The producer shakes your hand and you tell him it was a pleasure to work with him as well

- “Yeah, it’s always nice having happy couples in y’know? Always brings a good vibe to the space”

- Atsumu doesn’t miss the way you turn bright red

- “O-oh no we’re not a couple!”

- You with the great Atsumu Miya? No way

- You’d probably faint if he tried to hold your hand

- The producer gives you a confused expression

- “Oh? Well then maybe you should be”

- You don’t miss the devilish smile on their face as they walk away leaving a short-circuiting (Y/N) and A grinning Atsumu

- You turn to him, hoping to see him in a similar state

- But he’s just grinning at you

- “Well ya heard them, let’s go get some coffee to make up for that crappy one”

- You’re just blindly following him wondering if this is a prank or a dream

- “I know a place that has an actual good matcha latte, if ya like those that is”

- And you’re standing on the edge

- You could easily tell him no you don’t like matcha lattes at all, or that you have somewhere else to be

- You can just walk away

- But when you look into those bright brown eyes the words rumble right out

- “I would love that”

Bonus:

- “Hey ‘Sumu,” he shifts beside you, the arm that’s sling over your shoulder shifting slightly

- “They invited us back to the show,” you say showing him the email you got

- “That producer did say they like couples,” he says with a grin, squeezing your shoulder

- “As long as we don’t have to drink that matcha latte again”

#atsumu headcanons #haikyuu #haikyuu imagine #Atsumu Miya imagine #Atsumu Miya x reader #Atsumu Miya #Atsumu Miya headcanons #msby atsumu #Atsumu Drabble #atsumu x female reader #superhero imagines

43 notes · View notes

greatbigbellies · 3 years

Text

New commission story. This is an anonymous commission about a dysfunctional couple who wind up pregnant with sextuplets! Contains heavy multiples pregnancy, stuffing, humiliation, and discomfort.

They had been dating for three months, and living together for one, and Morgan was already at his wits end. Lilith, his girlfriend, was lovely, and sweet, and pretty, and all the things he wanted in a girl… but she was also ungodly frustrating because of one reason, and one reason only: she refused to do ANYTHING that might be considered work.

She was between jobs, hadn’t so much as taken out the trash, and still hadn’t unpacked from moving in with Morgan! Now he made good money. Morgan could support the two of them and then some, and he didn’t want a maid for a girlfriend, but what he did want was some backup. Coming home from work every day to see Lilith sitting on the couch playing videogames, with a sink full of dirty dishes, a can full of trash, and a pile of takeout containers was absolutely grating.

So finally, he hatched a plan. Something almost cartoonishly vindictive, but it had to be done, as far as Morgan was concerned. He’d ruin her. He’d knock her up, stuff her full of food, and watch her inflate like a balloon. If she wasn’t going to move, then he’d make her physically incapable of moving! Multiples ran in both of their families, so with any luck, she’d land pregnant with more than one. He also did all of the cooking. ALL of it. So sneaking fertility meds into her meals wouldn’t be too difficult either, he’d decided. And so, his campaign of corpulence began.

13 Weeks

“Nrrrrggghhh… come ON! Damnit!” Lilith swore as she attempted to button her favorite jeans. They had been holding up well through the first trimester, stretching with her skin, but that was starting to change. Of course, a lot had changed in the last 3 months… she’d found herself pregnant, with SEXTUPLETS no less, and was dealing with the ramifications poorly. She’d been stress eating a lot, something Morgan had been enabling quite a bit, and her tummy was already showing some growth. Both from food and babies, her waistline had a definite visible baby bump, and her belly button was flattened and preparing to pop.

“What’s wrong?” asked Morgan as he stepped into the room, a smile in his voice. He looked to see her wearing just jeans and a bra, fighting with the waistline of her pants. “I’m too big for my favorite pair of jeans! These have the cute patches in them!” she lamented. “Oh babe...” he trailed off, circling around to her front. He pulled something out of his pocket and knelt down. She eyed him suspiciously, not sure where he was going with this. He revealed the item to be a thin rubber band, which he stuck through the button hole and wrapped both ends around the base of the button. “Voila!” he grinned. She frowned in return. “Really? A rubber band? They’re not buttoned properly, people will judge me!” “Babe, we’re just going to the mall, it’ll be fine, now put a shirt on and do your makeup so we can get going!” he urged. “Are we going by JCPenny’s to get me a bigger wardrobe?” she asked. Morgan had turned to leave but stopped at the question. He had to think of an excuse quickly.

“Not yet…” he said. “But I’ll get my quarterly bonus soon, then we’ll go clothes shopping then!” he lied. She crossed her arms and glared at him, somewhat temperamental from pregnancy hormones. “You’re really going to make me walk around with unbuttoned pants and a top that rides up because you want to wait for a bonus?!” he grumped. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “We can’t be all willy-nilly with money anymore, Lilith, we have six kids on the way!” he retorted. Her face tightened, then softened. He was right. She rubbed her tummy and sighed. “Yeah, okay, what’s like… one more week with tight clothes? Your bonus is coming in soon right?” He nodded, “Any day now,”

20 weeks

7 more weeks came and went, and Lilith saw no sign of that bonus… or her feet. Now looking full term with one baby, Morgan had been doing a number on her figure. All of the weight seemed to gravitate to her midriff, and so her tummy grew both with child and with a thin layer of fat. Still despite the small wrapping of chub, her bellybutton managed to work its way into a full fledged outie, about as big around as her thumb.

She sat on the couch in her usual spot, playing a first person shooter on the console, but it didn’t feel the same anymore. She’d gotten in an argument with Morgan before he went to work. A conversation about job prospects got ugly when Morgan pointed out she was too visibly pregnant for anyone to hire her. “Get comfy babe,” he’d said, almost mockingly, “You’re not going anywhere for a while,” There was some yelling, and swearing, and Morgan ended up stomping out the door, it was an all around rotten day.

That was, until the door opened, to reveal Morgan carrying what had to be $40+ dollars in takeout from Lilith’s favorite restaurant. “Oh my god, babe, what’s all this?” she asked, turning to watch him. “I felt bad about our fight earlier, so I bought enough food to keep you and the babies happy, as a gesture of good will,” he explained. “Oh, honey, that’s so sweet of you, but I already had dinner! I-” “All the better!” he cut her off. “You’re eating for seven now, and the doc said to let you eat as much as you could, so…” he set the bags on the coffee table beside her. Morgan smiled down at Lilith, looking at her with those cold steel blue eyes. Lilith brushed some of her bright blue hair behind her ear and broke eye contact. “I don’t know hon… that’s a lot of food there…” she trailed off.

Morgan sat next to her, between Lilith and the food, and placed a hand on her bare midriff, running a palm over her stretching skin. “I know it feels like a lot, but this is for the babies! We have to get them up to weight by the time you’re full term, and the only way to do that is to eat everything your stomach can handle,” he explained, somewhat firmly. She sighed, “Yeah, I guess you’re right, for the babies,” she took the first of three heaping takeout containers full of teriyaki chicken, chow mein, and rice, and got to work.

Morgan kept close to make sure she ate every last bite, only getting up to bring her water when she asked for it. The first box went down pretty quickly, her pregnant appetite getting the best of her. The second was remarkably slower, and Morgan could see it filling out her tummy, causing it to push farther out, just slightly. By the time they hit the third box, she was struggling. “Babe I’m too full… I’m done,” she whined in protest. “Nope, you need to finish what you started,” Morgan said, once again rather firmly. “Morgan I’m gonna throw up if I push it any more…” He took the plastic fork and gathered a mix of rice, chicken, and noodles, and slowly delivered it to her mouth. “Just one more bite, for the babies,” he smiled coyly. She begrudgingly took the bite and began chewing, brushing her blue hair out of her sweaty face.

She was the fullest she’d ever felt, her belly feeling overstretched from a combination of growing babies and filled stomach. The pressure radiated from her midriff to make her whole body uncomfortable. She was miserable, and Morgan knew it. He tried not to show his enjoyment, but the truth was this was going better than he could have hoped for. 6 babies would leave her massive, and his mission to stuff her with every calorie under the sun was going smoothly. At this rate, they’d need a bigger bed to both fit on, an expense he was more than willing to make happen.

33 weeks

Lilith’s flip-flops pattered against her feet as she waddled toward the mall food court, moving as quickly as she could, which admittedly wasn’t very quick at all in her state. Wearing shorts that were stretched to capacity, held up with Morgan’s rubber band trick, and a “PINK” tank top that functioned more as a bra than anything else, she blushed red as she made her way. Everyone, from the young to the elderly, stared at her, or more specifically, her massive, mountainous middle. She was rivalling octomom in size, and the bigger she got, the more Morgan found excuses to take her out. He held her hand and tugged her along, leading the charge to the burger joint.

“Babe everyone is staring! I want to go home!” she hissed at him. He turned to give her a side-eyed look and hiss back “You’ll be fine. Now come on, the babies are hungry!” the pair rounded a corner and Lilith came face-to-face with her highschool BFF. Gwen. “Lilith?” she asked, recognizing the hair color. “Y-yeah…” stammered Lilith. Morgan beamed. “Oh my god! Girl you didn’t tell me you were preggers!?” Gwen smiled and circled around to give Lilith a genuine hug. The two girls looked to Morgan, Gwen with excitement, and Lilith with embarrassment. “And Morgan, you’re looking suave as usual,” Gwen smiled. Morgan smirked. “Why thank you,” Gwen turned her attention to Lilith’s pendulous belly, “Gosh I wondered why I haven’t heard from you in months!? When’s the baby shower? I wanna spoil this little…” she trailed off… “These little… guys?” she asked. “We don’t know the sexes yet-” Lilith was cut off “In about a month and a half, we’re going to have lots of fun little games centered about this tank right here,” Morgan gave Lilith’s belly a hearty pat, “So tell all your girlfriends they’re invited, cause it’s going to be big!” he grinned. Lilith shot him a radioactive death glare, but he ignored it, his plans already in motion. “Okay! I gotta run cause I can’t be late for an interview but I’ll catch up later! Bye hon!” she said, running off.

“Bye… Gwen…” Lilith shot another look at Morgan. “What the hell was that?! We’re NOT having a babyshower!” “Says you,” Morgan smirked. He proceeded to pile it on, “But your friend was so excited! Are you really going to dash her hopes like that? She just wants to spend time with you,” Lilith pouted, “I… guess so…” her response was cut off by a deep rumbling from her tummy. Morgan shot her a mischievous grin and took her hand again, continuing their trek.

Seeing as she was too big to fit in the booths, Morgan sat Lilith down at one of the chairs, and went off to order. She could feel all eyes on her as she placed a hand on her tummy to try to calm the movement she felt deep inside. What was in reality only a few minutes felt like hours as she waited for Morgan to return with the food. She was happy when she heard him approach, but was upset at what she saw him carrying. “That’s six burgers!?” she whisper-yelled incredulously. “Yeah, one for each baby!” stated Morgan, matter-of-factly. “I’m not about to pig out in front of all of these people!?”

Morgan’s smile dropped when she said that. “Are you really going to let the stares of a few strangers deny food for your babies? OUR kids?” Lilith sighed. “Well… no, but can we take this home?” her tummy rumbled again in protest. “I don’t think they can wait,” Morgan whispered. “F-fine… but when I’m full I’m stopping,” she sighed. Morgan placed both hands on the firm, warm front of her belly, feeling her popped bellybutton under his right palm. “You’ll stop when THEY’RE full, alright?” Lilith looked down at herself. Her massive, bloated, overly pregnant self, and sighed. “Yes dear,”

She picked up the first juicy, tender steakburger he’d gotten her, and took a huge bite. The food itself actually tasted great, the mustard, tomato, and pickles. She had been craving pickles today, she just didn’t want to admit it. One by one, each burger disappeared into her huge pregnant gut, eliciting happy kicks from its occupants. Morgan smiled as he watched her. These burgers would have given her trouble a month ago, but now? Her stomach was stretched, her babies were hungry, and she had the capacity to be a professional speed-eater, all thanks to him.

Lilith was enamored by the tastiness of the burgers, she was downing one after another, about 40 seconds a piece. She was starting to get embarrassed though. The way Morgan was grinning at her… the way the other mall goers were just… staring. She was a big, fat, pregnant spectacle… and she hated it. She felt a *pop* from the front of her shots and her heavy belly lurched forward slightly, and she knew what had happened. “Uh oh, babe,” Morgan said loudly. “Looks like that rubber band wasn’t strong enough against your belly. I guess you were right,” he shrugged. Lilith’s cheeks burned with bright red embarrassment, but she kept eating, pretending not to hear him.

She jumped slightly as she felt his hand touch her bare tummy, rubbing it gently. “Now isn’t this better? Eating to your stomach’s content?” she swatted at him and pointed to the nearby slushy stand. “Cherry,” she grunted through a mouthful of food. “Whatever you say,” he slipped away. In reality, she just wanted some space from him. Ever since she found out she was pregnant, he’d been so clingy, spending every spare moment with her, making her eat and drink. “For the babies” had become as commonplace as breathing, she felt like, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was doing this all on purpose.

Her thoughts were interrupted by his quick return. “They were out of cherry, so I got you tiger’s blood,” he said, handing her the 44 oz drink. She swiped it form him with one hand, and polished off the sixth and final burger with the other. She felt heavy. Well… heavier, as the six greasy sandwiches settled in her gut. 7 more weeks… then she’d be due, and this would all be over.

39 weeks

Morgan had made good of his promise. He threw a baby shower, and Lilith was the center of attention, despite her wishes. Gwen, along with four other friends of theirs, had come to the party, and despite the relatively small gathering, Lilith felt absolutely smothered. She sat in her usual spot, in the center of the couch, and she was surrounded by her physically close, if not emotionally close friends. Her tummy had absolutely ballooned, and she was so big she couldn’t reach her popped navel anymore. While she’d stayed relatively free of stretchmarks, red and purple veins made themselves known on her shiny, overstretched skin. Her underbelly hung between her legs, which were forced to spread to make room for her massive mound of a womb.

No matter what she did, how much she complained, or what she threatened, Morgan would not buy her maternity clothes. Her belly hung proudly on display for all to see, weather she liked it or not. This had become so much more apparent during the shower. While Morgan brought food and drinks for all, Lilith sat planted on the couch, cooed at and touched like a walking petting zoo. She felt like she couldn’t go 10 seconds without a hand brushing against her belly, and the visible motion from the sextuplets inside did not help. “You’re positively glowing!” They all said. “You exude motherhood!” “I hope I look as good as you when I’m pregnant!” she hated all of it.

She snapped out of her surly stupor when she heard Gwen address her by name. “Lilith, I haven’t seen you covered up once this whole pregnancy! What made you decide to go belly-out the whole time?” Lilith forced a grin, “Well, Morgan had a LOT to do with it,” she replied, mentally grinding her teeth. “You’re just so brave, like it’s such a powerful look! You’re like ‘look out world, pregnant mama coming through’!” Gwen laughed, resting a hand on the side of Lilith’s gargantuan midriff. Morgan stepped into the room with some sort of plastic box. “You girls ready for another game?” he asked. Lilith turned red, the last game had been all about guessing the measurement of her waistline. All the guests had estimated her bigger than she was, and Morgan made a big show of measuring her, having a hard time getting the tape measure all the way around. 72 inches. She was 72 inches around. She was bigger around than she was tall. She almost cried at the realization.

Morgan opened the box to reveal a rainbow of different body paints and brushes, “You all get to belly paint!” Every girl there except for Lilith beamed with excitement. The various paints and brushes were snatched up lightening fast, and before she realized fully what was happening, Lilith was surrounded by five women all kneeling around her and applying paint to her overstretched, pregnant skin. Lilith couldn’t see what was being painted on her due to her sheer size, but she could only imagine how awful and embarrassing it would all look. Morgan already had his camera out, taking pictures.

Shivers went down her spine as Lilith felt the bristles and thick paint run over her sensitive bellybutton, Gwen giggling as she ran the brush up and down. Lilith felt so embarrassed, so large was her middle that she could be used as five canvases at once! Her face turned redder and she frowned as Morgan snapped shot after shot of her massive, bare tummy.

As time passed Lilith grew increasingly agitated. The sensation of paint brushes on her belly was absolutely grating, and the feeling of dry paint caking on the skin wasn’t helping either. She realized she was getting hungry, which was only souring her mood more. She felt her stomach gurgle and saw Morgan’s eyes light up. He as attuned to the sound of her rumbling tummy like a shark to blood, Lilith could tell he had something planned for this event in particular. Her belly rumbled again, this time louder, and the girls started to notice. “Damn girl, we gotta get you fed!” said Gwen, patting the belly. “You must be dying over there!” Lilith shook her head, “No, no I’m fine, I just need-” “Some cake!” beamed Morgan as he carried in a triple layer devils food cake. Lilith gulped.

