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#so i googled him and read a wattpad fic and i was like DAMN its nearly time for bed and theres school tomorrow but i wanna play the story
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Sinners in a Pod (Chapter 1)
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Updates for this will start posting after Witcher of the Night is finished. So, chapter 1 for this will only be posted right now and shall continue its updates soon. Currently, this is on hiatus. But, please do tell me what you think if you manage to read this! Thank you! 💞
PROLOGUE (Summary)
Characters:  Mob/Professor!Henry Cavill x small!stalker!reader (AU)
Warnings: 18+ Blood. Death. Psychopathic issues. The Mafia. Suggestive content and thinking. Stalker and manipulative reader. The word ‘Daddy’ used in different ways? (I don’t even know why this is a warning?) Y/L/N means Your Last Name. 
Words: 6.3k
A/N: Il babbo means Father and il compagno means comrade. Tell me if I’m wrong, I’m using google translate on this one. Sorry, if I’m making this on a hiatus. I wanna see how this will click for anyone. Also, the Geralt fic comes first because I wanna finish it. Hehehehe.
TAGLIST WILL BE OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! (I hope you would, bb!) IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!
Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi.
MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!
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9:35 AM.
Mr. Cavill has been well-known in just his first day of becoming the substitute for your previous professor who has died due to an infectious disease that still had no cure. He has been the main topic of every person in the campus. Your professor in History was a complete hot-shot. An additional fact about him being attractive was his unconventional pedagogic style that can get students listening to every word that leaves his mouth, leaving you all wanting to hear more than just his educational discussions.
His presence definitely aroused each and every women's curiosity in your campus; hearing gossips about how they were willing to be the teacher's pet to have a piece of what your professor could offer like he was being treated as a play thing or some sort of food that they wanted to have a taste despite of how indecent it sounded. The hungry felines were willing and taking their chances, seeming to want and do it to also save their grades from their previous quizzes and special tests that they have taken from the deceased professor.
Until, You started to realized that you were even included in one of those students who was thoroughly affected by his presence; lately comprehending that he was being the main image of your filthy fantasies every night.
Especially whenever you notice how he tries to keep eye contact with you whenever he discusses. Your best friend can see how he kept on taking secretive glimpses without anyone noticing. Nonetheless, one person did and he was unlucky to have been caught by your best friend who promised to never lie and keep secrets when it involves you.
Though, there are certain situations that should be kept from her. Specifically the part about what happens every night with the idea of your professor fucking you like he'd never want you to walk for seven days straight.
That kind of fucking where you both can be considered as animals in a rut.
It took one look from your best friend to know that he was staring again. You could imagine his piercing ocean blue eyes that had a speck of brown drowning with it; observing every breath and move you make under those black spectacles of his. Curly hair gelled back looking professional but so tempting to be yanked hard.
You suddenly shook your head at the thought, blinking hard while you tried to keep focus on your paper.
Your best friend was done with her pre-test, but you weren't. She kept on silently but repeatedly snapping her fingers under her desk, giving you a signal that he was doing it again. You tried hard ignoring your best friend who was just clearly beside you; bringing you into a much more dangerous scenario by having your test incomplete or rather receiving a failing grade that would make you repeat this subject again.
Then, you'd remember the professor who could get you writhing under his gaze. He was also one of your fantasies---the one and only who could get you off every night---though, leaving you insatiable and craving for more.
Immodest thinking, but it was worth it every time you came.
"Daddy's lookin' again, hunny! Oh, teach me your ways, please! I would so let him fuck my ass raw, I tell you," She whisper-yelled knowingly. Only silence can be heard from around the four corners of the room, constant pages being flipped one by one, triggering you into panicking more than you should because you were still stuck on page one. You eyed the multiple choice that was written. 'Is it A? B? Or C?'
Your eyes narrowed on your test paper, struggling to think of an answer for the last question of the first page. The pen in your hand stopped on letter B, and in one quick motion. You encircled the whole letter before turning to the next page in a jiffy, never thinking whether your answer was right or wrong.
A small creak from your best friend's chair caught your attention, half on the test and half on your noisy best friend; seeming to be the person who was asking you answers when you haven't even finished the damned test yet.
"Psst! Bitch!"
You've sighed an exasperated one from being constantly distracted by everyone and especially from the penetrating gaze you could feel whenever Mr. Cavill tries to check on how everyone was doing from his desk.
"Ms. Rodriguez, I would rather like it if you try and keep your hands on your desk when you're done with the test,"
All together, the whole class turned their heads towards your best friend who had a panicking, shocked look written on her face. Her eyes seeming to tell she was guilty of trying to distract you while you answer the paper at hand. She evidently gulped, nodding silently and tentatively slipping her palms across her desk like a child getting a scolding. Embarrassment filling her body, the paper beneath her hands appearing to be more interesting rather than the gossip she ought to tell.
Mr. Cavill looked to be insouciant from her tricks, His eyes completely blank, cochineal lips forming a thin line from what he had in mind, "You all have thirty minutes left," the suave and sophisticated twang of his accent got you shifting in your seat. His baritone timbre that kept you up every night; never failing to give your core a throb whenever you get to listen to it personally rather than imagining it had you fidgeting with the sharp ends of your test paper.
He leaned back in his seat, the obvious bulk in his arms protruding once it was crossed. Your professor had always wore that extra tight, white dress shirt despite how it was popping out due to his sinewy biceps. The thatch of his chest hair slipping above the second to the last button of his clothing. You knew he was jacked in the flesh, the filament of his muscles straining out of his clothing which gives you images of what he could be like when he was stark-naked.
You had a bad habit of daydreaming in the wrong time.
Those Lapis Lazuli were brilliant under the morning sunlight that was escaping through the windows. Those eyes that you've been able to memorize landed on you, a sudden jolt in your insides made you feel warm and tingly.
"Please, do finish the test before the time is up, Students."
You were the first to break his gaze, the papers were an important matter and you didn't want to fail. Reason to that is because you didn't want to disappoint him by giving him a result that could make him think that you were never actually have been listening to his lessons and have just been daydreaming about his pretty little mouth on yours every day.