“Gosh Morgan you treat her so well!” said one of the girls. “Anything for my girl!” he replied, setting the cake on the shelf of her belly. Lilith’s pleading eyes met Morgan’s powerful gaze, and she knew he was about to make her pig out. Right here. In front of all of her friends. He took a seat next to her on the couch, grabbed a fork, and scraped off a big mouthful. “Say Ahh,” he whispered. The girls went back to talking amongst themselves and painting, and Lilith was feeling pinned down by the weight of her sextuplet belly, and triple layer cake. She winced, and took the bite. “There… for the babies,” Morgan said, getting another forkful.

Bite after bite went down and Lilith could feel the brushes on her tummy slow down until nobody was painting anymore. All eyes were on her. She chewed and swallowed bite after bite of the sickeningly sweet cake, the frosting getting on her face and the top of her belly. She felt a couple of hands start feeling up her belly again as she pushed past the halfway mark of the cake.

It was so heavy and rich, and Lilith could feel every bite of it go right to her midriff. The babies began to stir and kick, which only landed more hands on her tummy. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Bite. Chew. Swallow. It became almost rhythmic as she entered a food induced trance. She could faintly hear the girls saying things like “wow, she can really put it away,” and “Is she going to stop?” and “I think I feel her belly getting tighter!”, but she was lost to the caloric intake and sheer, painful embarrassment.

She only came to when the cake stopped coming. When she had eaten it all. Gwen clapped for her. Morgan gave her a kiss on the cheek to congratulate her. Everyone else kept their hands on her belly. “She gets real strong cravings for chocolate sometimes,” Joked Morgan, the other girls giggling at her expense. Moran got his camera back out. “Smile!” he said, mockingly, as he snapped a photo.

A perfect shot of Lilith, 39 weeks pregnant with six babies, her belly bare, resting between her legs. Her tummy was covered in little paint doodles of flowers, trees, landscapes, and stick figure families, except for the top shelf, which was stained brown from the smeared chocolate. Her mouth was open as she breathed heavily through it, feeling ready to burst. Morgan sat down next to her again, and showed her the picture on the camera’s display screen. “This is you babe!” he laughed. “This is what you really are!”

#writing #not bellies #commissions #anonymous

69 notes · View notes

saxxxology · 4 years

Text

control || oneshot

Sam’s tense, stressed, and you’re his only source of relief.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Native American!Reader

WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, smut, semi-public sex

NOTE: This work was written for Bel as a commission. Do not save or repost my work without my consent. 18+ only - if you are not 18, please leave/unfollow me!

⭒ become a patron for just $3 ⭒

You’ve been on the road for hours, stopping only for gas and snacks. The sights whizz by at sixty-five miles an hour, open landscape to towering trees. You’re tired and sore from almost two weeks of being on the road and tracking leads on Michael, but Sam won’t stop. Things are getting rough—Omegas are rare, and Sam’s an Alpha in a word where your kind are outnumbered three-to-one. He used to be nice, sweet, kind. Now, since his brother’s been gone almost three weeks… he’s irritable and aggressive, only speaking when you ask him a question or when he wants you to do something.

It’s hard, especially since Alphas and Omegas aren’t genetically compatible by just working together. Sam’s not a bad-looking guy, and you’re an Omega without a mate. It’s programmed into you to want him, bad. Trouble is, he doesn’t seem to feel the same way. If you can just lure him in… he might appreciate you a little more.

“I’m tired,” you murmur one night when you’re peeling through Oregon. “We should find a motel.”

“Get in the backseat.”

You glance over at the Alpha. He looks tired, dark shadows under his eyes, thickening beard, tense jaw. It’s been a rough few days, and he’s been showing the effects of suffering from a lack of sleep.

“Let’s find a motel,” you try to reason. “It’s really late, Sam, and you haven’t slept. I don't want you to pass out on the road.”

He clears his throat. “I won’t.”

“You don’t know that… please, there’s gotta be a place in the next town.” You pull out your phone and open the Maps app, intent on finding a reasonable place. “Let’s just stay for one night, we can shower, get some real food...”

His jaw ticks. “Fine.”

You sigh with relief and scroll through the list of motels that come up. The cheapest one has six rooms available, so you turn on directions and set your phone on your seat. The rest of the drive passes in silence, and you let Sam find a parking spot as you head into the lobby to book a room for the night, with cash. You meet him in the parking lot, where he’s got both of your bags, and then go unlock a room on the second level.

“You shower first,” Sam directs. “We’re outta here first thing in the morning.”

You nod in silent agreement and unzip your duffel bag, tugging out a bundle of clean pajamas. His eyes laser-focus on your back as you disappear into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. The shower pressure is a little heavy, but you let it beat the tension out of your shoulders and back.

It feels good to be alone—the last two weeks have been filled with Sam and hunting and Sam and driving and more Sam. Why he’d chosen you to come along, you have no idea. There’s a bunch of Alphas that had come with you from the other world that are just as good at tracking and hunting as you are, if not better.

Regardless, the Omega in you needs either space or for him to stop being so focused on his mission of finding his brother. He’s an Alpha, after all… if you can coax him into staying a night at a motel after four days of camping out in the Impala, who knows what you can get him to do.

You emerge in a billowing cloud of steam, pulling at a strap of your tank top. Sam’s reclining on one of the beds, watching the news. He stands up when you shove your dirty jeans and tee-shirt back into your bag and grabs his own—just a rolled-up pair of black sweats. Wordlessly, he stalks past you into the bathroom, and you hear the shower start up almost instantly.

Jerk.

***

You check out the next morning, after two hours at the laundromat, where you plot your course back to Lebanon. There’s nothing much to do but go back, since every lead is cold and you can’t do much else.

Another day passes on the road. You pay for a night at a campsite just outside Wyoming and camp down inside the car, Sam in the front seat, you in back. It’s cold, and you spend most of the night shivering and yawning over actually sleeping. Sam takes note of your discomfort the following morning and buys you the biggest coffee Starbucks can make.

You wake up late, having fallen asleep in the backseat. Sam’s still driving, eyes focused on the road, and he barely glances in the rearview mirror as you sit up.

“Where are we?” you ask.

“Nebraska.” Sam holds up a bottle of root beer as you clamber back into the front seat. “I got food while you were out, thought you might be thirsty.”

You crack the bottle open and take a long sip. “Thanks.”

“We’ll haul through the night, get back to Lebanon in the morning.” Sam shifts in his seat.

You don’t bother to reply, only sit back in your seat and rest your head against the window. The miles tick by, lit by the light of the moon. The whole car smells like Sam, and it’s starting to drive you nuts.

Sam breaks the silence after almost an hour, taking a deep breath before speaking. “You smell different.”

Cheeks flushing, you sniff under your shirt. “I’m wearing deodorant.”

“Not that.” He tightens his jaw. “You know what I mean.”

You chew on your lower lip. “Are you…?”

“Not going into rut,” he says. “But I can’t deny you smell good. Why d’you think I asked you to come along?”

You shift on the seat, feeling the strong pulse between your legs. “I thought you said I was smart.”

He chuckles. “You are. But there’s other Alphas back at the bunker and I’m not leaving you there alone for them to fight over.”

Your cheeks flare. “They wouldn’t fight.”

He grimaces. “Trust me, they would. I’ve seen more than enough fights over Omegas, they’re brutal and I don’t need to deal with knotheads who can’t control themselves. Besides, with the way you’re smelling right now, it’s not smart to take you back there at all.”

You shift a little closer, heart racing in your chest. “They wouldn’t fight if I had an Alpha.”

His nostrils flare. “Don’t start.”

“It wouldn’t be bad,” you explain. “You don’t have to claim me, I’m not asking for that.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Your hand creeps onto his thigh. “I don’t wanna get dropped off somewhere, Sam. If I got you on me, if I got you inside me, they’d know.”

Sam scoffs. “Yeah, and what happens when you get pregnant? The last thing I wanna deal with right now is a pup.”

“I’m not in heat.”

“Yet.”

“Still.” Your fingers drift up, rubbing over the front of his jeans. “You’re so on edge, you need to take a break.”

“Can’t.”

“Not even five minutes?”

He tongues the inside of his cheek. “What do you have that’s only gonna take five minutes.”

You give him a little squeeze, watch his upper lip flicker up into a snarl. “Is it so bad that I just want a good, hard fuck? Funny that a guy like you isn’t jumping at the chance to get his knot nice and wet.”

Sam exhales sharply as his cock gives a soft twitch, giving way to the tease of your hand. “Y/N…”

You rub him again, feeling him swell and stiffen in his jeans. “Come on, Sam, please…”

He groans when you lift your hips, shoving your pants down and to the floor. “Y/N—”

“Give me your hand.” You tug one of his hands off the wheel and guide it between your legs, dipping into the waistband of your panties, and two of his fingers slide against wet, hot flesh. “This is what you do to me,” you whisper, rubbing yourself against his hand. “I need it so bad, Sam, please… I’d feel so good on your—”

You squeal as he suddenly turns off the road, down into a little rest patch. The tires grind against the gravel, and he wrenches the door open, pulling his hand from between your legs and wrapping his fingers in the front of your shirt. He drags you out of the car and around to the back, not caring as you let out a whimper of pain as you stumble on the ground.

“Sam, what—?”

He shoves you down over the trunk, letting you catch yourself on your hands. “If you’re going to act like a little Omega slut, then I’m gonna fuck you like one.”

He lifts you onto the trunk and steps between your thighs, wrenching his belt open and pulling his cock into his hand before tugging your panties aside. You feel him rut through your folds, grunting as he slicks himself, and thrusts into his hand as he lines himself up, trying to find your entrance in the darkness. His other hand lands between your tits as he thrusts in with a primal shout, the sudden sensation of hot slick on his cock almost too much. He shudders through another shove, and your breath chokes off when he presses in deep enough for you to feel the firmer flesh near the base of him inside.

“That’s it,” he snarls, “take it good… you wanted this so bad, didn’t you?”

You nod, head tipping back as he grabs your waist to hold you still as he picks up the pace. Straining forward, he presses each deep, heavy thrust against your cervix, fighting the urge to see if you’re receptive enough to take him in there, where he’s only been a couple times before, and drain him dry.

“Oh no you don’t.” He shoves your shirt up and palms a tit in one huge palm when you try to wiggle back and change the angle of your hips. “I like it this way, you spread out like a greedy little slut.”

He bends to kiss you, and the feeling of his lips pressed wet and sloppy against yours makes you squirm, desperate for more. Your hands slip around to grab handfuls of his ass, sliding the waistband of his boxers down until you can feel warm, firm muscle. He grunts, rutting closer, and you spread just a little wider, letting the skin above his cock rub against your clit.

“You’re gonna cum like this,” Sam growls, “with my cock inside you… just how you want it. You want it, don’t you? So fucking wet and tight for me. Gonna feel real good getting my knot up in you.”

You cry out, stifling the sound with a palm as he spreads his stance and fucks you closer and closer to orgasm. He grunts when you buck underneath him, trying to get him to ease off, but he holds you in place.

“Scream,” he pants, “nobody can fuckin’ hear you out here, I wanna hear you scream.”

Your head falls back onto the car as your body convulses. A whine turns into a long, hitching series of breaths, and you cum so hard your vision blurs. Sam grunts, going still inside you and working his fingers on your clit until you’re whimpering and begging for him to back off.

He wastes no time in pulling out, tugging your hips off the car, and turning you around to bend you over. You wince as he kicks your ankles apart, and he slides back inside without hesitation, hands holding your hips high enough for him to be comfortable.

“That’s it, baby,” he urges, “I’m almost there, gonna cum nice and deep… take it real good for me…”

You shudder through another wave of pleasure as Sam’s thrusts grow stronger and more determined. His fingers dig into your flesh, surely leaving bruises, and when you feel him curl over you, his lips meeting the back of your neck, you arch for him, slick streaming down the insides of your thighs as he fucks right against your sweet spot.

“Sam—” you choke on a sob as his grunts start to intensify, “fuck you’re… I need you to—”

“I’m gettin’ there,” he pants, “fuck, I’m gonna cum…”

You let out another squeal as he shoves forward, his knot popping inside your cunt as his mouth presses against the back of your neck. He cums with a bestial snarl in your ear, hips pumping wildly against your ass, and you squirm as the heat of his seed fills you.

Panting hard, he slumps against you, pressing as close as he can. His teeth scrape over your skin, and you shiver, arching away. He chuckles darkly.

“You really think I’d claim you right here?” he nips at the back of your neck again, earning a breathy whine. “Mmm, you’re not ready for that. When your hot little ass goes into heat, though…”

You squirm when he gives you a shallow thrust, knot pulsing inside you. “You’ll claim me?”

“I’m not gonna let anyone else get a taste of this,” he murmurs. “It’s all mine now.”

He steps back, easing his softened knot out of your body, and strides around to the backseat to grab a wad of napkins. You wipe yourself down, discarding the sticky tissues in a plastic bag destined for the trash, and slip into the front seat. You’re a mess—panties drenched in slick and cum, the front of your shirt rumpled from where Sam had grabbed you. He eyes the way you squirm on the seat and reaches back to grab a blanket.

“Sit on this,” he directs. “Don’t need you ruining the seat.”

You fight the urge to retort that it’s really his fault that the seat would be ruined, but you tuck the cotton fabric underneath you without a word. It’s pointless to put your pants back on… if Sam wants you again, they’ll only get in his way.

As the Impala pulls back onto the road and roars away, you tuck yourself against his side, head on his shoulder so you can press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. He doesn’t object when you slide down to rest your cheek against his thigh, and he settles back in his seat, eyes fixed on the long, dark road ahead.

He’ll figure out what to do with you when you get back.

Please reblog & comment if you enjoyed reading this :)

Wanna get tagged? Click here!

FOREVER TAGS: @atc74 @comicmcfly @defenderrosetyler @daughterofthenight117 @deanmonandnegansbitch @desisamslut @emberocrpblog @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @fangirl-and-medstudent-help @fandom-princess-forevermore @heartsaved @kittenofdoomage @kickingitwithkirk @lovelyrocker @lunarsaturn88 @mariekoukie6661 @mrswhozeewhatsis @neii3n @percussiongirl2017 @ssworldofsw @squirrel-moose-winchester @sea040561 @sammysnaughtygirl @starsandasteroids @spnwoman @spnbaby-67 @serpentbaby @stoneyggirl @thecleverdame @tumbler-tidbits @winecatsandpizza @zombiewerewolfqueen @85natalie @4won

#alpha!sam winchester #alpha!sam x omega!reader #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester reader insert #sam winchester fanfiction

231 notes · View notes

the-mad-starker · 4 years

Text

Starker Smut: Helping Uncle Tony

Thank you to @petercherryparker for giving me my first commission! It means so much to me that you were willing to give it a try and for being patient with me since I haven't done this before either 😅

Summary:

Uncle Tony somehow fucked up his hands and has them both in casts.

Peter volunteers to help then he helps.

Notes: uncle/nephew incest, handjob, frottage, come swallowing, anal sex, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, ambiguous age for Peter, first time

WC: 9139

(AO3 Link)

💗💗💗

"Boss, Mrs. Parker and your nephew are requesting entrance."

Tony pauses in his rambling speech. Dictating. He's dictating the lines of code for his next project while he lounges in the lab. On the screen, Friday completes the last line before she automatically switches to the security camera on the first floor.

His sister, Mary Parker, is waiting impatiently and there, a familiar mop of curly brown hair… His nephew. Peter.

"What time is it again?" Tony mutters but he's already getting up.

It's a bit difficult because he can't use his hands. Both hands are stuck in bright red casts and are covered from his knuckles all the way down to his elbow.

He hates them but he's not letting them stop him from working on his tech.

"Think I can beat them to the penthouse?" Tony says when he gets into his private elevator.

Peter did text earlier that day with a message saying they were coming over from Queens. He's been so caught up getting this program done that time just slipped through his fingers.

"Probability just reached 0%," Friday informs him and he finds out why when the doors ding open.

"Tony!" His sister is already waiting for him in the penthouse and judging by the look on her face, she knows exactly where Tony's been.

She rounds up on him, scarier than his assistant and his board of directors. "You're supposed to be resting," she sighs with exasperation.

"Yeah, you know that's unlikely," Tony says without missing a beat. "It's my hands that broke–" he wiggles his immobilized arms at her for emphasis, "–not my brain. You know I can't just stop."

In response, Mary softens but she tries to hide it by clearing her throat.

"I know and that's why–" she turns back towards her son and tugs him forward, "I'm lending you this one to help you."

"Hi, Uncle Tony," Peter says shyly from her side. He gives a little wave but doesn't really look Tony in the eye.

"Hey there, champ," Tony says, distracted, before he turns back to Mary. "You know I can't do that to him, Mare. It's summer break, he should be– I dunno, going to Jones beach or hanging out with his friends. All that fun stuff."

Mary's lips thin in that way which means she's about to start arguing but surprisingly, Peter interrupts.

"Actually– I'm the one that bugged mom about helping…" Peter says as he steps closer.

Tomy's gaze switches to him and his brows scrunch in confusion. Peter's cheeks take on a pink hue when their eyes meet, a peculiar reaction that Tony's gotten used to. His nephew's always been a sweet but shy kid.

"Pete, I really appreciate it, but you don't gotta be stuck with me when you should be having fun," Tony reiterates but the boy stubbornly shakes his head.

Peter's curls bounce in that cute little way that makes Tony want to pet them. His expression mirrors Tony's, brows scrunching adorably in the middle and honey brown eyes going all soft and pleading.

"It'll be fun!" Peter says firmly and what gets to Tony is that he actually sounds genuine. "I always have fun when I'm with you, Uncle Tony… And I get to see all the cool stuff you're working on… Maybe even help you make some stuff?"

The last bit is said with those puppy eyes turned up to max efficiency and Tony's resolve crumbles. He could never say no to his one and only favorite nephew. Mary knows it, too, because there's a smug little grin on her face.

"See, there you go, Tony," she says. She pats Peter's shoulder fondly. "How long did the doctors say your cast has to stay on?"

"A couple weeks…" Tony says in defeat. "But I should be fine if Pete just wants to stay a week…"

"Mom can drop off more of my clothes on Sunday," Peter says, excitement pitching his voice higher. He bounces the duffle bag in his hand to show the older man. "I brought some clothes already. Toothbrush, too, so you don't gotta worry, Uncle Tony."

Looking at his nephew's puppy dog eyes, of course, Tony can't refuse. Besides, his nephew is right. They always have fun when they're together and ever since the Parkers moved to Queens, they just haven't had as much time. He has missed his nephew even when work keeps him busy.

"Alright, you got me, kid," Tony says, "we'll try it out for a week, okay?"

"A week," Peter agrees but somehow, Tony feels as though he's the one humoring Tony instead of the other way around.

"Brat," Tony says fondly.

Mary sticks around for a few minutes more but she eventually decides to head out. Before doing so, she pulls Peter aside for some last minute words.

Tony tries not to eavesdrop but considering he's right there, it can't be helped.

"I want you to remember what we talked about in the car," she says seriously. "I know you and Tony like to mess around in the lab and do all your sciency stuff but Uncle Tony's recovering, okay, Pete?"

"I know, mom," Peter says dutifully. "Even if we're having fun, I need to help Uncle Tony and make sure he doesn't do anything to hurt his hands."

"That's right, sweetie," Mary smiles, "and you know your Uncle Tony. He's always jumping ahead of things so I need you to really be on top of things. We want Uncle Tony to get better and that won't happen if he doesn't let it heal properly. I need you to be his hands until his gets better."

"I can do that, mom," Peter promises sincerely, "I'll watch him like a hawk and he won't even lift a finger while I'm here."

"That's really sweet but–" Tony has to interrupt.

"No buts!" Both Mary and Peter cut in. Tony ends up pouting at them but he really can't refute anything Mary says.

When she's finally gone, Tony looks at Peter and smiles awkwardly.

"Just you and me, kiddo," he says to break the silence.

"You and me," Peter smiles brightly then perks up like an eager puppy. "Wanna show me what you were working on before mom and I got here…?"

And just like that, the awkwardness vanishes.

Tony grins and makes a grand gesture towards the elevator.

"Let me show you to my lair…"

---

They settle into a routine and truthfully, Tony's having the best time of his life.

It starts off slow because even if he's the one that needs help, he feels bad asking for the simplest things. Peter takes his job seriously though and has a keen eye for when Tony's itching to do something.

Peter takes over all the things Tony would struggle to do and he does it so effortlessly with no complaint. It leaves the older man feeling a tiny bit embarrassed at his dependency but he's grateful.

It becomes easier to just let Peter handle everything and soon, Tony relaxes into their routines.

His nephew is a god-send. He has all of the Stark smarts and none of the bullshit that Howard hammered into Tony's head since he was young.

This means that Tony can ramble on and on about his work and Peter keeps up astonishingly well. He listens with wide eyes, lips parted as though Tony was speaking prophecies. Even better, the kid throws back ideas, suggestions that make Tony's mind whirl with fantastic possibilities. It's surreal, it's wonderful, it's just how they are.

Tony and Peter.

"I really should be paying you," Tony groans when the boy digs his thumbs into a stiff muscle.

Peter has some magical hands and somehow, he just seems to know where to press on Tony's back. He kneads the tension right out of the older man's shoulders and Tony has to slump on the desk so he doesn't tip over out of pure ecstasy.

"Not taking your money, Uncle Tony," Peter sounds exasperated but there's a fondness to it that softens the bite.

"You're basically babysitting me," Tony still tries to convince him. "How about $800 a day? Dunno what the going rate for babysitters is but I'll throw in a bonus cause you're my cute little nephew."

Tony knows Peter won't take it so he's just rambling for fun.

Peter, though, goes quiet and his hands pause in their motions. His arms come around from behind and his chin settles on Tony's shoulder.

Hugs are nice and it isn't the first time Peter's helped himself to one. The older man doesn't think much of it, only squirms cause Peter's breath tickles his neck.

"I'm just happy being here with you, Uncle Tony," Peter tells him honestly. "I really missed being able to just walk a couple of blocks and hang out."

Warmth blossoms in his belly and if it was anyone else, Tony would've pulled back emotionally and physically. But Peter has always been like this, always loved hugs and affection. Once again, he has Stark blood but he's better.

Tony would usually pat the boy's hand but with the casts, he's more likely to be reprimanded. So instead, he slowly turns and Peter moves with him so that they're embracing. Even then, Peter's careful with the casts and makes sure not to brush against them.

"I missed you too, kiddo," Tony admits. "I'll make sure we have more hang out days when my hands are good, okay?"

"I'd like that," Peter mumbles into his shoulder.

Peter's mom drops off more clothes. She's satisfied that Tony is doing better, even smiling more frequently. Peter glows with pride beside him.

A day shy of being together for a week and Tony wakes up tangled in his sheets, body sleep-warm and cruising from pleasant dreams.

"Morning!" Peter cheers as he walks in carrying breakfast on a tray.

Tony's mind is still all fuzzy without his morning coffee so he just lays there and hums in acknowledgment. The bed dips under Peter's weight and the silence is so unusual that Tony peaks an eye open.

The boy's bottom lip is caught between his teeth while his cheeks are flaming red.

"Kid?" Tony's voice is rough from sleep. It startles Peter and those honey brown eyes shoot back up to his face.

The blush doesn't recede though.

"Um… Do you… need help, Uncle Tony…?" Peter mumbles, edging closer so that his knee presses against Tony's blanketed thigh.

"Help…?" Tony echoed. "Help with what–"

Peter's eyes dip down and this time, Tony follows him.

"Oh," Tony groans, aghast.

He's sporting some serious morning wood. And well, it's to be expected if he really thinks about it. Before his accident, Tony was a heavy believer in self-love. One can even say he's a serial masturbator, but he just… hasn't been able to do anything about it with his hands out of commission.

Sometime during the night, his dick must've slipped through the slit in his boxers so the only thing keeping him decent is the thin blanket over his lap.

"Just– ah, fuck. Just ignore it," Tony says, embarrassed.

He can't even hide it under a pillow or turn over. Both require the use of his hands which… Not possible.

"That can't be comfortable…" Peter still mumbles, completely ignoring Tony's instructions. "It looks really… big. And uncomfortable. Does it hurt…?"

"Not as much as my pride," Tony grumbles. "Can't you just… I don't know, put a pillow on my lap? It'll go away if we both ignore it."

It's an embarrassing situation and Tony's barely holding it together. He's been caught in all sorts of scandals but never one so personal as this. If it's embarrassing for him, it's probably worse for his poor nephew.

He expects Peter to listen to him, to save himself from this awkward mess and just leave him to his breakfast.

What he doesn't expect is to feel Peter's curious hand on his cock.

Tony sucks in a sharp breath, eyes flying open in disbelief.

He's not mistaken.

Peter is leaning over him, one hand gently gripping the base of his covered cock.

"Kid… What are you doing…?"

Tony fights against the need to thrust into his nephew's hand. His cock doesn't care who it is that's helping him out, it just cares that it's getting some love.

"Uncle Tony…" Peter breathes out as he looks at Tony with wide but determined eyes. "Mom said to make sure you're comfortable… If I do it like this… I'll make it go down faster, right...?"

His hand on Tony's cock starts to move. It steals away the words Tony wants to say as his hips twitch towards the source of friction. This shouldn't be happening, he shouldn't be feeling so good from Peter touching him...

"That's–" The older man tries to stop this but his words stutter and fail. "You shouldn't, Pete...!"

"Am I doing it wrong…? Am I making it worse?" Peter's lips tremble into a frown. It looks so wrong on his nephew's sweet face that Tony shakes his head, unwilling, even then, to upset the boy.

"Feels good..." Tony tries to stifle the moan working up his throat. It comes out as breathless gasps instead while his legs shift restlessly in the bed. "But you shouldn't…"

The frown melts away to reveal a sweet, happy smile.

Peter looks so determined, eyes focused where his hand is moving up and down over Tony's hard length. He's doing it so gently that it makes Tony's body crave for more, for a firmer grip.

"I don't mind doing it, Uncle Tony," he says while stroking Tony's cock. "I know it can hurt… And you're already going through a lot. I love you, Uncle Tony, and I want you to feel good."

What can Tony say in the face of such sweet words? Even if he wanted to, he couldn't bear to stop him now.

"Let me take care of you, Uncle Tony," Peter says. "Oh– let me…"

Tony groans in defeat when Peter pulls the blanket down. There's no hiding it now.

His cock stands proudly between his legs, fully erect from Peter's ministrations. It's flushed a rosy hue, prominent veins up and down the length… A thick mushroom tip that's darker in color than the rest of the length.

"Pete…" Tony says, helpless but so turned on when Peter resumes his duties.

His hand wraps around Tony's cock again, no hesitation, and Tony tries to stifle a moan that works up his throat. This is not the right response but it feels so good… Just the sight of Peter's hand wrapped around him sends arousal skittering up and down his spine. It looks so obscene, too. His nephew's finger can't even fully encompass the girth of his cock.

"Like this, Uncle Tony…?" Peter asks as he starts to stroke again. His thumb swipes over Tony's leaking cockhead and his hips jerk from the sensation.

All rational flies out the window.

"Ah– T-tighter…" Tony gasps.

The desire for release rises to the forefront so embarrassingly quick that the older man bites down on his lip to ask for more.

Peter complies with such sweet obedience that Tony moans and then oh– it's heaven. His nephew is clumsy and a bit awkward in his attempt but it smoothes out into something beautiful when Tony's hips start chasing after his hand.

His eyes are mere slits as he throws his head back. His hips jerk desperately into the sweet grip milking his cock. He doesn't think about what he's doing even when Peter continues to make soft encouraging comments.

It should freak Tony out but he's caught off guard. The loss of the use of his hands has affected him more deeply than he anticipated. The pleasure sings through him after just a week of not being able to do this and he craves it with a ferocious hunger that scares him with its intensity.

Just a week and Tony's hips are thrusting into his nephew's touch. His cock is leaking. He swears that his cock is so hard for Peter and that he's never been as hard for anyone else. Peter, his sweet innocent nephew, is the one making him feel so good, it's sinful.

Peter… He shouldn't be doing this to Peter but the boy's so focused on his task. The pink in his cheeks is so alluring… And how has Tony never noticed the shape of his lips? Or how it looks so soft and inviting, parted the way it is. Tony could easily slip a thumb right between and what would Peter do…?

Tony could just imagine the shock in Peter's pretty brown doe eyes and then the way they'd slowly drift closed. The pleasure of a new discovery would make his nephew's features slacken. Would he suck on Tony's fingers? Would he moan for his uncle…?

The older man hisses when Peter squeezes him just right, bringing him right to the edge. Tony struggles to cling on. It's so wrong, so wrong… His precum is dripping all over the boy's fingers, but Peter's not stopping.

"Uncle Tony… Is this okay? Does it feel good?"

Peter has such good intentions even while doing such a dirty act.

"Pete– Pete, I'm gonna…" Tony groans out the words but his eyes slip shut in defeat.

"Oh!" Peter knows what's coming but his little nephew surprises him again in the most delightful way.

An even sweeter heat envelops his cock. Just the tip but this new sensation is warm and wet. Tony can recognize that type of heat anywhere and he loses it. Peter's mouth is on his cock.

His eyes fly open and he's treated to the sight of his nephew's pink lips suckling on his cockhead. Peter looks up at him with wide eyes and his hand still makes sloppy, aborted jerks in an attempt to maintain his rhythm.

Such a good boy...

Any semblance of control completely deteriorates and Tony comes with a shocked groan. His cock pulses, balls drawing in tight, as he shoots into his nephew's mouth.

It happens so quickly and his muscles tighten with the intensity of his orgasm. Peter tries to take it all, every single load that Tony sends pulsing into his mouth.

It's too much for him. Tony sees it when the rush of cum gets too much. Peter's eyes widen even more and he pulls back coughing with his uncle's cum dripping down the corner of his lips.

He goes back down like the champ he is though and tries to take the rest of Tony's cum. He gets a load shot across his face for his efforts and the image will be forever seared into Tony's mind. Peter looks so beautiful with Tony's cum on his face that the older man can't find it in himself to even feel guilty.

He does feel bad, though, when Peter's face crumples in dismay.

"Oh, God, I-I'm sorry, Uncle Tony." His bottom lip even trembles. His distress is genuine and Tony's barely catching his breath. "I was trying not to get it everywhere… I thought I could do it but I made a mess. I'm sorry– Let me go get some paper towels and I'll clean it all up."

Not having the use of his hands is such an inconvenience. He can't even stop the kid from running off but he tries.

"Peter," Tony says firmly enough that the boy pays attention. His tone softens when the boy hesitates. "Pete. Just wait a minute, okay. Just– C'mere. Lie down next to me, okay?"

Peter does as he's told. He must be feeling even worse than he says because he scoots in close and curls up against Tony's side. The reality of the situation becomes an urgent need to discuss what just happened but Tony's mouth has gone dry.

"I'm sorry…" Peter whispers in the silence and Tony's heart aches.

"Hey, hey," Tony tries to soothe him. He can't turn onto his side so instead, he says, "Look at me, kid."

Once those brown eyes are back on him, Tony takes in a deep breath. He refuses to do anything that would make his Petey cry or feel bad. God forbid he do anything like that, his nephew's too good to him.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Pete," Tony says gently. "You really helped me out, okay? And– ah… Was that your… first time doing something like that…?"

Peter flushes and his lips press into a displeased line.

"Was it obvious…?" Peter mumbles, looking away.

To Tony, it had been but he's not gonna say that.

"Only cause I've been around," Tony says offhandedly. "But there's nothing to be sorry about, Pete. If anything, I'm sorry that I wasn't in better control."

"You were fine, Uncle Tony!" Peter protests, "And besides, you shouldn't be doing anything strenuous so really, I should be the one to, um, take care of all of that."

Tony wants to argue, of course, especially given the circumstance but he knows he's unlikely to win. And maybe… maybe, he doesn't want to win in this one.

So instead, he hums in acknowledgment.

Peter's hand creeps up his chest as the boy curls against his side.

"Did it feel good though…?" he asks quietly, hopefully. "I can do it better next time."

Next time… Tony's mind latches onto the words and even worse, his traitorous body floods with excitement.

"It was amazing, kid," Tony confesses. He turns just enough to kiss the top of Peter's head. "You did good, sweetheart… So good…"

That sweet smile that Tony has come to love so much spreads across his nephew's face. Peter practically glows with pleasure, a pleased little smile on his face. Tony practically melts in the face of it.

"You know, in things like things, I'd really want to return the favor if that's something you want, too," Tony says then before Peter can protest, he adds, "I can do other stuff that won't hurt my hands."

The boy looks perplexed for a moment but then his face brightens as he considers the proposal. There's something he wants and Tony would give him anything and everything.

"Kiss…?" Peter asks softly. "Can we do that…?"

The question surprises the older man. Peter has just given him one of the most mind-blowing orgasms Tony has ever had and his sweet boy is asking for a kiss…

"Of course, angel," Tony replies easily.

When he goes to lean down for a kiss, he can't help smiling at how Peter's eyes drift closed and his lips make the slightest little pucker.

Their lips touch, a gentle and chaste kiss but when he pulls away, Peter's eyes open and there's a quiet wonder in them.

"Wow…" Peter breathes. "Again? Please, Uncle Tony?"

Tony chuckles in response but instead of answering, he just presses in for another kiss and another and another… Until they're both lost in one another.

---

Because of what happened, there are drastic changes but some things also stay the same.

Tony tries to be the good, responsible adult he's always worked to be but Peter won't let things go back to how they were.

"Helping" his Uncle Tony feel good becomes an imperative task to the boy.

Tony protests at first. He feels like he has to put an end to it but little by little, those objections become half-hearted attempts that fade into drawn out moans of appreciation.