It was illicit of you to even think about having his mouth on yours or all over your body, exploring you till his curiosity would be answered and the same goes to yours. The devil was probably grinning in hell because of how risquè your thoughts have been.
Your soul was probably going to burn in hell.
Yet, on second thought; all seemed to be worth it.
Especially when you've been trying to stalk him for about two weeks already.
You haven't been caught yet; but, the idea of being collared seem to be a prize when you were a sinner.
10:05 AM.
"Time's up, everyone." Mr. Cavill's smooth, reverberant voice made you jump in your seat. You were only on the third page of your test and there were three pages left. The sheer frustration went to your head, emitting a vocal groan and a hard bite on your dried up lips. Every loud beat of your heart made your hand tremble in panic. Your eyes skimmed through every question, randomly circling any letter as long as you get to finish the damn test and not be left alone. Despite how anxious it made you feel, deep inside; you knew you were anticipating such a moment.
"Its time to pass your papers. Get your bags and you can go, I'll be seeing you guys tomorrow," He spoke in a monotone manner, his chair creaking once he stood up tall and lusty, grabbing onto the pile of papers, neatly stocking every test one by one with those hefty, streaking fingers of his as each student passed by in front of him. Some women slyly sparing him a glance, trying to check him out and that outstanding derriere of his as they smirked and quietly giggled on their way out.
Your tall, lanky but quite fit block mate stood along the threshold. His bright hazel eyes, tanned skin and dark red lips drawn with a grin as he held onto nothing but his pen; known to be a nerd but also a philanderer who had innocuous looks that appeared to be like he spends his time nose diving in games and books, "Have a great day, Mr. Cavill!"
"You too, Brent."
You could feel your breath shortening, grappling to answer your test urgently. Your breath hitched when somebody tapped your shoulder, you turned to look at the person you were expecting, but was left disappointed when you saw your best friend eyeing your papers; scrutinizing everything inside her head.
"Oh, you're doomed, Y/N." She inspected your answers and observed how her brows raise in an uncanny way, obtrusively telling that your answers were beyond incorrect. There were still students inside the room, slowly taking their time to leave before undergoing another set of lessons to be learned soon from their other professors.
"---I'll get going now, see you later, Chiquitita!"
She didn't even gave you a chance to ask some answers to your tests. What are friends even for?
Once the door was shut by her and others who left one by one, it was like every blood in your veins stopped cycling. No noise could be heard. You could feel an intense pair of ocean blue eyes began shooting you holes through your body that gave you the shivers.
Now, it was just you, him and nobody else.
You mentally gave yourself a slap for not reviewing for his test. It was quite embarrassing for him to see how you were struggling for a test that was undoubtedly easy for everyone.
"Ms. Y/L/N," Your professor started completely unfazed by your endeavor to get the test done in a minute. You breathed out a breath in utter frustration, closing your eyes and capping your pen closed. The time was up.
A large, warm hand gently clasped your shoulder, and you were sure you felt the imaginary sparks from it that also held a flush of shivers, creating a reaction that made your whole body go rigid.
"---Don't rush, you have all the time." Mr. Cavill surprisingly spoke in his calm, low voice. Warm, comforting heat gathered in a close proximity and before you could even realize what was happening; he was already hovering from behind, checking your answers for you.
His breathtaking face were inches away from you, his perfect side profile seen from your peripheral vision and his spectacles slightly falling on his tall, pointy nose. The dimple on his nose winsome for your taste and for every thirsty felines as well. Eyelashes long that can be considered as pretty, an exact length to beautify his eyes a lot more than it would. There was something mysterious about what lies beneath his bright azure eyes. Something dark was laying deep inside of it but it was a locked up window that nobody could ever get to see and understand.
Something about him was making you more intrigued for what his lifestyle is and the more curious you are, the more you were getting yourself at risk. Deeper. Intrusive. You were going to risk it all.
The deep scar on the top of his right eye brow distracted you from thinking anymore else. It looked like a battle scar that he once got from a fight, and it was quite interesting to see such a perfect face that held a flaw; telling you he was actually human after all and not a prince in your dreams.
"Ms. Y/L/N, I suppose you never listen to any of my lessons, am I correct?"
Oh, the way he says your last name always made you sin. Heat traveled towards your face, and some even had the audacity to travel down south. It was wrong.
You had to stop.
"I-I..I do, Sir." You struggled to keep your mind straight. Your eyes stared straight at the whiteboard in front of you, never giving him a glance.
Those heavy gaze of his fell on you; piercing and utterly inquisitive; giving your heart a chance to leave the curiosity before he would want to pry a lot about you that you couldn't imagine him to know, you could feel the disappointment within his eyes that crushed your hopes in making him proud.
"All of your answers are incorrect. It seemed like you've been guessing your answers the whole time,"
Shame and guilt was all you felt at that exact moment. The ends of Mr. Cavill's lips formed a tight thin line before languidly curving into a small, sinister smile that he never gave to any of his students. Yet, you were an exception.
"Must I say, do I sound uninteresting for you?"
An excruciating ring of your school bell rang loudly enough for you to jerk on your seat. You couldn't deny the intense attraction you were feeling towards your professor. The windows weren't locked anymore, and you knew for a fact that you've seen the treacherous glint in his eyes; giving you the key for you to decide if you wanted to enter. Deep down something diabolical lived inside and it left you curious enough to dig down whatever hidden darkness it could be.
"I..I.." You anxiously trailed off and stared into his eyes, feeling yourself get enticed by the gorgeous hues around his dark pupils. He was bold enough to stare back, his face too close for your liking.
"You think I don't notice it at all, do you? you're interested---curious even and that curiosity of yours will risk you a lot, sweetheart."
The words that came out of his mouth were utmost accurate, you felt your throat become dry from getting caught red-handed and from how he could read you with his eyes. Your professor was totally unbelievable and you didn't know whether or not he was just too conceited enough to say it straight to your face like it wasn't wrong nor indecent.
"I think...y-you got everything wrong, sir." you quickly scrambled out of your seat, books falling from your hands and you crouched down to get it, yet your professor was faster than you. He gathered those fallen books and stood undeniably tall, placing them on your opened palms. His eyes absolutely unreadable. You couldn't see what his emotions are at the moment, and it was terrifying to see that he looked like a sociopath for one second before playfulness have been replaced within his eyes.
He looked down at you, a small smile on show, "You think? No, Darling,---" Mr. Cavill momentarily paused with a smirk that got you swallowing the uncomfortable, heated feeling down your throat.
"---I know what's running inside those pretty head of yours and I assure you, it can be shameless and utterly unchaste as it can get,"
Without any second thought, you had everything around your arms; running out of the room. Never looking back at your professor who lowly chuckled to himself, seeing how he connected the dots with the right pattern. He knew you would end up walking with the same path as him, together and as one because of how you were hunting him down behind his back.
You were only acting. He could feel it.
Your unfinished paper was left on your desk, the ends of your test so wrinkly from the hard tugs while you tried remembering the right answers to those questions on his test. He remembered your face, he remembers every move you make all day and Henry knew you've been his shadow for the last two weeks like a canine he didn't remember that he has adopted.
Mr. Cavill had your papers at hand. He smiled to himself and with no doubt, he ticked every question correct despite of your wrong answers.
You passed his test and darkness was bound to happen soon.
10:20 PM.
The strange encounter you had with your professor didn't stop your undying attraction towards him, to be honest. It lured you into knowing more about him; becoming selfish to the point of being invasive, secretly following him around to find details about him and his life. All you knew was his name and that he was your History teacher.
William Cavill. That was his name. Other than that, there was nothing you ever did know except for where he lived. In a basic, plain rental apartments where everyone had one gate to begin with. You've noted that in your hidden diary made just for men who'd reach the point of being stalked by yourself. The kind of level where you plan on breaking inside his house to find more information because your lack of knowledge about him was frustrating you from the start.
You would try breaking into his apartment soon enough.
His place wasn't extravagant like how you imagined him to be, owning no car as he walks home and sometimes take public vehicles to arrive in your university like a normal human.
He wasn't rich. Though, his features could mistake him as a prince. Deserving more than to live in a ramshackle apartment.
You've lost track of Mr. Cavill and his whereabouts. One minute you were just following him in discreet, and now he was nowhere to be seen after turning at a sketchy street that made your feet stop from following him.
'Am I turning into a nutjob? No. I'm doing this to know him better, know what he likes or dislikes, knowing more about him that a typical woman would do. This is for the better and he probably will like it if he knew, I need to jot down things that will make him like me,'  You thought to yourself, your feet trembling with every step you took; the brisk, cold wind making it difficult for you to keep steady as you walked through the dark, strange street that your professor just walked in minutes ago.
There was finally light after walking through a dark path; feeling like it could've been a new beginning for your life if you were being metaphoric. You've seen a streetlamp beside a locked up door and a dumpster. It was the only light you could see. From your perspective, the end of the street was a dead end.
You were about to turn around, thinking that this might be a trap for being caught because your professor was no where to be seen. Up until, you've squinted your eyes at two men talking farther away from the lamp, hiding amongst the silhouette of the night sky. One voice quite foreign and the other recognizable by your ears.
The pitter-patters of your feet were stealthy, strolling closer and closer towards danger zone.
"Did the Rossi's hired you?" there was a hint of Italian from the stranger's voice, you managed to move and hide beside the huge dumpster, and it was the right hiding place because you could see and hear everything.
Everything including Mr. Cavill's features. Howbeit, without the black spectacles.
Why was he here and why is he interrogating a man? a man that also seemed familiar to you?
"You just don't know when to shut up, will you?" He curtly spat, the usual calmness whenever he talks in front of his students was now gone and replaced with a very ill-mannered tone. A tone you didn't expect to come out from him because he was pretty much a reserved and refined man.
"I am living a good life by being a professor in St. Hallmark Institute. But, you've come to try and ruin everything,"
"I've never ruined anything in the first place. It was you who made your own destiny. You've told secrets to other people that was meant to be buried deep in the ground, Henry. Finally, I found you---we were all looking for you,"
Henry? who was Henry? All you knew was that his name was 'William Cavill' and not the Henry that he was talking about.
Your hands began trembling with your back against the dumpster, eyes popping out of its eye sockets from all the scenarios happening.
The more you wait, the clamorous and intense their voices have become, "You're a Cavill, yes? I've known that unimpeachable but minatory gaze in your eyes. A family where everyone kills for a living, one of his son's best known hit man in Jersey; definitely the best out of the rest and people have been striving to find you---wanting to experience services that would definitely be worth the shot because you've struggled to learn everything---trained to become unstoppable. Although, there is one mistake that runs in the family,---" pause, "Your daddy never misses, yes?" The man dragged on and on, he was walking on a path of burning coal and fire. Hence, you were sure he was soon going to get a beating out of what gossips he was saying.
You closed your eyes, breathing quieter than normal; scared to get caught listening to their conversation. You heard a thud on the wall beside you, and it was because your professor boldly strangled the man around his neck, choking him to the point of taking his life out of it. His rage seen from how the veins on his temples were protruding and aching to burst from his anger.
Your fingers trembled from the sudden violence. Downright feeling frightened for what was going to happen with the pestilent man who wanted to get onto his wick, provoking to turn him into a savage animal who wouldn't deliberate for the kill. This man was bringing back memories that Henry wanted to avoid and forget after months of thriving.
But, it never happens because he was born to assassinate and the memories and guilt continued to haunt him forever.
"U-Until, he missed the part that your mother wasn't the target, but your weak, senile, clumsy il babbo aimed the sniper at her head," The man was trudging with fire, a fire that wouldn't be easy to kill.
You heard a cock of somebody's gun, and a deep hitch of breath from the stranger. He violently thrashed against his hold as he could see the gun tucked between the side of his pants. The barrel of the gun shiny beneath the moon light. The Italian clawed on Henry's large hand that was wrapped around his neck with a vice grip. Your professor didn't felt any remorse, nor guilt. Only amusement after trying to spur him on.