Whenever he looks down at Peter between his legs, he thinks, 'fuck, I'm going to hell…' but then another thought kicks in. It may be very much worth it when he has his angel of a nephew sucking him off. Those pretty pink lips… They feel so soft and warm and perfect on his cock…

The moment his resolve broke entirely is the first time he guides Peter into getting off. He can't stand the thought of being the only person feeling good. It's even worse when the boy would squirm on his knees, shyly pressing the heel of his hand against his own little problem.

Nope, Tony isn't having it.

Peter's cute little face is flaming red and Tony knows that he badly wants to flee to the bathroom to take care of himself.

"C'mere, kid," Tony breathes.

Peter shuffles closer and then gasps when Tony slots his leg between his. Tony's knee bumps against the boy's hand, pushing it against his covered erection.

"When my hands heal up," Tony starts to say, "I'm gonna make you feel so good, Pete. Gonna touch your pretty little cock and make you come for me."

The boy whimpers, a soft, pleading sound, but his wide eyes flutter in pleasure. His mouth trembles, a clear indication of how Tony's words affect him.

"But for now…" Tony nudges his leg closer and in response, Peter's hip jerks forward. "Move your hand, Pete… Let me feel it."

"Uncle Tony… That's…" His sweet innocent nephew has had Tony's cock in his mouth on multiple occasions but he still can't say such dirty things. It makes Tony feel so bad that he wants to dirty him up.

"It'll feel good, angel," Tony promises him, "for both of us. I'll make me feel really good to know you're getting something outta this, too."

Peter's eyelids flutter as he considers it. It doesn't take him long to decide either.his nephew is a good kid but the promise of pleasure convinces him.

"Should I take it out?" Peter asks hesitatingly. The very tips of his ears turn bright red, an adorable reaction.

The possibility crosses his mind, an image of Peter creaming his pants if he chooses not to take it out.

Tony's mouth goes dry.

"If you want to," Tony encourages instead of outright saying yes like he wants to. "Don't want you to chafe against your jeans or anything."

The boy bites down on his bottom lip before nodding thoughtfully.

"It's not as big as yours," Peter says as though warning Tony. It's cute that he even thinks that that would matter to Tony.

Regardless, Peter unbuckles his belt and tugs his jeans down though he has to wiggle a little to get them down his thighs.

Tony gets a glimpse of the tent his boxers make before he tugs those down too. His hand shyly covers his erection, glimpse of pink flesh between his fingers before he reveals himself.

"Oh, you're perfect, sweetheart," Tony promises.

Peter's cock is indeed smaller than Tony's but it fits his boy well. It's just as dainty as the rest of his body, perfectly proportionate to the more slender build he has.

His nephew blushes adorably as he circles the girth of his cock with his hand. He gives half-hearted strokes as though unsure of what to do now that they've reached this point.

Tony gladly takes the reins.

"I want you to press close to my leg," Tony instructs gently, "Just like before, Pete. Since I can't do it for you… Just listen to my voice, alright, angel?"

The blush on his cheeks may as well be a permanent fixture. Tony hopes Peter never loses this endearing quality, so shy and eager for his uncle's touch.

Peter leans closer, his hands resting on Tony's leg.

"Ah…" the soft exhale gives away the moment Peter's cock comes in contact with Tony's leg. Besides that, the older man feels it, hard and so hot even though his pants.

"Move for me, baby," Tony tells him. "Just like earlier… You can rub against me, I don't mind…"

His leg muscles flex as he nudges his leg closer.

"O-okay, I'll try…" Peter mumbles, peeking at his uncle with darkening eyes.

His hips start to move. At first, the movements are barely noticeable. Even when Tony feels that hard outline brush against him, it's still so faint. He lets Peter take his time though, just watching the boy slowly lose his inhibition.

"Mm…" that first soft moan is a victory to the older man even when Peter tries to clamp his mouth shut.

Their eyes meet and the boy shudders, dark, thick lashes threatening to cut their connection. Peter holds on though they tremble. His mouth looks soft, lips parted around an O of pleasure.

"That's it, baby…" Tony encourages the boy when his hips start to move. "Feels good rubbing against me, right? Even if I can't touch you… Can't jerk you off, you like me seeing you like this…"

"I… I do…" His nephew answers in a soft whisper as though it's a secret between them. "It feels… feels good…"

His hips start to really move and Tony can feel his nephew's cockhead grazing up and down his leg. Peter's still too shy.

"Good, sweetheart… That's good…" Tony doesn't push. "Wanna make my best boy feel so good…"

More pleasure causes the boy's expression to slacken but his grip on Tony's leg tightens. It isn't long before he starts to lean against his uncle.

Tony then takes the opportunity to press forward.

"O-Oh!" The cry of pleasure that Peter makes and the harsh jerk of his hip is worth Tony playing dirty.

He expects Peter to pull away but perhaps his nephew has been wanting this much longer than he initially knew. Once Peter feels that delicious friction against his cock, it's like his hips glue themselves to Tony's leg.

It's all there on his face, naked and exposed. Pleasure and need.

He presses in tight, his cock a firm solid line of heat against the older man.

"There you go…" Tony almost coos to the boy. "That feels better, doesn't it, Pete?"

His own cock starts to thicken in his pants again. He's amazed by how quickly he's recovered. That's the effect Peter had on him.

"Uncle Tony…" Peter whimpers softly. There's a desperate edge there as he clings to Tony's knee. The older man recognizes it well.

"Go on, baby," Tony encourages hungrily, "Keep going, keep rubbing against me… Wanna make you feel good too, Pete."

Peter can't seem to keep his eyes open so they're squeezed shut. His pretty mouth, though, is parted, letting out the breathless little moans that have Tony's ears straining for each one.

His hips jump in desperate jerks as he chases after his pleasure and Tony's voice guides him along the way.

Tony knows the moment Peter's right at the edge. His nephew's face is flushed, sweat-damp curls sticking to the sides of his face. Honey brown eyes look at him through barely there slits.

The older man just wants to eat him up, especially when Peter starts to say his name in that breathless needy tone.

"Uncle T-Tony… Uncle Tonyy… 'm gonna…" Peter mewls. His brows are scrunched up in the middle, mouth trembling.

Tony wants to sink his hands in Peter's hair and just haul him for a kiss. He can't though– such a shame.

"A-ah…" Peter comes with a soft cry, eyes squeezed shut, and body shuddering violently.

There's a rush of warmth when his cum spurts messily over Tony's leg but the older man just continues to murmur soft praises about how beautiful Peter looks, how gorgeous and good his sweet nephew is.

Peter shudders one more time, his cheek pressed against Tony's knee. Tony hears the boy's harsh breathing but ends up sucking in sharply when Peter's hand slides up and between his legs.

His fingertips bump against Tony's half-hard cock upon finding out his uncle's predicament, Peter looks up at him with pink cheeks. His eyes are at half-mast, the most enticing bedroom eyes that Tony's ever seen.

It kills him that Peter's probably unaware of just what it does to him.

"Uncle Tony…" Peter murmurs as he nuzzles against any part of his uncle he can reach. "You're hard again…"

Tony swallows, Adam's apple bobbing.

"Yeah…" he doesn't deny it, "Watching you, Pete… God, you don't even know what you do to me, do you…?"

A sweet smile pulls at Peter's lips and his touch grows firmer as he runs his fingers over Tony's swelling length.

"I'm just me, Uncle Tony…" he says like he thinks Tony's just being nice. "Want me to help you again…?"

"I'm not gonna say no…" Tony chuckles then leans back when Peter shuffles closer.

Getting hard so soon after having Peter's mouth is something that hasn't happened before. But then again, he hasn't had his sexy nephew rubbing against him before either.

Peter's mouth closes around his cock and Tony groans at the feeling of his tongue swirling around his cockhead. He leans back and watches, enjoying the sight of his nephew's pretty lips stretched around his cock.

That tiny nagging thought that this was wrong has all but disappeared. Peter's gaze locks with his own as he seeks approval and Tony gives it happily.

"Good boy… Such a good boy…" Tony sighs.

He'll find more ways to return the favor.

---

Week two edging into week three.

They've just returned from his doctor's and Dr. Cho has declared that his hands are healing up nicely. She says it with surprise as though she had expected Tony to come in with a sheepish grin, hands banged up and in worse condition than she left it.

Of course, Tony attributes the progress to his blushing nephew and she nods in understanding. He introduces his nephew to her as his amazing little helper. Peter blushes at the praise but Tony can tell he's happy about it. He listens even more closely to Dr. Cho's advice and tips for recovery than Tony does.

It's progress but she also says that it may take a few more weeks. Tony reassures her that he's in good hands.

When they get back to the penthouse, Peter disappears into the guest room that he's claimed his own when he first arrived. He barely uses it now, preferring to stay in Tony's bed, but most of his stuff is still there.

There's a report waiting for Tony in his email so he lets the boy be.

Around dinner time, he seeks him out to find out what Peter's craving for.

The door to Peter's room is cracked open but Tony still doesn't want to just walk in and possibly startle the boy.

"Pete?" He calls out. "I'm feeling for some burgers, what do you think…?"

He nudges the door open and his jaw almost drops.

"Uncle Tony–" Peter's face is flushed in that adorable pink shade that Tony's come to love and this time, yeah– it's appropriate.

His nephew is shirtless and bent over the side of the bed, those sinfully tight jeans of his pooled around his ankles. He's reaching back awkwardly and Tony follows the length of his arm down… down… where the boy has two fingers nudging into his little hole.

"Am I interrupting?" Tony asks dryly. He shuts the door behind him even though they're the only ones in the penthouse.

"Um, no," Peter mumbles shyly as he straightens up, "I was kinda hoping you'd come in sooner actually."

"Were you now…" Tony says as he walks towards him. It feels like there's a hook pulling him closer and he's unable to resist.

He takes in his nephew's lean form, eyes going from top to bottom and making a show of it. Peter's gotten bolder and more daring in the time they've spent together so if he's inviting his uncle to take a look at him, Tony will.

The older man has come to know Peter's body almost as well as his own. Even then, Peter still takes his breath away every time, especially when he's like this.

His nephew is just the perfect twink. He has a slender build with just enough muscle on his arms and legs that it hints at strength. Not to mention his skin, paler than Tony's, just takes on such pretty color when he's aroused.

Tony watches as the flush deepens when Peter sees him looking. It crawls down his neck, sweeps across his collar bones, and makes it midway down his chest where his pink nipples stand peaked.

His half-hard cock bobs in the air between soft thighs and Tony's mouth waters with the need to suck on it just to hear the boy cry.

"I looked up how to do this…" Peter admits coyly, calling Tony's attention, "But I was thinking that maybe you can help? Please, Uncle Tony?"

Tony's ready to jump right in but there's a hunch tickling the back of his mind.

"What brought this on?" He decides to ask.

His nephew gives him that sweet smile that Tony knows he can't resist.

"I, ah, just figured you'd like this better?" Peter says. "I know I've gotten better with my mouth… But this would be better, right?"

"Oh, sweetie," Tony murmurs. "You don't gotta do that for me."

Peter's sweet smile turns into a pout. He kicks his jeans off in a blatant disregard for them and then completely naked, he presses in close to his uncle.

"But I want to," Peter says stubbornly. "Wanted to make you feel even better, Uncle Tony. And since Dr. Cho said your hands are doing better, I thought maybe we could celebrate…?"

Those sneaky, greedy hands of his rest against Tony's chest then start to slide down. It's done in such a teasing manner that Tony wonders where his sweet, innocent nephew learned such a thing. It tugs at all of Tony's desires, his nephew's familiar touch eliciting such a keen response.

"I heard it could feel really good…" Peter murmurs. His face tips up, lips just begging to be kissed. "Can't you show me, Uncle Tony?"

"Fuck, kid…" Tony gasps when Peter starts to touch his cock. "Didn't need much convincing before, don't think I need it now either but I like it when you try."

The bright smile Peter gives him says he knows just how hard Tony finds it to say no to him. In this case, it was never even a possibility.

"Wanna show me what you were trying so far?" Tony prompts even when he lightly presses Peter's hand down harder on his cock.

Just as expected, Peter's hand slips away when Tony shows the slightest inclination to use his hands. The kid's concern for him is too much sometimes even when it has Tony feeling so warm from the inside.

"I can do that," Peter says. He leans up and presses a chaste kiss to Tony's lips before turning back to the bed.

Just like before, he positions himself so he's bent over. Tony gets the perfect view, his nephew's bare back presented to him with its adorable scatter of freckles. And further down, past his slim waist, a perfect peach just begging to be grabbed and squeezed.

He has to swallow the lump in his throat when the boy reaches back and pulls his cheeks apart to reveal a glistening pink hole.

"Christ, kid…" Tony breathes, "if I didn't know any better, I'd think you're trying to give me a heart attack."

"Uncle Tony…" Peter protests and wiggles in place.

Tony only groans at that and comes closer. He wants to touch his nephew so badly… He has to force himself not to reach out and just do it.

"What were you using?" he says to distract himself.

"I, uh, took some of the vegetable oil when I first tried…" Peter admits, shyly, "But, um, this time, I took one of the lubricant bottles you had in the nightstand? I hope you don't mind…"

Tony wants to shake his head at the vegetable oil comment but he's glad Peter isn't using it anymore. He only wants the best for Peter and he wants the kid to feel good too. Subpar tools, even if they work, just aren't good enough for his boy.

"Not at all," Tony says reassuringly, "it's better, isn't it?"

"Yeah, definitely better," Peter agrees breathlessly. One hand inches closer to his glistening hole. "Wanna see, Uncle Tony?"

His cock wants him to do more than just observe but Tony knows that waiting is worth it, especially if he gets to see Peter playing with himself.

He licks his lips.

"Yeah, baby, show me what you were doing…" Tony says. His voice drops to a low, intimate murmur.

His nephew, excited and so eager to please, squirms in place. Maybe even rubs his hard cock against the bedsheets.

"The stuff I read said to go slow," Peter says as he starts to nudge a finger in. "Go slow and use lots of lube."

Tony hums in agreement as his nephew starts to dip his finger in and out. He watches hungrily as that single finger pushes in smoothly. The boy's tight little rim clamps down, basically clinging to the small intrusion before Peter slips it back out. It's the worst kind of tease, watching his beautiful boy's body begging to be filled.

"One finger feels okay… Two is…" Peter cuts off with a hitched gasp as he adds another.

"Tight…?" Tony suggests.

"Mm… ah… y-yeah…" his nephew groans.

Tony comes even closer and lays a hand on Peter's trembling flank.

"Uncle Tony–"

"Shh," Tony soothes the boy, "Just touching you, kid, not gonna try to press hard or anything."

Peter's skin is warm beneath his fingertips, but he longs to feel the jump of muscles under his palms. Later, he tells himself.

The boy settles down, grudgingly accepting that Tony is being careful. Maybe part of it is that he wants his uncle to touch him as much as Tony wants to.

"Breathe, sweetheart," Tony instructs, "Breathe and relax… Bear down when you push in and it'll help."

The boy obeys beautifully, those slim fingers nudging in slowly when he inhales. A soft whimper escapes him when he does it.

"Don't rush it," Tony gently tells him. "You gotta work for it, Pete. Get your hole used to being stretched like this."

He knows what it's like being an overeager teen, knows that there's been a hunger in his nephew every time he's handled Tony's cock. How long Peter's wanted him, perhaps Tony will never know.

"That's it, kid," Tony encourages when Peter's body relaxes, melting into the bed. "You're gonna have to put another one… Gotta stretch yourself good for my cock. Your fingers are so small compared to what you want… You do want my cock in you, don't you, Pete?"

The boy shudders and whimpers, wrist flexing and fingers pumping faster at Tony's words.

"I do, Uncle Tony…" Peter groans, "Want you to put it in me…"

Tony caresses the boy's side soothingly, still light enough that Peter doesn't protest. Not only that, but the boy actually arches into his touch with a soft moan.

"I will," Tony promises, "as long as you're ready for me."

His cock throbs in his pants and he's tempted to ask Peter to help him out of them. But his nephew looks so caught up in the moment, eyes squeezed shut in concentration as he works himself loose for Tony.

Tony sneaks a hand to the band of his sweatpants and nudges it down. He hasn't bothered to wear underwear since Peter's been so greedy for his cock so his sweatpants are the only obstacle.

"One more finger, baby," Tony says soothingly, "One more then–" he presses his cock, blood warm and so hard, against the boy's ass and Peter's eyes fly open at the touch.

"Oh–!" He leans up to get a look and his eyes lock on the older man's cock.

Tony, himself, loves the view. His cock is ready, swollen to an intimidating size with prominent veins decorating the length. His cockhead, a deeper color than the rest of him, is already damp at the slit.

With Peter's eyes on him, Tony nudges his cock forward toward the boy's fingers stretching his hole apart. The cockhead bumps against them and his breath hitches in his throat.

"Oh, God…" Tony hears Peter moan.

Those slim fingers retract, leaving Peter's pink hole to close around nothing. It looks so desperate, lubed up and ready to be fucked but not quite yet.

Even so, Tony takes the opportunity to rub his cock right there, his sensitive tip brushing against Peter's equally sensitive hole. The boy shudders and he even rocks back, trying to get his uncle's cock to slip into him.