"It's quite a shame that you think of me that way," he smiled, a pure wicked beam that you haven't seen since then, cocking his head to the side as he gave him a frightening glare and a simple raise of his eyebrow, "---I'm definitely not like my father because when I hold a gun?" Mr. Cavill seethed through clenched teeth and a tight jaw, "---missing a target would be one of my greatest mistakes and I haven't had any blunders since then,"
"---I never risk to make any mistakes, Leo. I'm far different from my father. When I annihilate a target, I don't think twice and I know you've heard the gossips,"
Leonardo Bianchi desperately tried to fight off the hand that was slowly killing him. After a few more attempts, he have seen that there was no escape and that he'd click the switch inside Henry's head to become the lethal weapon that he was born to be.
The family has given him the go signal. Leonardo has only been a pawn for the family's success into whatever decision they had for the only Cavill that was left alive. But, he had hunt him down; catching the beast as to where it lived; hunting down its location. But, tonight will be the night he reaches his demise, and the man definitely knows it when he'd been given the order to stay close and find what they needed.
Leonardo was just merely their cat's paw.
He loudly laughed manically, breathing labored as the latter heaved to live for his family that was held hostage by the organization that he was in. If he wasn't alive before they get to track him down then his very own family---the real ones---will lose a father and a person who protects them from treacherous doings that he had been involved.
"I won't be the only one rotting in hell, Henry---" he deadpanned, "---you are too because revenge can be bittersweet and you're living for it,"
Mr. Cavill's smile turned upside down into a phlegmatic grimace, sliding the pistol out of his black trench coat that was tucked in between his pants before closely aiming the gun right in the middle of Leonardo's forehead, sweat began to roll down Leonardo's temples from the fear of being dead in the middle of a dead end street. Henry's eyes held no sympathy and just undying wrath for how his past was haunting him down no matter what he does. No matter what he does, they always crawl back like they have been hiding under his bed since then.
Leonardo Bianchi shut his eyes before death could even take him. He knew then and there he was going to die because whenever one does get to find the hit man that every familia wanted to get a hold to, they die in that exact day; complicating their trackers and showing them the wrong location until Henry decides to leave whatever life he created in his current one.
Though, he doubt that he'll be leaving this place for good today. Maybe, fate was about to take its turn and play the wild card.
"Let's share hell together then, il compagno."
It didn't take two seconds before you've heard the blaring sound of a gun going off; never thinking twice about pulling the trigger. He was dead, just like that; leaving his family in the past of his sins.
An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.
Everything was gory. The bullet punctured the wall where Leonardo's head was roughly pushed with his dreams and faith that has been crushed in just a single bullet and because of one malefactor that you didn't expect to see.
Mr. Cavill killed a man with his gun and he wasn't just any man; the Italian man was his co-worker, a fellow professor too who went with the name 'Aaron Anderson' who also hid his Italian accent with a rough southern intonation of his tongue.
He was your new Physical Education professor last week ago and now Mr. Anderson was laying on the cold, hard ground on a dead end street.
Henry slipped the gun in his trench coat for safety; audibly sighing for a sight that he never knew would happen again. However, they took three months before he was found again rather than those weeks that they've taken for him to be hunted down. He didn't need another re-location of his life in another country or place; the latter was pleased to be a professor in your university, living in a secluded and a slightly run down rental apartment which was needed for his bolthole; so he would hardly be found.
Crimson blood pooled along the ground, he crouched before Leonardo; his eyes wide opened to tell that he was fighting to live with a gun on his head. Yet, Henry apathetically stared at his pale, bloody face, showing no ounce of pity for the whole situation. He took his white handkerchief tucked in his coat pockets, expunging the blood that coated on his thick fingers before bluntly throwing it on Leonardo's face. Once his rue was clean and forgotten, he firmly stood on his feet like this has been a daily occurrence for years end.
Curiosity killed the cat and care was too obsessed over the Cheshire cat. Now, she was left to deteriorate for letting her other professor be killed by his own co-worker.
Your hands began trembling and your breath was getting the best of you. Hence, it added more panic when the rough, relaxed sounds of footfall started to echo closer and closer before it ceased before the dumps that was behind you.
A faint click of a button has been heard before hearing his low, satiny timbre of his voice nearby; feeling as if eyes were boring into your head while you have been rooted, crouching beside the dumps.
"Blind alley. East side. You know where I am because I know you track me down, Huntsman. Go check your fucking tracker---yeah, yeah. Another bullshit of a carcass. Shot in the head, mate. Got blood on my hands again---it was the first time for the last three months though,"
He sounded like he was just talking dinner with the caller on his phone. Too stolid for what he has done after the shooting. Thus, you've heard soft tapping of his foot on the ground, nearer than it ever has been.
"---I want the whole fucking alley pasteurized in less than ten minutes, got it?" he brusquely ordered around, giving a moment for the caller to finish whatever he or she was saying before you've heard Henry scoff from above your head; making you audibly hitch your breath, "---Don't act like you aren't following me around and that you live nearby,"
You were caught. The cat was captured from her sheer curiosity. Cats have seven lives based on the sayings. Nevertheless, you only had one left for tonight.
It felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown on your head. The eerie, tranquil silence for waiting whatever it is that his friend wanted to say was killing you alive. You began to breathe fast, hyperventilating in your space as your nails scratched the clothing of your knees, panic was rising through and becoming uncontrollable.
Sure, you were a stalker. But, did you deserve to die in the same place where your P.E professor has been killed? will you accept the fact that you'll be perished by the man who was worth the obsession before you knew he was a convict?
If so, then why was your core still throbbing to be caught like it was giving you thrill and excitement to be lured in?
"---Might have caught a witness this time," Henry bluntly confessed, his tone quite exuberant from the expected emotion you imagined him to be in; sounding like he caught the biggest fish in the sea as he went on to talk.
"---Don't worry. This one's mine. I'll do all the interrogating tonight,"
Then, you've heard the shuffling of his clothes, thinking that he'd tuck his phone inside his pockets before you've felt him crouch beside you; slowly and painstakingly.