But Tony makes sure that besides teasing them both, his cock doesn't press in.

"One more, kid," Tony reminds him. He reaches over and nudges the lube towards Peter. "Add more, too. You'll need a lot more if you want my cock inside you."

A soft whine is all Tony gets but Peter hastily obeys because he knows Tony's won't continue if he doesn't. The cap is popped off and more lube is added to the boy's wet fingers. It's probably more than he actually needs but Tony isn't going to call him out on it.

"Good boy…" Tony murmurs when Peter returns to the task.

He presses three fingers to that soft little hole. The excess lube drips down and Tony catches it with the tip of his cock. While Peter starts to finger himself, Tony lightly spreads the excess lube along his length. He wants to be ready for the boy, too.

His breathing is harsh but Peter's is even more evident. The boy is moaning, eyes watching his uncle while he gets used to the stretch.

He has three fingers nudged in now. The skin around his hole is rosy and wet as he works his fingers in and out slowly. Soft, sloppy sounds combine with his moans and Tony decides to add to it.

"See, I knew you could take it, baby," Tony praises him, "Three fingers… Almost ready for me..."

"'m ready… So ready, Uncle Tony," Peter swears, cheeks red and hips rocking.

His fingers push in deeper, past the second knuckle, and his entire body shudders. He's trying so hard to show Tony that he can take it.

"I know, baby… I know," Tony murmurs softly. "Take em out, Pete. Gonna put my cock inside now."

A soft exhale then a soft moan as Peter extracts his fingers. "Ah…"

The pink little hole, worked open to accommodate his cock, slowly closes but in those few seconds, Tony can imagine what his nephew would look like with a gape. He just wants the use of his hands so that he can spread the boy apart with his thumbs and just tease him there with his cock until neither of them can take it anymore.

"God, Pete… The things you do to me…" Tony groans when he presses his cock right against that wet hungry hole. "Wanna just… do really bad things to you, Pete… Wanna fuck this tight hole of yours until you're loose and dripping with me… Wanna make you mine..."

The boy whines and rocks against him. This time, Tony doesn't pull away. He groans when he feels the inviting heat of Peter's hole slowly opening around his glans. So warm and tight…

"You can, Uncle Tony," Peter pants, "if you want to… I want it too, please…"

Tony breathes in harshly then slowly starts to sink in.

Despite Peter's efforts, the sheer size of Tony's cock is still so much to take for someone as inexperienced as his nephew. Peter gasps and his hand clenches in the sheets, hips instinctively pulling away from the penetration.

It's still just the tip but Tony pauses anyway.

"Keep going…?" Tony gives Peter the option to tap out but the boy shakes his head adamantly. Those endearing brown curls bounce as he rejects the very idea.

"N-No!" Peter's voice shakes and his entire body trembles. "I-It's a lot…"

More deep breaths but Tony could see the boy trying to relax.

Tony leans down so his chest presses lightly against Peter's back. Gently, he slips a hand around the boy's hip and between his legs.

He finds Peter's hard cock and gently rubs it, up and down, with his fingers. The cast makes the movement clumsy and it takes away from Tony feeling the warm, heavy weight but it does the job.

Peter whines and grows restless beneath him, body tight with growing pleasure but also softer and more welcoming.

"More, Uncle Tony…" Peter groans. He reaches back, tries to spread himself open with one hand for the older man.

It's too tempting to resist… Tony nips the boy's shoulder before he straightens himself. His hands aren't healed enough to carry the weight of his body and he's not chancing the possibility that they have to stop because he hurt himself again.

His cock sinks in slowly. Inch by inch, he works his erection into the boy's body with short, gentle thrusts. He has to, for his sake and Peter's.

The boy is so tight around him and everything about it is too much… It's not just the sensation either, though the heat and pressure around him are enough to leave him breathless.

It's the fact that it's Peter. It's his nephew that's making him feel good. The boy's moans are what's making Tony unravel, those soft whimpers and the eager, almost desperate way that his body silently begs for more.

When he gets that last inch inside, they're both panting with exertion. Peter's knuckles are white where they're curled in his sheets but everything else about him is full of color.

The tips of his ears are red, his lips, a trembling pink, and his shoulders… Down to where that pink little hole, stretched so tightly around his cock.. That, too, is such a rosy color and Tony's barely even put it to use...

Tony runs a hand down the boy's trembling back and Peter melts into the touch.

"Too much, sweetheart?" Tony asks. His voice is strained, his entire body is struggling not to just fall into instinct.

"'m okay," Peter whimpers, "m okay…"

Despite saying so, Tony gives him as much time to adjust as he can. It's only when the boy becomes restless once more that Tony starts to move.

When he does, he intentionally seeks out that sweet spot in Peter's body.

One of the reasons why he hates not being able to touch Peter is because he couldn't stimulate that spot inside him. He couldn't show Peter all those sensitive areas that could have pleasure bursting like fireworks.

He intends to do that now.

Every push in and every pull out threatens his control but he grits his teeth and bears it. Peter moves with him, clumsy and unrefined, just trying to fall into the rhythm that Tony sets. Tony guides him into it with a hand lightly set on his hip.

His fingers itch to press down but Tony focuses on his initial task.

Peter is just so receptive, so eager for this… He moans and cries out with every thrust but Tony knows when he finds his sweet spot. With his hips angled just right, Peter's entire body jolts when Tony's cock brushes right there where he needs it.

"Mm!" The boy cries out. His hips push back harshly, chasing after that shock of pleasure.

"There it is…" Tony groans and aims for it again and again. "Found your sweet spot, Pete."

"U-Uncle Tony…!" Peter cries out. More words try to come out but all he can manage is a jumble of moans and whimpers.

The moans that come out of the boy are on a whole other level. They're high pitched with shock and it melts into drawn out whines even as he pushes back desperately.

Tony gives it to him just like he wants, just like they both want. Their bodies fall into a perfect rhythm, Peter pushing back while Tony fucks forward.

Pleasure is shared between them in a continuous loop, strengthening with each pass. It's not sustainable though and Tony feels it the moment Peter comes from being fucked.

That tight, warm space he's made for himself in Peter's body just clenches down so viciously that Tony's thrusting aborts. His eyes squeeze shut as he tries not to blow his load right then and there.

"Oh– oh, fuck, Pete…" Tony grunts. "You coming, baby…? Fuck–"

Peter whimpers beneath him and when Tony's hand slips between his legs, he finds wetness on the sheets and dripping down his thighs.

"You, too–" Peter groans once he's regained speech, body clenching down and massaging Tony's cock. "Please, Uncle Tony… Want you to finish, too…"

Tony hissed but he starts up again with harsh thrusts that have his hips slapping against Peter's ass. He isn't going to last long, especially now that he knows Peter's already come.

Sweat drips down from his hairline and the older man grunts in exertion. Peter just lays there, his entire body willing and accepting every thrust.

And then, just like before, he reaches back and spreads his cheeks apart for his uncle. Tony gets the perfect view of his cock stretching that pink hole apart…

"Come in me, Uncle Tony," Peter begs softly. "Please, Uncle Tony, wanna feel it… Wanna feel you come inside…"

"Pete– Oh, fuck, Pete…!" It's enough to push Tony over the edge.

He buries his cock right to the root and his balls press tight as he starts to unload inside his sweet, begging nephew.

He groans in completion and it's accompanied by Peter's soft whimpers as he's being filled. The pleasure overwhelms him and it's so good that it almost hurts.

He doesn't know if it's intentional or not, but Peter's tight walls milking his cock becomes too much. He's too sensitive in the aftermath.

Tony pulls out with a hiss then groans when his cum comes spilling out and drips down in thick trails.

Immediately, Peter's fingers are there, so curious and tracing over his used hole and Tony's cum seeping out of it. The look in his eyes is full of wonder and somehow, still so hungry when he looks at Tony.

And God help him, Tony can't resist him. Doesn't even want to.

He's still panting and coming down from his high when he says, "C'mere, sweetheart."

Peter goes eagerly, arms wrapping around Tony's body and face tipped up with a pleased smile.

"Was that good, Uncle Tony?" Peter asks sweetly. There isn't even a hint of insecurity in his voice, he knows his uncle so well now.

Tony wraps his arms around Peter's waist, pulling him close and kissing those irresistible lips.

"The best, Pete, the best," Tony tells him. "You always take such good care of me…"

The boy nuzzles close, so affectionate, so perfect.

"Always will, Uncle Tony," Peter promises and Tony knows he means it.

There's no stopping what they have now.

#starker #starkercest #madstarker writes #coffee for mads #nff #uncle tony

353 notes · View notes

boymeetsweevil · 4 years

Text

binary stars

Grouping: Reader x Bff!Hyuck

Word Count: ~8.4k

Warnings/Themes: friends to lovers, insecurity, pining, jealous hyuck, like a teaspoon of suggestiveness, yuta is here because i love him

Prompt: “bff!hyuck + friends to lovers. college au and slightly nsfw or however nsfw u wanna make it”

A/N: This commissioned fic is part of the Changes with Luv project, hosted by FicsWithLuv. Here you can find more information about the project, cause, places to donate, and ways to commission a piece or offer your services if you are a content creator. Thank you!

The food court is crowded when you get there. It’s a bit later than ideal after morning classes followed by a study session in the library.

“What are you gonna get,” Donghyuck asks while slinging an arm around your shoulder.

While squinting up at the menu up ahead, he whispers into your ear. Just to make sure his question doesn’t get lost in the chatter around you. You still get goosebumps, though.

“All I know is that it can’t be a bagel. I’m starting to get sick of those.” You rub your arm and he mistakes it for you being cold.

Donghyuck pulls you closer while mumbling half to himself and half to you about what he’ll get.

“I heard they have this new sandwich thing. Johnny told me it has hash browns as the bread.” He peers down at you. “You could try that.”

“Did he say if it was filling or not?”

“No, but if it’s too big for you to eat, we can share it. Or you can use some of my tupperware when we get home,” he says.

When he says ‘home’, he really just means his dorm. There’s a section in the communal first floor kitchen that belongs to him, and it houses all the things his mom sent him with for survival years ago.

Home. As in ‘where you have a place too’. It’s a small difference from your classmates and other friends who say ‘the dorm’ or ‘my place’. But it’s also one of the many ways in which Donghyuck invites you in and makes you feel special. It’s one of the reasons you fell for your best friend.

“Why don’t you just get it?” You try to wriggle out of his grasp but he doesn’t notice and tightens up as the line moves up a bit. “It sounds like you’re the one who wants it, not me.”

“I would...but I think it’s one of the ‘deluxe’ sandwiches.” He pivots so he can envelope you fully from behind, puppy dog eyes out and at the ready. “And I’m in the red again this week.”

“Okay, why are you always in the red? What are you spending your money on?”

You miss the way his eyes drift down instinctively to the empty frappe cup you hold.

“I don’t know. The money just escapes me.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not an econ major, then.”

“Hey!”

He squeezes you tightly from behind and starts to shake you around like a ragdoll. A couple people in line turn at the sudden commotion while you scrabble at the tight vice his arms make around you.

Moments like these are the ones where, if you step back, you could convince yourself that Donghyuck was your boyfriend instead of just your best friend. But you know better than to think that you and he are in the same league. Even if you were, you’d probably be at the back of the line because he’s almost too easy to love.

Donghyuck is the whole package. When he’s not lighting up a room with his charisma and humor, he’s stealing everyone’s attention with his handsome face. It doesn’t help that he’s naturally flirty and generous with touch. Sometimes you think that maybe there’s some side of him that only you get to see, but other times—

“Hyuck!”

You and Donghyuck turn at the same time to see Mila, one of Donghyuck’s department-mates running towards your spot in the slow moving line. The moment stops being private and suddenly there’s a sort of shame bubbling up inside of you. Maybe it’s because you know that people think you’re an odd pair, that Donghyuck is misguided and charitable for hanging out with you. He’s never mentioned it, and the one time you did he blew up at you about it. But still, there’s something about third party appraisal that makes you feel like you’re in someone else’s spot. For all you know it could be Mila’s spot. She’s bright too. Not as bright as Donghyuck, but brighter than you. Since she started coming around Donghyuck, you’ve accepted this. The fact that she now uses your nickname for him makes you feel a whole new type of loss, though.

“Hey,” you both greet her.

She lays a hand on his forearm, squeezing lightly. “Hey, how are you? I’ve been looking for you.”

“Oh, what for?”

“You owe me a movie, silly.”

“Like a physical movie?”

You snort at his obliviousness and Mila responds with a quick glance at the way he drapes himself over you.

“No! Remember when you gave me those movie recommendations?”

“Yeah. To watch on your own time. You don’t have to watch them with me just because I mentioned them.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

She pouts, grabs his free arm and tugs just hard enough to jostle him. With his arms wrapped around you, you stumble forward when he does.

“Oh, sorry.” Her hands come out like they’re going to steady you, but they get nowhere close enough to actually do the job. “Didn’t see you there.”

“She said ‘hi’,” Donghyuck chimes in before you can make up some excuse for why it’s okay that you almost fell on your face.

“I must have just missed you then,” she gazes down at you, “You’re so quiet.”

“Just watching the line,” you say.

The line moves forward and Mila moves with you. Clearly she’s not planning on leaving. She’s waiting you out and it’s working. You feel awkward enough that you need to get out, even if it means you cede something to Mila.

“Hyuck,” You turn and lay your hand on the back of his neck. It looks like a comfortable hand on the shoulder that went too far north, but that trajectory was calculated. He shivers like you know he will because he always does. It’s been a sensitive spot since you met him.

“Huh?” His voice is already sounding far away.

“I’m gonna go wait at a table. You can order for me.”

You make a point to pat at the arms he has wrapped around your middle still. The motion drags Mila’s eyes to the point of contact and she smirks a little. Donghyuck might only see you as a friend, but Mila mistakenly sees you as an obstacle. It’s petty, but you kind of want to make her think she has to work a little hard to get to him. Even if you don’t stand a chance.

In the end, the flash in Mila’s eyes is worth having to go find a place to sit during the lunch rush. You replay the moment over in your head, barely watching where you’re going in the crowded food court until you run into someone. If it weren’t for the quick pair of hands grabbing your upper arms at the last second, you might have taken a rather nasty fall.

“I’m sorry, that was my fault.”

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”

The hands disappear once you’re stable while the voice lingers. It’s familiar but you don’t know why. When you take too long to put a name to a face, the person chuckles at you. At the very least, this mystery person is uniquely handsome with pretty teeth.

“You don’t remember me?”

“Can I have a hint?”

“What if you pretend to throw up on my shirt? Then would you remember?”

“Oh god,” you cover your face with your hands. Suddenly you recall the party last week where the pizza didn’t agree with you. “Yuta,” you groan.

“Hmm. My name sounds nice when you say it like that.”

You feel your face get hot as you peek at him from between your fingers. Last week you’d fallen face first into his lap while he was innocently sitting on a sofa. You’d proceeded to throw up onto his chest after he asked you for your name.

“Just kill me. It’d be less painful than this.”

“I don’t know. I think me still trying to hit on you afterward just for your boyfriend to send me murder eyes and whisk you away was way more painful than a little bit of vomit.”

“My boyfriend?”

“That little Hyucko guy, right?”

Yuta points behind you, and you turn to find him gesturing at Donghyuck. He’s still with Mila, but he’s clearly watching you talk with Yuta instead of engaging in small talk in line. You wave him off, hoping he’s not thinking you’re in danger.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Sucks for him, then.”

Furrowing your brows, you return your gaze back to Yuta.

“But good for me,” he continues, “I don’t have to feel bad for asking you for your number now.”

“M-my number?”

“Is there another way to get to know the girl who threw up on me?”

“Uh, sure, why not?”

Yuta hands you his phone with a smile that looks so triumphant, you have to turn away slightly. His gaze on you is a bit too open, too pleased. You’re definitely not used to this type of attention, but you can’t say you’re mad at him for it. After typing in your number and name, he takes the phone back and reads your name out loud. When you nod in confirmation, he smiles wider.

“So, what are you studying then?”

“I’m studying political science.”

Yuta lets out a low whistle. “Sounds tough.”

“Sometimes, yeah. What are you studying?”

“Astronomy.”

“That’s very romantic.” He smiles in response.

“I suppose so, yeah. I guess you’d have to be romantic to look into an abyss full of flaming gas balls and think that’s fascinating.”

“Sorry to hear about your hot balls. You should probably get that checked out. I’m studying literature.”

Donghyuck shows up with a tray full of your food and takeout containers.

Yuta raises an eyebrow. “‘Sup?”

“What are you doing here? Did you come to bully the baristas?”

“Clever,” Yuta eyes him up and down. “You know I’m a grad student in the astronomy department. How do you forget every time?”

“Ah, you’re right. How could I forget. So what are you, like, 45 now?”

“Hyuck!”

“Sorry,” he sniffs. Clearly, he’s not sorry.

He trudges off to the nearest empty table to put the food down long enough to pack it up. You follow behind, with Yuta trailing alongside you.

“I’m sorry about him. Usually he’s...well, actually he is kind of like that.”

“I don’t mind. I just wanted to say that it was nice to finally meet you officially,” he starts off.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Same.”

Something about your response must be funny because Yuta laughs again to himself before shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“Can I call you some time?”

“Me?”

He laughs again. “Yes, you.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

You say your goodbyes to Yuta. It’s awkwardly formal because you’re not sure how these things usually go. When you finish waving a stilted hand at him, you turn around to find the food has been packed up and Donghyuck is fuming silently behind you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t get why he of all people decided to butt in.”

He starts walking towards the exit, long legs eating up the distance at a speed that means you have to jog a little.

“You sure something’s not up? Because I don’t really get what we were doing that was so important in the first place. Not much to butt in on anyway.”

“Well, you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

He huffs and continues speed walking. “We had plans to eat lunch at my place. And he delayed that. Now I’m even hungrier.”

“I thought we were eating at your place because you weren’t hungry enough to eat there.”

“I—I mean, yeah. But I started getting hungry in line.”

You point at the wrapped muffin in his hand. “Couldn’t you have just eaten that?”

“This...is for later.”

Normally you’d try to figure out what it is that’s making Donghyuck so pissy. But your phone starts chiming and by the time you got to his front door, the little message notification on your phone had gone off a dozen times—all of them from Yuta as you message him on and off. Donghyuck settles for sighing dramatically every time you check your phone.

“Doesn’t he have, like, blimps to stare at? This is too much.”

“Since when is there a limit on how much I text someone?”

“There’s not but—isn’t this a lot? You just met him today.”

“Technically we met last weekend.”

He scowls but admits the point with a wave of his hand and a bite of his food.

“Still. I don’t even text you that much.” Donghyuck sits back in his chair before scoffing. “And no one should text you more than me. I’m your best friend.”

“But what if he was my boyfriend?”

“He’s not,” he snaps. There’s enough intensity in his voice to surprise you both. He reels it in a bit with an apologetic tilt of his shoulders over his plate. “Sorry. But—have you heard what people say about him? He’s a complete dick to the people he sleeps with. Plus, he’s ancient.”

“He’s only turning 26 in October.”

“So you know his birthday now?”

“Yes?” You put your napkin down, hash browns nearly finished. “And maybe I’m using him too. Bet you didn’t think of that.”

“Oh,” he says after a beat.

“Anyway, I don’t get why you’re so mad about this.”

“M’not mad,” he mumbles.

“Sure.”

You continue texting Yuta as you eat your lunch. Donghyuck huffs as he discards his trash and goes to his room to change into more comfortable clothes. While he’s gone, you glance at your phone guiltily.

It’s not that you’re so engrossed with the smalltalk with Yuta that you can’t put your phone down. Honestly, you want to just put your phone down and go plaster yourself to your best friend. But standing less than 2 feet away from Donghyuck and still feeling like he was unreachable earlier at the cafeteria really knocked some sense into you. If Donghyuck was the sun, you were merely a planet caught in his pull, orbiting around him. He wasn’t meant to orbit around you.

Donghyuck emerges from his room looking only mildly pouty at this point and in a sweatshirt and joggers. Seeing him in pajamas is your favorite thing. It’s why you like hanging out at his place so much because as soon as you settle in, he changes out of his regular clothes.

“Are you staying?” There’s only a touch of petulance still lingering in his voice.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Of course.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that you have to turn away under the guise of finishing the last bites of your lunch to hide a shy smile. The words sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when it’s not meant in the way you wish.

You settle down on the couch to get some more work done, but the hash browns sneak up on you. Donghyuck watches silently from his battered copy of Dante’s Inferno at your eyes drooping closed. He’s known you long enough to know the signs of your food comas when he sees them. He shuts his book after marking the page and gets up from his spot on the carpet.

“Come on,” he shakes your upper arm lightly.

“What? What’s going on?”

“Let’s watch some TV.”

“I’m working, I can’t just—”

“You've been on the same page for 15 minutes.

“How would you know?”

“Because I stopped reading 20 minutes ago.”

By now, any traces of his strange anger are replaced by smug amusement. You let yourself be manhandled off your seat and take the trek to his bedroom. He flips through channels while you can dig something up from his closet to change into. Donghyuck has a strict no street clothes rule when it comes to lounging.

“Sexy,” he drawls, looking at your outfit choice.

It’s one of his shirts with an oversized neckline due to an accident with the 10-year-old dryers in the basement of the dorms and a pair of ratty long johns to beat the cold of the AC. It’s not cute per se but it was all he had clean.

“Shut up.” You sit down near the arm of the couch next to him. “What are you gonna do after this? Don’t you have a department dinner?”

“Yeah, but I can skip it.”

“Hyuck, don’t skip department events.”

“I already have a rec letter from Dr. Chittaphon, though. So I don’t need to kiss ass anymore”

“He finally wrote it for you?”

In your excitement, you grab his closest hand in yours, giving a congratulatory smile. He smiles back an almost tender smile. In the privacy of his own dorm with none of his other classmates around, he nods with some enthusiasm.

“He told me about it yesterday. He said I can use it for as many lit programs as I want.”

“That’s amazing.”

Donghyuck’s cheeks flush a deep ruby as he fiddles with the knitted quilt to pull over you. True to his word he has some inane show queued up on the tiny TV he brought with him from home. But once the lights are off and the coffee table is pushed close enough to support your feet, you succumb to sleep. Donghyuck is radiating warmth and an extra something that, combined with the background noise from the TV, makes you feel like you’re floating. You shift so you’re pillowed by the arm of the couch and drift off pretend the moment is something else.

***

You wake up from the nap to the sound of your phone alerting you to a new message. The phone is resting on the coffee table, so you sit up to get it only to realize you can’t quite move. Donghyuck’s arms are wrapped tightly around your torso and his head has migrated to your shoulder from it’s resting place when he was sitting up. He’s so close that the tip of his nose grazes your neck. You test just how stuck you are by moving toward the table a bit. Donghyuck responds with a grumble and a warning nuzzle of his cheek against your clavicle.

The moment you decide to move one of his arms, he pulls you in closer and presses his open mouth to your exposed shoulder. It feels almost like a kiss, but then he lets out a snore that reminds you of your family pug and all the romance is gone. You continue to shift as best you can to reach your phone.

The notification on your screen tells you that the message is from Yuta, yet again. Donghyuck is still fast asleep when you peek down at him. Just to be sure he doesn’t wake up, you turn onto your side. Even in his sleep he follows you, readjusting his grip on you while slotting his face into your nape and his knees behind yours. Thankfully the couch is wide enough that he doesn’t push you off the edge. With the brightness and volume turned down, you open up your messages.

there’s gonna be another NKT frat party in two weeks it’ll be no fun if you’re not there

Donghyuck’s words about Yuta’s reputation ring in your head but you don’t really care. Instead his flirtation makes you feel zippy. He might be a player but you’re play the game too. You type a response out quickly.

i guess i could go...u better make it worth it my while.

After you press send you have to bite your tongue to hold in a laugh. You’re not sure why you’re having so much fun. A small smile makes it to your face and you press the phone to your chest only for it to go off once more.

“I don’t get it,” Donghyuck groans. His breath hits the side of your throat while he rubs his eyes. “He can’t be that interesting.”

Even though he’s not pleased with Yuta’s constant messaging, Donghyuck’s grip on you doesn’t let up. In fact, he tucks his face securely over your shoulder and merely plucks the phone out of your hands.

“Can I read what he sent?”

“I guess,” you mumble.

It’s hard to be annoyed at him when he’s warm and soft behind you from sleep. He hands you the phone so you can unlock it before taking it back and finding the latest message.

“He said, ‘by the end of the party, i promise it will have been worth it. how do you like your toast in the morning?’”

“Oh god. Don’t read it out loud, that makes it so unsexy.”

“That’s because he’s unsexy. Just tell him to fuck off.”

“If you don’t think he’s sexy then don’t fuck him.” He pinches at your sides and you yelp. “Plus, I don’t really have a reason to blow him off so quickly.”

“Uh, yes. Yes, you do.”

“I already told you I don’t care if he’s not the marrying type.”

“T-there are other reasons.”

“What are they?”

There’s a long pause.

“Okay, I can’t think of any right now, but I know they’re there. So just...please. You’re way out of his league, anyway.”

You snort. “Right. I’m not hot enough to get free drinks from people, so if I’m out of his league, what are you?”

From the little spoon position, you can’t see Donghyuck’s cheeks burn in embarrassment. Sophomore year you two had snuck into a bar and a few senior girls sent some drinks to your table after seeing him in a leather jacket. Since then the freebies have only increased now that he’s lost some of his baby face and invested in jeans that fit.

“Besides,” you snatch the phone back. “He’s the only one who seems to find me attractive lately.”

“There are other people who find you attractive.”

There’s a seriousness in his voice that startles you a bit. Donghyuck is a free spirit so there’s not much that makes him mad. But now his voice is a shade more gravelly than normal. When you roll onto your back you see that his brows slant heavy over his eyes. He looks truly upset. And you’re not sure why. It takes you by surprise and it must show on your face, because instantly his eyes go softer and he’s laying back down beside you.

“Even if that’s true, Hyuck, those people aren’t lining up at my door.” Donghyuck mouth purses against the back of your neck in frustration. “At least Yuta is being loud and clear. I can’t fault him for that. Just like I can’t date someone whose feelings I never know.”

“Fair enough.” He sighs finally, his words taking you by surprise. “You sure you don’t like him at least a little bit, though? This seems like a lot for someone you don’t actually care about.”

“No, I have...someone else.”

Donghyuck shoots forward to peer at you with wide eyes. “Who is it?”

“I don’t wanna say.”

“Come on, that’s not fair.”

“If I told you, I would jinx everything.”

He eyes you silently but doesn’t push much more.

“Is Yuta suddenly an option so you can get over this mystery person?”

“Maybe.”

“Then I’ll do my best to help out.”

“What does that mean?” Donghyuck sits up, probably energized by the nap.

“Yuta is the type of guy that wants what he can’t have. So you have to show him that he can’t have you.”

“Okay, I see where you’re going and I honestly kind of like the early 2000’s rom-com vibes. But how do you make someone think you’re taken when you’re single?”

“Leave it to me.”

Leaving things up to Donghyuck harebrained schemes often means that you aren’t in the loop even when you’re technically in the loop.

Yuta and you text on and off during the whole week leading up to the NKT party. Per Donghyuck’s advice, you give short answers and always take longer than an hour to open his selfies after he sends them. When you do respond with a selfie, you’re never alone in them. A picture of you coyly sipping from the straw in your iced coffee with Donghyuck’s shoulder in the background. A picture of your legs while you study in bed with Donghyuck’s hand partially cropped in the left corner. One of them was supposed to be a mirror selfie to show your outfit, but Donghyuck is fully present with a smug grin and a “friendly” arm wrapped around your waist. When your best friend first proposed the idea to you, it sounded like bro code bullshit. But it seemed to work.

While his snap stories remain full of other ‘acquaintances’, Yuta’s messages get a little more lovey dovey the more you ignore him. There’s suddenly a flood of texts telling you he can’t wait to see you and calling you baby. The act seems to be taking a toll on Donghyuck judging by his scowls after every photo you send. But you just can’t help laughing at how petty guys can be.

Friday rolls around and you’re actually debating whether or not you should bring a condom to the party. You obviously don’t know what size Yuta wears, but with the way he’s been talking over text you think maybe the evening might end well. Help-me-get-over-my-best-friend sex can still be good sex, even if it doesn’t help you get over your best friend.

So you take extra time in the shower Friday night, shimmy into something tight, and wait for Donghyuck to arrive at your place so you can leave to the party together. You had wanted to go with your classmate Jennie, since Donghyuck is a bit of a homebody. But that night he wanted to come, saying something about seeing his plan through.

When Donghyuck arrives, you’re taking a swig from one of the tiny nip bottles of vodka that you stashed in your purse. After a mere 5 seconds of having arrived, he takes one look at you and immediately groans.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just stay in? We can order Chicken Haus and watch that new show you put on my DVR. Or I could hire a stripper. I’m sure we could find one that’s way more personable than Yuta.”

“Hyuck, I need to do this. It’ll be good for everyone involved.”

“But why am I part of that everyone?”

“You said you would help me with this. And you’re forgetting that Mila is gonna be there.”

Sadly, it was also too early in the night and you hadn’t drunk nearly enough to be able to tell him that he’s involved because he’s the one you're trying to get over. You empty the first tiny bottle and begin downing the second one as you begin the trek to the NKT house.

“What does Mila have to do with anything?”

“While I’m hopefully...doing my thing, you can be doing yours. With her.”

“Why would I want to sleep with Mila?”

“You don’t want to sleep with Mila?”

“No? Who said I did?”

“Oh.”

Donghyuck scoffs at you like you’re speaking gibberish and passes around you when you stop in your tracks again. When you catch up to him, he swipes the new nip bottle out of your hand and finishes it in one gulp.

***

The party is in full swing when you arrive. You stand in the doorway of the front entrance and take in the scenery. The regular lights have all been switched out for red bulbs. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust and be able to make out faces properly because the color is so saturated.

The music is booming loud enough for you to feel the bass in your chest and echo across the soles of your feet as you walk across the room. Donghyuck helps you part your way through the crowd of bodies swaying to the music to get to the drinks table. With a cup in your hand and liquid courage going down your throat, you feel a little less nervous. You try to be inconspicuous while you scan the room for Yuta, but you don’t find him.

“I don’t see him,” you shout over the music, “What do you wanna do in the meantime?”

“Go home,” Donghyuck scowls into his cup.

You flip him off for being a wet blanket and finish the contents of your cup. Just as you move for a refill, you happen to find Yuta in the crowd. He’s not alone either. There’s a girl with long red hair in front of him, dancing while he smiles wolfishly. You think you recognize her from one of his instagram posts. Suddenly, you’re not feeling so bold anymore.

“There he is,” you say just loud enough for Donghyuck to catch. Even over the music he can hear the resignation in your voice. He follows your gaze over to the dark corner where the girl now has herself pressed against him.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Donghyuck straightens up.

“It’s not too late, though.”

“How is it not? She’s practically got him in a to-go box.”

“Maybe, but he might just not know you’re here. You can still plant the seed. You know, let him know what he’s missing, at least.”

Donghyuck’s features are now angled in focus. In the red party lights, the serious expression squares off his jaw, sharpens the planes of his face. He looks handsome and he wants to help you even though he hates the guy he’s trying to help you with. You don’t know whether to be angry or feel fond. It’s not like you really want him to help you get with another guy, but the fact that he’s swallowing his own pride to do it shows he cares. He’s a good friend, you muse. And you can’t mess that up just because you caught feelings.

With vodka and spiked punch humming in your veins, you toss your shoulders back and grab your friend’s hand. Making a beeline through the crowd once more, you make sure to end up in a spot that’s directly in Yuta’s eyeline. Donghyuck falls in front of you instinctively, acting as a wall to spy behind. The music changes and you move with it to look natural. Your arms come up to wrap around your friend’s broad shoulders and your body comes up to press against his. Donghyuck looks down at you.

“Sorry,” you plead through the thumping bass of the song, “I know this is weird but I just figured if it looked like—”

“No, I get it. Keep going.”

Then, he’s locking you in with a hand on the small of your back and stepping in time with the beat of the song. You follow suit and as soon as you do, Yuta looks away from his friend for a split second. Your eyes meet, he takes in the scene, and you give him your best teasing grin. Instantly he looks intrigued. His eyes don’t return to the girl in front of him and instead he raises an eyebrow. As if to say ‘I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend’. You respond with a coy eye roll but also graze your hands lightly up the column of Donghyuck’s back for effect. You’re so caught up in your act that you forget yourself and go so far as to rake your nails across the nape of his neck. He shivers against you and for a moment you think you’ve crossed a line. But then he’s spinning you around.

Now your back is to Yuta while Donghyuck sizes the older man up. The plan is no longer in your control and you’re nervous.

“What are you doing,” you hiss into his ear.

“I’m just doing my part.”

Donghyuck makes sure Yuta is watching before leaning in and pressing his mouth to yours. Once the initial shock wears off, you freeze up for a different reason. On the one hand, this is what you’ve been waiting for. On the other hand, this isn’t how you had imagined your first kiss with him. You certainly don’t want it to have happened only because he was trying to get some other guy interested in.

The way his lips caress yours softly makes you pliant for a moment. You let your guard down and pull him closer with a sigh. His arms come to wrap around you completely and it feels so real then. It feels like the room is spinning. And then you realize it’s actually spinning as Donghyuck turns you both around just in time to give Yuta a glimpse of your entwined figures.

You don’t see the way the older student frowns lightly while being dragged away by his lady friend. All you see is a reminder that none of this is real. The way Donghyuck hugs you to his chest minutely as you kiss him isn’t real. The sweetness of the way he nudges his nose against you and switches the angle of the kiss isn’t real. The way he murmurs your name briefly against your lips before coming in to kiss you again, hidden from Yuta, is...not real?