Warm set of thick fingers clasped onto your fretful ones, his touch sending sparks and probably knives from how tender yet threatening it felt; like his softness had a trade of contract with the Grim Reaper because he didn't seem to be like a person whose heart was delicate, virtuous and guileless like how you've imagined him to be.
His face can trick you into imagining him to be the opposite of what he actually was. An unfortunate disguise that he had which infatuated you to the core. Literally.
He pried those hands away from fidgeting over your knee, his eyes burning you alive as it felt so heavy on the side of your face.
"You shouldn't have followed me, sweetheart."
His presence was near. Too near for you to handle the bad omen lingering around. Your heart stopped beating from the moment those thick, rough, calloused fingers reach out to lightly clasp around the width of your soft, silky neck. The loose grip more frightening than to receive a rougher one because it was giving you mixed signals that you've hit a nerve and your death was just being postponed for minutes.
You've unconsciously swallowed, "You've seen the murder. I know you were a smart one no matter how you were always misbehaving---but, this time; you behaved like the good girl that your parents have always believed in," Henry whispered in your ear; his fiery, hot breath fanning the side of your face in ways that got your heart pounding in such crazy exhilaration. Shivers began to shake your spine, leaving you scared and thrilled for your life.
His thumb grazed along the edge of your jaw, your primal focus on his hand ghosting over your neck like he was planning to choke you alive. Henry could have it, he could do just that with how you've easily submitted to the murderer of your night.
Those cobalt eyes were cryptic. An enigma that kept you insane and wanting for more because of how secretive he was that got you following him around. But, you obviously couldn't deny the tremor of being caught by the man himself.
Your professor forcefully turned your head to look straight into his face. Thus, there you notice splotches of blood has painted his face; such perfect canvas that has been ruined by the blood of the person's life that he has taken. Henry was almost perfect, too perfect that it leaves you thoroughly intrigued for what flaw he had because you knew, deep down; there was something more.
His nose nuzzled upon yours, the dimples of his nose slightly grazing as he lowly seethed with spite and utter sophistication, "If you were any normal person, you should have left me alone since the last two weeks,"
He knew.
Mr. Cavill knows he was being followed by you and nothing was more frightening than a smirking devil who hid behind a picturesque face that would make you kneel before him like his Acolyte. Though, you were just thinking about it that you haven't even realized you were already glorifying him before you even know it.
His breath met your mouth. Your veins were flowing faster than it ever does before, much more than your orgasms could ever take. You lightly scoffed, sounding a little more shakier than how you imagined it to be, worried about everything you've done for the last two weeks. Your actions thoroughly inconspicuous.
The stalker title taken seriously like you have done it for a long time.
"But, I'm far from sane, Sir."
You knew you were. Saying it out loud was so bold in your part. But, if you were being honest it felt like this whole shaken girl that he was seeing has just been all an act that you wanted to manipulate.
Manipulation was just the icing on the cake because you could do more than that for the man you love. The facade that everyone sees was just merely a veil that came with your fancy dress, drinking wine as you let all the plans go through your head that was written inside your secret diary that was buried under the Sycamore tree that your mother loves to disregard because of how high maintenance it was, close to reaching its death as you noticed the leaves falling every day like bad-omen was coming. Hence, she didn't like how ghastly it appeared to be like; making it a better spot for your secrets to be kept under the pile of shattered dreams and bones.
If your mother wouldn't love the horrible ones, then you were willing to appreciate its natural beauty despite of how hideous it was for everyone.
Once you love someone or something, you never let it go that easily; reaching to the level that you would do everything in your will power to get and have what you want.
Henry's grip tightened in a way that got you grinning like a Cheshire cat, he was playing a game where he was trying to let you run for the hills. Mr. Cavill was mindlessly telling you that your life wasn't useful nor significant to him; though, you knew he didn't have it in him to place the gun on your temples because if he did then you should've been dead right now.
Deep within the waves of his ocean, you've seen something valuable that can be useful for you. Your lips curled wider as you've read his eyes that secretly tells you that he was more than interested for the poker game because of the cards he set beneath his palms; confidently assured that he would win.
He had a three of a kind.
But, you hold out a straight flush.
"---I doubt you're sane for stalking me around like it is a normal thing for a student like you,"
You quietly giggled beneath being dominated within his reach. Your tongue slipped out of your mouth, the wet muscle sticking out to lick the cupid's bow of his lips which made your crime-filled professor growl from the sudden action. He harshly huffed out of his mouth, giving you a menacing flicker of his Cobalt eyes which made you laugh out louder as the pungent, metallic scent of blood wafted through both of your noses.
Tag, he was it.
Now, you had more reasons to pry into his life more than how you were invited. Howbeit, Invitations weren't needed because your strong determination was enough to trespass into his dangerous world.
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FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED, BB! (Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag the user. Please do check your settings, dollies!) PLEASE DO REBLOG! 🥰
Taglist for Sinners in a Pod: @amirahiddleston​, @iloveyouyen​, @godohammers​, @uncoolcloudyhead​, @marvelousell​, @boundtomyfate​, @evansislife​, @rahdaleigh​, @justine-en​, @agniavateira​, @maan24​, @fangirl-inthe-us​, @mary-ann84​ @snatchedbylele​
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imacrowcawcaw · 4 years
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Eyes of Juniper Ch. 1 (A Metallica Fic)
Ao3 Link
Author (as known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @insannywestan - Sanny shipping Tumblr Pairing: Lars Ulrich/James Hetfield, Kirk Hammett/Cliff Burton, Lars/Female Character (briefly), Lars/Male Character (kinda, more just awkward one sided flirting then Lars gets rescued by his knight in a ratty Motorhead shirt) Fandom: Metallica Tags/warnings: Sex-swap AU, early 80s era 'tallica, smut, gay smut, also het smut since the whole gender switch thing, drinking and alcohol, lots of cussing and profanity, should warn that Lars goes into detail about taking a piss cuz ya know it's new to him, Idk I'll add tags per chapter as I think of shit
Notes: 
1. Okay, so I spent like months thinking about whether to do this or not. On the one hand, yes this has so much potential to be fun (and I've seen some other sex swap stories i like). On the other hand, a lot of the whole sex/Gender swap thing is really stereotypical gender shit and goes against what I personally believe. But, creative juices won out and I'll try to keep true to character as much as possible while also making this funny and not too misogynistic (if that's possible).
2. This is a work in progress! I started it a year and a half ago, and now a friend is helping me continue 
3. This story is inspired by the song 'Jewel of the Summertime' by Audioslave (on their album Revelations) I love this song and it is awesome you should totally go listen to it.
4. The witch-lady is inspired by Aine, Celtic goddess of love, summer, wealth, and sovereignty. I literally just googled 'goddess of love' then scrolled through a list to find someone other than Aphrodite (don't get me wrong I love Greek mythology but it just wasn't right for this fic) and came across this girl. I only did a quick Wikipedia read, I'm not planning on going too heavy into her myth and more just using her for the plot but.... If anybody is more well versed in Celtic mythology and I seem to get something wrong, please feel free to comment and I'll try my best to make it accurate!
5. Woo damn that was a lot of stuff, I don't blame you if you didn't bother reading it. Now, on with the show!
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1984 (Lars' POV)
The first thing I felt when I woke up was this odd sense of.... well, just something being fuckin' off. Like I was missing something, but also like I had gained something? I felt like a brand-new person, although in my gut I was still me.... Man, I must have had WAY too much Jager last night, it's fucking with my head.
I slowly peeled the itchy fleece blanket off of my body and rolled onto the floor, which was about a foot from the bare mattress. We really needed to invest in some sheets, especially if we wanted to keep bringing chicks back to the house. Apparently, most girls are not at all impressed by stained, lumpy mattresses with almost no bedding on them.
Speaking of girls and mattresses, didn't I bring one home last night? I raised my head slightly from its position from the threadbare carpet and looked at the bed, trying to see if Anna (Was that her name?) was still there. Yep, there was a naked hippy still passed out in my bed, sweet!
I groaned quietly as I stood and shuffled my way out the door and down the hall to the bathroom. It was then I noticed that I didn't really have the usual alcohol-and-early-morning-and-piss induced erection, but my bladder was still straining. Huh, weird.
Whatever. I just wanted to pee, get rid of that feeling in my gut, and get that dead possum taste out of my mouth. Pushing open the door and wincing as the creaky hinges screeched through my headache, I pulled down my boxers and reached for my dick.... What the fuck?
WHAT THE FUCK?
WHERE WAS MY MOTHERFUCKIN DICK?!
Trying not to panic, I looked down, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment so I wouldn't have to see right away. But, of course, that kind of defeated the purpose of looking down, so I opened them again. No dick. The hell was going on?
Taking a deep, calming breath, I tried to think through this rationally. My dick, for whatever reason, was not where it was supposed to be. But, my bladder was still full and begging to be released, so obviously my system or whatever was still working. That need to pee was turning into a burning pain, so I tried to come up with a solution. If I don't have a cock, then I can piss through....what, exactly? Is there anything down there at all? What is even going on!?
Pulling in another deep breath through my nose, I let it hiss out between clenched teeth as I slowly, so slowly, touched my fingers to my abdomen and moved them downwards, dreading what I would find. Annnnnd....... Yep, there it was.
Velvety soft lips, slick, pungent juices; anatomy I knew so well but never, EVER expected to feel on myself. My crisis would have to wait a minute, though, 'cause my bladder was going to explode and no dick be damned I needed to do something about it.
Gingerly sitting my ass down on the toilet (god, so weird sitting down just to piss) I tried to slowly let it out. The feeling was...well there was certainly relief of the pressure, but it also felt strange in a way I couldn't really describe. I could possibly get used to it, not that I'm planning on staying like this or anything.
Cringing as I wiped, I slowly pulled the boxers back up to my hips that I just now noticed were a little wider than usual. And my hands, were they smaller? Softer? My chest too....HOLY SHIT I HAVE BOOBS! That, I might be able to get used to.
I turned to the mirror, and was quite shocked at what I saw. There was a girl standing there, with large, doe-like green eyes staring back at me from underneath brown bangs. She had a nice tan on her upper body, although her breasts were still pale where she clutched at them, small rosy nipples poking through her fingers. A pair of black cotton boxers stretched tight around the small curve of her hips, but hung loose around her milky thighs that almost touched. And this...this chick was me. ME.
Shaking my head, I splashed some water onto my face and rubbed my eyes, hoping it was just a fucked up dream. No such luck.
I was considering hiding in the bathroom forever, because no way in hell could I let the guys see me like this, let alone figure out how to explain, when I heard a scream. It sounded a lot like Kirk's voice, so I pushed my problems to the back of my head and ran into the hallway, stopping dead in my tracks at what I saw.
Anna, or whatever her name was, stood at the top of the stairs, dressed in flowing black robes with green Celtic designs all over them. She had jewels and charms hanging from her waist, wrists, neck, and ears, each tinkling as she tossed some sort of... Powder onto a very shocked looking Kirk. Or at least, I was pretty sure it was Kirk. He (she?) seemed to be in the same boat as me as far as bodies were concerned at the moment.
With a final dusting of powder, witchy-chick turned to me and smirked. "I hope you learn your lesson, I'll be back in a week. And as for you...." She turned to Kirk, "Well, you're just too damn cute! I couldn't resist seeing what a pretty girl you'd make!"
"This is your fault? You bitch! " I yelled. "Why the hell did you do this to us? Who are you? Change us back, then get the fuck out! I don't wanna be a damn girl, and neither does Kirk!" God this was fucking insane, that chick was crazy!
She hissed at me, eyes flashing in a way that could not be human. "Now you listen, GIRL. You'll stay like this for as long as I deem fit. You need to learn some respect for women, and being one is the best way to do that. I suppose you don't remember what you did last night?" She asked, looking bored and ready lo go fuck up someone else's life.
I thought hard, then it came creeping back to me. The bar, the Jager, the flirting with a group of girls, copping a feel and getting slapped, then her changing her mind and coming home with me, talking dirty in her ear, then unworldly sex, her whispering what sounded like a spell in my ear as I came... Holy shit.