You push at him roughly. He stumbles back like he’s drunk even though he drank a fraction of the amount you did.

“Donghyuck”

“Mission accomplished.” He grins at Yuta’s retreating back, passing his hand over his mouth.

“What was that?”

“Huh? Oh, that was just...it was just something to seal the deal.”

“Right.” You look down at your feet. “It was an act.”

“Yeah, no, it wasn’t real.”

He laughs but it comes out airy and broken. You try to laugh too but the sound catches in your mouth and a hitch comes out instead.

“Would it have been that awful if it were real?”

You watch as his jaw drops and he frantically looks anywhere but at you. It’s a trap of a question. A trap for the both you really, but you can’t stop yourself from asking.

“What do you mean? Like if we...if you and I were—”

“Forget it. That would be crazy, I don’t know why I even said that. I’m gonna go get some air.”

“Hey.”

The NKT house is one that you’ve visited a couple times for parties, so you’re lucky in that you know the layout well enough to be able to find a back door quickly. There’s not that many people on the porch that you find, so you don’t feel that bad about nudging some empty hard cider cans out of the way and letting out a pathetic little cry.

The rejection isn’t actually all that hard to take; you’d come to accept that Donghyuck was not for you. You hate the sound of your watery voice as you basically asked him if you had a shot only for him to act like he was being held hostage. The couple who had been making out on the other end of the porch get turned off by the weepy background music you make and head inside.

Sounds of another person walking onto the patio interrupt your crying, but you figure if you just cry louder they’ll be gone soon. When the footsteps get closer and eventually end up to your right, you wipe your nose discreetly and take a step away.

“Rough night?”

Yuta stands next to you with a smile. It’s not quite as sharp as the other times as he looks you over.

“You probably aren’t looking for this right now, but I just want to say you clean up real nice.”

“Gee, thanks.” You smooth a hand over the fabric of your clothes. “What are you doing out here?”

“I came to find you actually. Can’t stop thinking about you lately.”

You scoff. “Where’s your friend from earlier?”

“Her? She’s just a colleague.”

“She looked like she liked you,” you say quietly.

“I guess so. I’ve definitely seen that look before. Maybe that’s what it is.”

“Trust me, I know that look when I see it.”.

“I bet you do.” He pins you with an amused look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You cross your arms and turn to him. He chuckles at your sudden annoyance, looking oddly charmed by it.

“Easy, cowgirl.” He lays a relaxed hand on your shoulder, pulling you near. “All I meant was that you must be sick of getting that look from your little ‘not boyfriend’.”

“He’s really not my boyfriend. And he doesn’t—”

“Look, I’m an observant person. I see things. I can read people.” He puts his beer bottle down and uses the now free hand to wipe at the drying tear tracks on your cheeks. “I know when someone’s trying to make me jealous.”

“About that—”

“And I know when someone is head over heels with someone else. And that guy? He’s completely gone.”

“Yuta, I’m sorry about trying to play with your emotions like that. I’m sure you get your fair share of that.”

“Eh, it‘s whatever.” He shrugs. “I will say that you did a good job. It was fun, even if I did get a bit jealous at the end.”

“It wasn’t completely my idea,” you confess.

“I think I kinda knew that.”

You stand in what you think might be companionable silence with Yuta. He takes another swig from his beer while leaving his hand lingering on you. Not in a sleazy way, but perhaps in an attempt at being comforting. Like maybe he’s trying to be a friend.

“So, what’s the deal with your friend?”

“He’s...I think it’s one-sided. I basically confessed out there and his response was kind of bad.”

Yuta turns to lean against the porch railing. You face out into the trees behind NKT house, he faces the house, watching people pass by and stop on the patio.

“What kind of bad?”

“It was like the idea of us together froze him or something. He got so nervous, he started stuttering. I just booked it out of there after that.”

“How do you know it was because he didn’t like the idea? What if he was, like, trying to contain his excitement or something?”

“That would be amazing. But the likelihood of that is insane. I mean, you and him are kind of alike.”

“Excuse me,” Yuta bawks. You laugh a little and pat his arm reassuringly.

“I just mean that you and he are both cool guys.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“He’s super cool and funny and handsome and...warm? It’s probably just simple math or physics—how can you not love him?”

Yuta hums, eyes still trained on the partygoers passing by the porch entrance. Someone walks by the open frantically, then comes back to stand in the doorframe.

“I don’t know. Maybe you have a word for this since you’re in astronomy but isn’t that just how it works? The planets just gravitate around the sun. It’s not the other way around. He’s the sun and I’m...”

“Pluto?”

“Yeah, actually.”

You laugh because it’s a little sad but it’s perfect for your analogy. Pluto. Not even a real planet, doesn’t really belong with some of the other giants that have moons and rings of their own. But still helplessly circling the sun because the laws of the universe won’t let it go that easily.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move,” Yuta says after a moment.

“Oh, uh, okay.”

You continue to look out at the backyard. With your eyes having adjusted a long time ago, you enjoy the dark cobalt of the night sky and the ink blot silhouettes of the trees in the forest that runs along the school’s border. The air has grown crisp and without the alcohol blanket covering you, you’re feeling a bit tired and cold.

“Hey, you misplaced this,” Yuta’s voice sounds again as he ambles back onto the porch. He hands you your bag and phone.

“Crap, you’re a lifesaver.” Oddly enough, you don’t really remember putting them down, but you suppose it was the chaos of the party that blurred the memory.

“I think I have to head out,” you say finally. “It’s clear that my head’s not really in the right place to stay out much later.”

“I get that.” Yuta leans forward and places a soft kiss on your cheek. “But I think I might actually have something related to this in some of my old notes. I’ll send it to you.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, sure.”

Yuta waits around in a surprisingly gentlemanly fashion while you send an awkward text to Donghyuck saying that you’re catching a shared ride back to your dorm and that he doesn’t have to wait up for you.

The following day, you wake up to a knock on your door. Your head is pounding from dehydration and a too-late bedtime the previous night, but you still hobble to the door of your bedroom to see what the commotion is.

“Here.” Your roommate places a stapled book of pages into your hand. “Donghyuck came by to drop this off. He said some guy named Yuta gave it to him and that you would know what it was.”

“Oh-kay,” you yawn and blink down at the paper.

There’s a section highlighted in red on the lined paper. It says BINARY SYSTEMS in neat penmanship. You vaguely remember Yuta mentioning sending you some notes, so you put it at the foot of your bed and plan to read it when you’re more awake.

“You up for brunch tomorrow,” you follow her into the main room and find an overnight bag on the couch.

“Can’t. I’m going to visit my parents tomorrow since my Monday classes got cancelled.”

“Lucky you.”

“We can do next week though.”

“Yeah sure.”

***

Later that Sunday, when you’re stuck in a procrastination loop with your own work, you remember Yuta’s notes. You try to make some sense of them but even with coffee and an afternoon nap, it’s still too jargon-filled to bring any sense to you. So you do the next best thing and type the heading of his notes into an online encyclopedia. The first sentence for the page reads:

A binary system is a system of two astronomical bodies which are close enough that their gravitational attraction causes them to orbit each other...

You don’t really know what Yuta thought you would get from reading this. Maybe he just thought that you would be interested because you made an astronomy analogy. You pull out your phone, about to text Yuta for an explanation, when your phone rings. It’s Donghyuck.

“Hello?” You try to keep your voice neutral, free of embarrassment.

“Hey, where are you?”

“I’m actually just in my dorm.”

“I just saw Daisy. Is she—”

“She’s going home for a few days.”

“Cool. Can I...come up?”

“Yeah. Of course, yeah. I’ll be here.”

You hang up the phone and as soon as you enter the common room, there’s a knock on the door.

“That was fast, you must have—Are you okay?”

There’s dark bruises underneath Donghyuck’s eyes, a sign that he didn’t get much sleep the night before. He smiles self-deprecatingly and holds the door frame for support while taking off his shoes. You note that they’re his shower slides. He’s either more tired than you realize or he was in a hurry to get here. In his hand he holds a cardboard tray carrying two recyclable cups, one filled to the brim with whipped cream like you always ask for.

“I was looking for you,” he blurts. “Friday night. I was looking for you after you ran away.”

“Okay.”

“I was looking for you because as soon as I kissed you I knew I fucked up. But,” he puts his hands up, “not in the way you think.”

“I think I need to sit down for this conversation.”

“I—yeah, okay.”

Donghyuck follows behind you as you migrate to your breakfast table. He looks even more exhausted in the fluorescent lighting hanging above the table. He hands you your cup, and you eat some of the whipped topping thoughtfully.

“How’d you pay for this? Didn’t you say you had a negative balance?”

“I find a way,” he chuckles.

“What were you saying before?”

“I figured you wouldn’t really want to talk to me, but you left your bag and stuff with me, so I was gonna just give it back to you and then give you space, but then I saw you on the porch. With Yuta.”

“Yeah. He came and found me actually. We had a really strange conversation.”

“I know. I heard most of it.”

“Oh. Then you probably know how I feel.”

“Yeah.” He ducks his head to play with the cardboard sleeve sitting around his own cup. “Did you read Yuta’s notes? I gave them to Daisy before she left. She said she’d give them to you.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“And did you...get it?”

“Not really. I think he was just trying to convert me to astronomy”

“Well, after you guys talked, he took your purse from me. And he said he’d send me the notes too. So I read them. And then I didn’t get it so I read more, and then I thought about it and I think I got it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s you and me.”

“How is it you and me?”

“I mean, you kept talking about how I’m like the sun and you’re like Pluto. But we’re something else. It’s not you revolving around me or me revolving around you. We circle each other.”

“So, that means...”

You think back to the discussion you had with Yuta on the back porch of the NKT frat house and it starts to click into place. If hand-holding and back scratches and buying him lunch was your revolution, buying you coffee when he was broke, watching you pretend to do homework, and helping you bag another guy for your own happiness was his. Somehow you had missed so many little things because you were blinded by his light. But now, you could see clearly. Donghyuck wasn’t the sun and you were not Pluto. You were binary stars.

“Hyuck,” you whisper because your throat is suddenly tight.

You get up from your seat, nearly toppling your chair over as you make your way around the table. He opens his arms to meet you halfway and you pull his head to your stomach. Bending at the waist, you press a kiss to the top of his head. He buries his face into the fabric of your shirt and breathes out a deep sigh.

“I love you,” his voice is muffled.

“I love you too.” When he smiles up at you, you take notice of the dark circles under his eyes again. “Have you not been sleeping?”

“I spent a lot of time overthinking everything since Friday night. I kind of haven’t gone to bed since then.”

“You have to take better care of yourself.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, come take a nap.”

He lets you tug him to your room where your bed lays freshly made. You turn the blankets over and gesture for him to get in. He slides in to the wall and then turns to pat the free space beside him.

“Get in.”

“I’m not tired. I slept like a baby these last two days actually.”

His mouth drops open. “How? I felt like I had to read every article about brown giants just to get here.”

“Yeah, see, I didn’t do that.”

“I probably know more than Yuta by now, honestly.”

“You know,” you finally surrender to his annoying patting of the mattress and sit, “He’s not as bad as you made him seem. I actually really liked the vibe while I was talking to him.”

“Why would you tell me that while you get into bed with me?”

You pat his cheek. “I’m just wondering now if maybe some of your attitude towards him was for show.”

“It might have been. But I was feeling desperate.”

“I’ll forgive you if you just go to sleep.”

“I’m too awake to go to sleep.”

“Well, I don’t want to go out and do something just for you to fall asleep like someone’s dad at a baseball game.”

“I don’t do that.”

“You definitely do that.”

You reach a hand out to stroke his hair, making sure to graze the hair at the back of his neck. He freezes up and at first you think it’s just the area being ticklish for him. So you ignore it and continue. But he freezes up again.

“Okay, if you want me to sleep stop doing that.”

“What are you talking about—Oh.” Just as you were pulling your fingers away, you feel something press against your hip. Your eyes grow wide and he buries his face in your neck.

“Sorry, sorry. Don’t worry about me. I’ll go to sleep.”

It’s not the first time you’ve been in this situation. A fair number of times you’ve woken up first after falling asleep in front of the TV, wrapped up in him wherever you slept only to realize that he was still dreaming about ‘nice things’. Sometimes you were able to pretend you were still asleep and he’d quietly disentangle himself before going to sit in your living room until you ‘woke up’ for a second time. Other times, he’d wake up right after you and he’d say the same thing every time. ‘It’s just a reflex’.

“Just a reflex,” you ask because you're not really sure what to do.

“If you want.” He picks his head up then.

“If it’s not just a reflex, what then?”

You inch your hand under the covers at the same time that he props himself up on an elbow, pulling you closer. The sliding sound of clothes seems extra loud in the confines of your room and it makes your face feel hot. His hand appears near the hem of your shirt, grazing the sliver of exposed skin gently enough to make your breath hitch a little.

“Then we can just see where we end up.”

#nct fluff #donghyuck fluff #haechan fluff #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct scenarios #haechan fanfic #haechan imagines #haechan scenarios #donghyuck imagines #donghyuck scenarios #donghyuck fanfic

383 notes · View notes

smol-and-trashy · 3 years

Text

Botched Rescue (BnHA vore fic) 5/5

A/N: Honestly, I only posted this because I hate leaving fics unfinished, so now I can finally say, I finished a fic! I’ll probably work on the prey!Dimi fic in the next couple of weeks, so be on the look-out for that! (and then I gotta finish my remaining WIPs... this is why i don’t do multi-chapter stuff, I lose interest way too fast ~sobs~) tw for vomit.

-----------------------

Shit shit shit. Hawks' brain immediately went to worst-case scenario. He shoved his fingers back in his throat, gagging and dry heaving, but this time nothing came out. Brown flecked eyes shot open; this couldn't be happening. Okay, calm down, gotta go to plan B: find an emetic. He straightened up and ran to the bathroom. Rummaging through his cabinets, sharp eyes scanning various medications and bottles until he finally laid eyes on what he was looking for, bingo!