"Is this about me grabbing your ass? I'm sorry! Please don't do this!" I begged, finally starting to let the situation sink in and desperation set. This could not be happening.
"Hmph," she snorted, "Begging isn't going to get you anywhere. I've seen humans beg for much less, and they still didn't get it. No, you'll love your life as a woman for a week, both of you, and hopefully you'll come to realize the struggles and terror that comes with it. If you've learned your lessons and are truly sorry, then you will be turned back. If not... Well you'll just have to stay like this until you do."
And just like that, she turned with a flourish and disappeared into thin air. My morning could not get any crazier, I was sure if it. But, because I wasn't actually sure and was suddenly doubting all logical occurrences in the world, I knocked on the wooden railing. That done, I turned towards Kirk.
He (seriously, do I call us he's or she's now? This is so fucked up) was shaking like a leaf, looking like he'd fall over any moment. I went over to grab him, calm him down, something.
"Shh shh, it's all right, Kirk," I muttered in his ear, awkwardly patting his back. I never thought I'd need to, but it really fucking sucks I can't comfort him any better than this. It was like this sour feeling in my chest that nestled in right next to my heart, whispering how awful I was at this and how he's probably mad at me for getting him into this situation.
Before I could ask him if he wanted to punt me out of a window, though, I heard some shuffling and talking coming from downstairs. James and Cliff were headed up here. As much as I wanted to hide for a week until my fuckin' "lesson" was up, I couldn't exactly drag Kirk into the hall closet in his current state, so I stood my ground.
"Hey, ladies, we do appreciate the service you've done our ugly ass friends, but could you keep the cat fight down until you've left the house?"
Ah, James, the man still didn't know how to talk to women after all this time. He was either too shy to form a sentence, or he put on this macho bravado that turned him into a drink asshole. Either way, this lady was not pleased.
By now I guess the guys had reached the landing Kirk and I were at and saw me hugging him, because Cliff chimed in, "Aww, they've made up! Good! Now, can I ask what exactly you two were telling about so loudly that it woke me and my boy James up? Did Lars do something?"
My back straightened at that, and I turned my head to him indignantly. "I did fucking not!" I retorted, even though apparently this whole situation was my fault. No need for them to know that, though.
"Holy shit, Lars!?!" James screamed.
I sighed. "Hi, Jamie."
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Chapter 2
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onedirectionfanfics · 4 years
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Stall by @MysteryMixtapes 
This month’s featured story is our first one from Wattpad! Stall by MysteryMixtapes piqued every Harry stan’s interest over the summer. With over 3.5 million reads, it is one of the beautiful, funniest and most-heartbreaking fanfic on Wattpad. Prepare for your heart to melt as Abby, shy as a mouse, cracks Harry’s tough cocoon in this dangerous fic involving high-end clubs, sketchy people, and—of course—a bathroom stall. Check our interview with the author below!
"You wanna try and be my medicine Abby?" he asks with a deep testing tone, keeping his voice quiet.
"I can try," I breathe out as I gulp when his grip tightens "Try me."
His hand slides up my throat, his long fingers wrapping tight around my jaw "That's what you really want?"
I nod, as I sigh out a shallow yes, and I see every muscle in his body tense, as he wets his lips; hoarsely murmuring his next sentence like its his last try at making me change my mind.
"I'm dangerous Abby, this is your last chance, tried to warn you."
My stomach twists and knots, as I use every ounce of bravery I have.
"Prove it then."
How long have you been writing for?
I’ve been writing since December 2018. So about 9 / 10 months give or take. I only started writing when I made my wattpad account, never had any inclination to do it before a day in my life. I’m surprised I can spell, honestly. Stall was the first story I’d ever written.
Do you have certain habits or rituals you have to do while writing?
The only habit I really have is listening to music. I can’t write without it (or at least hate writing without it), but other than that, not really. I just whack on some tunes and verbally vomit from my brain.
The ever famous question: how did you come up with this idea?
This is a hard question for Stall, because there’s like a clusterf*ck of answers that all kinda got mashed together. I wanted to write a cliche bad boy / good girl, with the stereotypes and see if I could make it interesting. Put my own twist on it, give it substance or good reasoning, and honestly the start of the story is kind of poking fun at bad boy characters. It was all on purpose. I like things that aren’t what they seem, and I like breaking stereotypes so for me, using that cliche was fun to play with and break down. I like paradoxes and enigmas too. I wanted to write a character that should be, by all accounts technically unlovable and essentially a villian; then see if I could make him loveable and have that as a romantic lead. I wanted to see if I could make a character like his, someone people would empathise with and feel compassion for. Plus it was an opportunity for me to mash all these genres together (romance / mystery /thriller / horror / comedy / erotic) into one big mess, that happens to be my book. I also wanted to write a shy female lead, that was super kind but not weak. Kindness is a strength. I wanted to show that. I dunno, I have a dark sense of humour and like horror movies, and cult 90’s films so that influenced it a lot as well.
When does a story go from an idea in your mind to paper? Is there a process you go through before writing it out, or do you just get straight in it?
Okay, so first of all I would like to start off with I am THE MOST disorganised person, ever. I suck at planning and for the most part, my stories are just in my head and I wing it as I go with a general idea / goal / outcome / theme in mind. I really don’t have some fantastic answer, it’s literally just “That sounds kinda cool, I wanna tell that story” and hope I don’t f*ck it up. They go from an idea to paper, when I literally can’t get the damn idea out of my head and it’s going to drive me up the wall until I get it out.
You have a well-developed and complex plot, spanning over a hundred chapters. Was this something that took you a long time to build? Do you ever make stuff up as you go?
I think it’s really lovely, that you think I have a well developed plot - because I didn’t think that haha. I was shocked the first time someone said that to me, and didn’t even realise I was following a ‘plot’. I know nothing about writing, I didn’t even know I was doing character development. I just wrote what made sense to me, and followed that to be able to tell the story. So I was LITERALLY just making it up as I went. My plan is that I had no plan at all, except for a vague idea. I wrote the entire thing in 5 months.