He unscrewed the cap and didn't even bother to correctly measure the medication as he gulped down the syrup until his stomach began to toss and turn. Grabbing hold of the bowl once again, his stomach twisted, and almost automatically, he thew up. Hawks scanned the vomit-covered bowl for any signs of anything living and finally made contact with three multi-color heads of hair. Letting out a sigh he didn't know he was holding, he fishes them out of the bowl, one-by-one. They're limp and barely unconscious, but he can feel their breaths to know that they're alive. Coughing, the green-haired boy, Midoriya, Hawks reminds himself, stumbles a bit before gazing up at the blond and freezes. Never had he seen someone's life deflate from their body so quickly, and if he weren't the one causing the distress, he'd find it a touch amusing. The kids were staring wide-eyed at him as if he were some kind of monster; he didn't care. Right now, relief swept over him, they were alive, and that was the only thing that mattered right now. "Let's get you guys cleaned up." he murmurs, throat raw and scratchy as he gets up to run a clean bowl under water. The students in his free hand stay dead-still; even the loud one wasn't making a single move. Had he scarred them this much? If he was honest with himself, this wasn't the most preferable of outcomes, but he could work with it. He had to. He brings the water-filled bowl back into the bathroom and brings the kids to the lukewarm water. The water was relatively shallow, and he trusted them enough to bathe themselves without drowning. The boys stayed limp in the bowl for a solid minute, shell-shocked over what they just went through, before slowly scrubbing the gunk off their clothes and hair. They looked so stiff, only going through the motions of what was necessary before finally stopping once they deemed themselves 'clean.' Hawks felt a pang of guilt in his chest as he watched, knowing that he'd fucked up. Even though all of this was for the greater good, he had just traumatized three teenagers for the betterment of hero society. Was all of this really worth it? xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Izuku stared way up at the giant, fear overwhelming him. Why would Hawks let them out? To toy with them further? His heart thumped heavily in his chest while the winged man loomed over them. To put it simply, the hero looked terrible. Strands of blond hair clung to Hawks' sweaty forehead while he had heavy bags under his triangular ducts. A hand hovered over them before trunk-sized fingers seemed to pause before wrapping themselves around Bakugou; the fiery teen squirmed in Hawks' grasp, yelling obscurities at the man holding him while being moved away from the bowl. Hawks slumped down on the wall, pushing his hair back, and gazed up at the blank ceiling. "Haah, thank god you guys are alive. Thought I miscalculated or something!" he tiredly laughed. "Put me down! You reek!" Bakugou wriggled in the man's grasp, biting and kicking at the fingers enclosed on him. The winged pro hero looked down, yet Bakugou remained undaunted by those sharp eyes, he had no idea what the hero was thinking, but if he was planning on eating them again, he's got another thing coming. Instead of raising him back into the damp maw, nimble fingers worked at the quirk suppressor bracelet on his leg, prying it open with just his thumb and index finger, until a small pop was heard, and they snapped off. "There ya go!" Bakugou stared at the man, for the first time since this ordeal, he was entirely dumbstruck. The birdbrain actually helped him? He couldn't believe it. Before he knew it, he was carefully dropped down into the bowl, and Hawks did the same to Deku and Icy-Hot, their bracelets snapping off with relative ease. Bakugou silently watched from afar, confident that the same thought was nesting in the other students' heads: What the hell? xxxxxxxxxxx There wasn't much discourse between Hawks and the students. Guilt gnawed in his gut; he knew that he did the right thing, but was that really enough? Going by the Midoriya's instinctive shudders with each inflicting touch, he had his answer. No, this is what I trained to do, what I'm supposed to do. Keep civilians and provisional heroes safe, I did my job, completed the mission—yet why do I feel so… hollow? Hawks swallowed down these feelings and moved on, scooping the students and softly pocketing them in the largest bag he could find. He had to focus on getting them back to regular size; that was his primary goal, that had been his goal from the first time he saw them in the Liberation Front's base. Pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind, he left his apartment and took off to the Commission's headquarters, taking in warm breeze rafting through messy blond tufts, trying to fly as smoothly as possible, careful not to jostle the U.A. students too much inside the bag. He made a landing in front of the main building, and after punching in his security card, he barged into the President of Public Safety Commission's office, "Got the students. Do you have the re-sizing villain?" The President narrowed her eyes, "Next time knock, Hawks," she said cooly, before sighing, "Of course, he's in the detainment room. Come with me." Hawks whistled, "Yes, ma'am!" and held the bag a bit closer; he wasn't sure what kind of man the self-proclaimed 'Size Maestro' was, but going by his villain name, his expectations were already low. He was promptly lead into an elevator and then down a long hallway, finally stopping at a room with a brick-headed man staring dully at his cuffs. There he was. The Commission President shoots Hawks a pointed look that easily told him, you're just here to interrogate him and get the kids back to normal, you got that? Hawks shot her an easygoing grin back and turned his attention back to the man; this was going to be a cinch. He opened the door and swiftly brought the students out of the satchel. The slight widening of the man's eyes in alarm was all he needed to know, but still, he persevered with the questioning. "Do you recognize these kids?" he asked, pulling up a chair, so he can be at eye-level with the man. "'Course not. Never seen them kids before in my life." Hawks quirked a brow, "Really? Well, let me just run a lil confirmation with them," he looked down at the students. "Was this the guy who shrunk you?" As expected, Midoriya and Shoto both nodded while he had to shield Bakugou with a free hand so that he wouldn't end up lunging his tiny body at the man. "Seems they recognize you, so how about we try this again," his eyes pierced into the man, pupils narrowing into slits, "do you recognize these kids?" After what felt like minutes of sitting in pure silence, the man swallowed, and finally broke. "Fine! I was the one who shrunk the brats! But only under the orders of the Liberation, they tells me that I had to, that it brought us a step closer to the Liberation of quirks," his eyes widened at this slip, and he quickly put a hand over his mouth before squinting at Hawks. "Wait, aren't ya…" Seeing the gears turn in the other man's head, the hero wasted no time; with a key in one hand, he unlocked the villain's handcuffs before pressing a sharp feather under the man's chin. "Turn them back, and then you and I will talk." Nodding, the Size Maestro prodded the students, and one-by-one, they quickly grew back to their original sizes. He looked up at Hawks, expectingly, "So you are a dirty spy that thinks he can—-" he wasn't able to finish his sentence before Hawks knocked him out with a feather blade and locked his cuffs back on. "There we go," he states, satisfied as he turns his attention back to the heroes-in-training, they were unconscious in the interrogation room, exhausted from the re-growth process, but with the aid of a few Commission employees, he brought them back into the Commission President's office. "So, what do you wanna tell their teacher and Endeavor?" The President's lips straightened in a pale line, "Must they know the truth, Hawks?" The hero shrugged, "Could just say they got captured by the League?" Her grim expression softened, pleased with his response, "Good. It would put hero society in turmoil if they were to find out about your mission and more about the Liberation Front than what has already been disclosed. For now, this ordeal will be between us." He smirked, about to retort back, but a buzzing on his headset shifted his attention, pausing for a second, he listened. Armed robbery in Kurume, some kind of electrical quirk. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, not really wanting to leave the kids until they were fully conscious so he could have more time to explain himself properly, but from the frantic squawks of his sidekick, it seemed urgent. His expression shifted, and he turned his attention back to the President. "Duty calls, tell the kids I'm really sorry about everything." She nodded, and giving one last look a the students, he closed the door. His expression darkening slightly as he left the building, he was going to have to cook up an alibi on his way back to Fukuoka for the Liberation Front. xxxxxxxx Deku shifted in his sleep, finding himself in an awful nightmare of being captured by the League and ending up getting eaten and digested by Hawks. His eyes fly open, and he finds himself in a too-bright room, with Bakugou and Todoroki still passed out. Memories flood his head, that awful dream was his reality, yet--why was he alive? He vaguely remembered Hawks releasing them, his words remained fuzzy in the green haired teen’s mind as he tried shifting through recent memories. Sighing, Deku shifts his head to the side, finally noticing the Head of Safety Commission standing over him with her hands behind her back, but that wasn't what surprised him the most, no, it was that he was back to normal again. He… he really did save us. "H-Hawks!" he turns to thank the winged pro, but he was nowhere to be found. Deku sighed; the man really was too fast for his own good.

#bnha vore #my hero academia vore #pred!Hawks #soft vore #safe vore

67 notes · View notes

johnkrrasinski · 4 years

Text

𝐄𝐱𝐢𝐥𝐞

Chapter 2: Those Eyes Add Insult to Injury

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: Dark!Steve Rogers (in future chapters) x Reader

Word Count: 2,554

Summary: Steve Rogers; a Hollywood A-lister and your clandestine occasional hookup. Best friends since childhood, but people change and friendships fall out. Now you were merely strangers with benefits. What happens when one day you stopped being his doormat to be a better man’s queen? The selfish Steve Rogers would not like it. How far is he willing to go to get his favorite possession back?

Warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, dark Steve (in later chapter), angst, Steve Rogers is an asshole in this one, no redeeming qualities. (MUST BE 18+)

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @belovedcherry who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for being a friend when i truly needed it. i’m really glad that you trusted me to write this story for you. with all my heart, i sincerely hope you like it. this series will be updated everyday, there will be 4 more chapters ahead.

Several years had passed since you graduated. You and Wanda remained close despite the bustle of life would get in the way sometimes. She got accepted in Yale University and she chose to study Psychology. Maybe that’s why she and you got along so well. You both were humanitarians at hearts.

College was a lot more fun than high school but that also meant the bigger pressure would come along in one package. Nothing that you didn’t expect. You went into social study major to groom yourself for the future you had set for yourself. Life went along as methodically as you originally designed.

But fate was a comical thing sometimes. When it has settled its decision to place two people who have such a rich history in their past together, it would be inevitable and inescapable one way or another.

The past couple of years of high school, you and Steve were practically strangers who went to the same school. He never greeted or talked to you anymore in class and he abandoned every ritual you had in the good old days. He stopped calling or texting, he stopped answering and he stopped coming over.

He just… stopped knowing you.

There wasn’t a day that passed by without you pondering about where did it all go wrong? How did the fair-headed friendship that bloomed like the flowers in spring slip away as briskly as a bottle of wine? A million questions rushed through your nostalgic head and as the season changed, the gap between you and Steve kept extending wider and wider.

You didn’t even know whether he really went to college or not. Or perhaps, he decided to go straight into auditions and found himself a good agent who was willing to manage his career. You still remember when he was so eager to do whatever it takes to study in NYU but you assumed that things had changed since then. He was a different person, after all, maybe he had new plans to pursue his dreams. But of course, life deprecated its surprises being spoiled.

Who would’ve warned you that you would get accepted to New York University as well as Steve?

You didn’t know until you ran into him at a sorority party that you were reluctant to go at first because you were never that much of a party gal, but your roommate, Natasha coerced you to.

Natasha was a kind person but she could also be a little bold than you were used to. You were grateful that she was your roommate though, you were a little worried that you might have to live with someone who was mean or untidy, everything that Natasha was not. You could imagine the relief when you learned how organized and sensible Natasha was. You had a feeling that the friendship you and Natasha had was going to last a lifetime.

“My sweet girl, y/n, I love you but you really gotta put yourself out there, okay? Forget that motherfucker Steve Rogers. He ain’t shit. If you go to the party with me, you might actually find yourself a decent guy who’s a lot cuter than him and who will treat you right. Because if he doesn’t then I’m gonna kick his ass and he will think twice before cheating on you.”

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend, Nat. Besides, I don’t care about Steve anymore,” you lied. “It’s not even about him, I’m just simply not much of a partier.”

“Bullshit. You are now. Let’s go. I won’t hear any more excuses.”

So you had no other choice but to put on a simple dress and went to the party with Nat. There was no saying no to her when she had made up her mind. Plus, you thought it would be a good idea to familiarize yourself with the vicinity and your potential classmates.

You also wrote a new resolution in your invisible diary that you were going to expand your connection in college and socialize more. You were only really friends with Wanda back in high school. You also shared a few classes with Pete Parker who was nice and smart, despite being a little gauche sometimes and you would often talk to him but that was it.

You also lost your childhood best friend who knew you better than anyone else before Wanda did. It truly deteriorated your trust issues and that’s why it was difficult for you to insert yourself in social situations and just effortlessly talk with any stranger.

You stood in the corner with a red plastic cup in your hand that was still almost full of beer. You didn’t drink either so you had no idea why you even bothered holding it. Maybe it gave you a sense of comfort that you wouldn’t be totally alone in this party.

Natasha had asked you to dance but you knew you’d look like an untrained clown at a circus, so you refused to join her. Natasha was currently lost in the music, dancing with a guy named Clint. You had no idea who the hell he was but he seemed nice, and you knew that if Clint had bad intentions with Natasha, he wouldn’t stand a chance and you wouldn’t let him so you assigned yourself the job to watch over Natasha and bring her home safely in case she chugs down a little too much alcohol.

Your eyes wandered around the room, trying to recognize and learn some faces. It felt like you were the only lonely person in the room as the exuberant music faded into the background. Everything felt slow and steady until the person who just walked through the door made your heart stop.

It was Steve. Steve Rogers.

The person you had incessantly wondered about. You hadn’t seen him in over a year even during the gap between graduating and starting your freshman year in college. You were too occupied in moving out, spending as many time as possible with Wanda and your family and filling out college requirements. Steve would emerge in your mind every once in a while but you tried to erase him away as quickly as possible when it happens because you didn’t want to waste your time missing a ghost and someone who probably never spared a second of his life thinking about you too when you are surrounded with your loved ones for the last time.

You didn’t know when you were going to be able to see Wanda again. She was going to New Haven and that means, it would take at least at two hours drive to visit her so you cherished the last moments that you had with her. She was like a sister to you. You still talked to Wanda nearly every day through texts but you also didn’t want to intrude her study too much. Besides, you had your own duties too as a college student now.

So why did it feel like your lungs stopped functioning when you saw his gorgeous face and those familiar pair of cerulean blue eyes? He had a grin on his face as he walked in with five other college boys. You didn’t know who they were but you assumed they were his new group of nitwit friends. Steve was wearing a brown leather jacket with a black shirt underneath.

He walked to where the kegs were with the boys trailing him along like they were his security team. They joked with each other boisterously as if they owned the place. Typical. Nothing you hadn’t seen in high school. But you couldn’t avert your sights from Steve. You were too riveted by the fact that Steve was here, at a sorority party of NYU.

It couldn’t really be him, right? I mean, is this serious? You two really attended the same university? This must be a joke.

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted when Nat pat your shoulder with her energy still blazing from the dance floor. “Whew, that was fun but I need some drink now.”

You didn’t respond as your lips were still agape, not knowing what you were supposed to say to her.

“Y/N? You alright? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“He’s here.”

“What? Who?”

“Steve Rogers. The guy that I told you about.”

“Where?!”

You pointed in his direction where he was surrounded by a bunch of pretty girls in skimpy dresses now. One of them was groping his bicep shamelessly and Steve had his arm around her waist. She threw her head back as she laughed cheerfully at something he just said.

“You gotta talk to him! Have some closure.”

“What? What the hell am I supposed to say to him?”

“Tell him that you and him are through and maybe, throw a drink at him afterwards. That scumbag deserves it.”

“Nat, no! Are you insane? I don’t wanna cause a scene.”

“But you can’t just let him get away with whatever he wants, y/n!”

“No, let’s just go home and forget it, okay?”

“Alright, if you’re not gonna talk to him, then I will.”

“No, Nat! Stop! What are you doing?! ” But she was already approaching him with ardent footsteps and fire in her guts as she brazenly inserted herself into the middle of the scene.

“Excuse me,” she sarcastically greeted the group. “Yeah, hi, I just need a minute. Are you Steve Rogers?”

You followed behind her but you stood just a few feet away from the incident so that Steve wouldn’t see you. But you could see from over Nat’s shoulder that Steve had a perplexed look on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed and all the girls around him were staring at Nat like she was a crazy person who just randomly popped up uninvited.

“…yeah.” He answered.

“Oh, so you’re the asshole that my roommate has been talking about. Man, she really didn’t lie.”

“Excuse me?” The puzzled look on his face turned into an offended one.

“Yeah, my roommate y/n. Does that ring a bell?”

He was aghasted at the mention of your name. Before he was given a chance to answer, Natasha filled his silence with more of her venomous words. “You really have the audacity to show your face here, huh? I swear to you, the next time I see your irritable face again, I will make you regret for ever breathing in my direction, but for now, I think this will do.” She threw the beer in her cup onto his face, humiliating him in front of everyone who was entertained by the drama.

Steve wiped his face with his hand and he was too stupefied by the information that had just been dumped on him like a cold water. Well, it wasn’t entirely figurative though.

Before Natasha walked away, she sneered with a sly smirk on her face, “enjoy your party.” She shoved the empty cup to one of the girl’s chest as she reflexively caught it, with a flummoxed expression, her eyes didn’t stray from Natasha.

She walked away vauntingly from the flock towards you, “let’s go, y/n.” as she kept walking towards the entrance. You were still frozen in your spot as she was already going for the door. But before you could follow her, your eyes landed on Steve’s doused face as his eyes were already fixated on you.

For a moment there, there were only you and Steve and the intimacy of unspoken farewells and muted longing that were encapsulated in one bubble of silence that comes when two people understand each other. It was like the drawer of Steve’s things that he left with the memories and he never asked you to return came hurdling back like ocean waves and everything just evaporated in the ticking time.

There was no need for words because your eyes delivered more than both of your lips had in the past couple of years.

“Y/N?” He uttered your name. That was perhaps the first time he had called you in years. And with that, it was like every broken piece you had intensively woven back together ruptured and there was no safety net that would prepare you for this fallout.

He was bewildered by seeing you here and you had no clue what you were supposed to say. So you threw him a poignant smile, forcing yourself to put on an impassive facade in front of him. You were good at that, you had years of practice from all those times you found Steve making out with Janet in the parking lot. You wonder if they were still together?

You wordlessly walked away and joined Natasha to the front porch. Steve watched you turn your back on him, not knowing whether he should call your name again, follow you or he should just let you go. You on your way back home were filled with so many thoughts. You couldn't help but wonder, what would’ve happened if you had stayed and talked to him at the party? What would he say to you? Would he even care at all?

But on the other hand, you were relieved. It’s like, you truly got the closure Natasha said you deserved. Never in a million years, you would ever dream about standing up to Steve like that. Hell, you weren’t even brave enough to tell him how you feel back when you were younger. But may God bless Natasha and her parents for creating her, she defended you in a way that you could never do. And she showed you that maybe, it’s time you hold on to your promise that you vowed to yourself, that you were finally going to move on and bury him into your memory dump.

You were in college now. You had no time to wallow in sadness and heartbreak caused by a douche like Steve Rogers. So you made peace with the fact that it was probably the last time you were ever going to see him. You might run into him around college but you weren’t going to let it shake your ground. You unlocked the door of your dorm with a contented smile on your face as you sat on your bed.

Natasha instantly went for the small closet to change into her pyjamas but was briefly delayed by your mumble. “Thank you.”

“Pardon?” Natasha turned her head into your direction.

“Thank you. For doing that… At the party.” You smiled at her. You sincerely meant every word.

“I’d never let a man walk over a good woman like you, y/n.”

You nodded as she carried on with what she was doing. She went into the bathroom to wash herself off and you laid in your bed, feeling lighter than you had ever felt in years. Maybe she was right. It was time you realize your worth. You spent too many years doubting yourself just because Steve was too much of a reprobate to cherish you.

You closed your eyes, relishing in the comfort of your bed without fearing a ghost looming in your sweet dreams anymore now.

Letting tomorrow surprise you with whatever it has in store. Sometimes it involves a charming devil standing on the other side of your door with flowers in his hands and a wicked scheme to accomplish.

141 notes · View notes