Did you ever find it hard to keep up with the plot or the twists and turns? 
I mean, it was a headache. But it wasn’t hard to keep up with because I only wrote what made sense to me and I wasn’t trying to shock anyone, or throw in twists for the sake of it. They all had a good reason or purpose so they weren’t hard to keep up with, for me personally.
Harry’s extreme fear of water, while unusual, was written well enough to make all of us scared of it for him. Do you have any strange phobias, you can never get over (or one you did get over?)
I have a huge phobia of spiders (which is unfortunate considering I live in Australia and we have giant ones that just hang out on your wall like they pay rent) and I’m not overly fond of heights, but I wouldn’t call it a phobia. But in saying that, I’d rather get in a bathtub of spiders than ever do something like public speaking.
There are a lot of dark themes involved in this story, from domestic abuse to torture and PTSD, do you enjoy working with these themes? Are they challenging in any way?
There are a lot of darker themes in that book, and I tend to have an easier time writing them. I usually only write about what I understand, or what I’m interested in. I’m really interested in human psychology, and the ‘why’ in understanding the reason people act the way they do. The cause and effect of things. I also like writing things with lots of emotion. It can get really difficult to write, there’s been a fair few times it took a really heavy toll on me mentally and emotionally writing some of the scenes in that story, and took me a few days to even feel normal again. I guess being a writer is just hurting your own feelings with fake scenarios, hey? But I also think writing is where you can be the most honest, and there is a lot of honesty in emotion.
How do you find such perfect gifs for the end of every chapter?
If you’ve read Stall, you’re gonna know why this is blasphemy. But I get them from Google (heinous, I know, shame on me). Another thing wattpad has taught me, is apparently I’ve got a knack for reaction gifs. hah.
Not to make Abby sound like a Mary Sue, but you often write her exact thoughts in response to things she can’t voice out loud. Is this your way of subtly inserting your own thoughts sometimes?
I put a lot of my own thoughts in the story in different ways, and Abby’s inner monologue is a funny way to do that sometimes. But I do it with Harry too. Abby thinking her responses was all part of her character, for her to get to a point where she could actually say what she was thinking at some point aloud. It was something for her to grow with.
Other than meeting once three years prior to the events in the story, Abby and Harry’s lives are more connected than we thought. Would you consider them to be soulmates with entwined fates or is there a possibility that they could have never met and none of this would happen?
I don’t consider them soulmates, I’m a bit pessimistic in regards to the notion of soulmates but I believe in variations of them. I do think, most things happen for a reason and inexplicable coincidences happen in life and that’s what I'd boil it down to. Honestly, there’s several times where things could have went ass backwards with those two, and they never would have seen each other again, but as luck would have it - they met again. (It's me, I am luck.)
Anything you’d like to say to anyone who read your fic?
Ah man, that’s a hard one. I wrote half the story drunk, and have the typos and random grammatical dumpster fire parts to prove it because it’s all a first draft and totally unedited, so I’ve never exactly been out here thinking anyone would read it and I’m still f*cking gobsmacked anyone did, let alone liked it. But, if you’ve read my word salad and liked it, I appreciate you and you’re the ranch dressing that made it special.
***
Thank you so much to the author for being so lovely! Check out more of her work here! If you want to submit a fic you think should be featured next month do it here!
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helenamayhathaway · 4 years
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The Bachelor(s) - Sope Fic
“Run that by me one more time, chief.”
He groans out the anger that he wants to take out by smacking Yoongi across the face. “Twenty-five guys stepping out of the limo. Fifteen roses. Nine weeks. Then you pick one guy.”
“Pick him to do what?” Yoongi says, playing dumb. He gives Yoongi a stare so intimidating that his balls shrivel back into his body. “Fuck, oh my god, I’m just kidding! Fall in love blah blah blah. I got it.”
Read Chapter 1 below the cut!! (also on AO3 and Wattpad)
{{
The Bachelor: Boys Will Be Boys SK Promo #3 (Yoongi)
Interviewer: (Excitedly and absolutely incapable of reading the room) What made you decide to enter as a contestant on the first ever season of The Bachelor: Boys Will Be Boys?
Yoongi: (Under his breath) What a ridiculous [censored] title.
Interviewer: I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.
Yoongi: Honestly, I thought there was a cash prize.
Interviewer: You… you what?
Yoongi: I thought that like, if I came on the show and won, I’d get money. I’ve never seen the show, the original one or whatever. I thought it was a bunch of single people fighting to the death or something. And I’m like, I can definitely cut a [censored] if I need to.
Interviewer: (Dejectedly) Okay…
Yoongi: But I already signed the contract, it’s too late to turn back now.
Interviewer: (Trying to steer the conversation into a direction that won’t get him fired [he is definitely going to get fired]): So how does it feel now that instead of being a contestant, you’ve been chosen to be The Bachelor [Excited jazz hands]?
Yoongi: I still don’t win any money.
Interviewer: Just to be clear, you are aware this is a dating show, right?
Yoongi: It has been explained to me.
Interviewer: …and that twenty-five men will be vying for your love?
Yoongi: [unbelievably censored] That’s a lot of people I’m going to let down.
Interviewer: Well this is sure to be an exciting season isn’t it?
Yoongi: Do you think they’ll let me make all the other dudes do a Wipeout course? I want to weed out the weak among them.
Interviewer: [Damn it, man, this is your first gig in the biz, you have to get some goddamn emotions out of this man] Do you think you’re going to be falling in love this season?
Yoongi: [Laughs hysterically]
Interviewer: (Facing both God and his father who told him he’d never amount to anything) Tune in this Friday for the series premier of The Bachelor: Boys Will Be Boys!
Yoongi: (Quickly so as to make his voice heard before the cut) Buy my [censored] mixtape “Agust D” you [censored] cowards!
**Notes from the director: Do not let this interview see the light of day or so help me.
}}
“You are not a pleasant man!” the interviewer says to him once he’s sure the camera is no longer rolling.
“Aw, you don’t say,” he says, mockingly. Yoongi disagrees though. He is a very pleasant person. Most of his friends consider him to be dazzling and wonderful, or at least, that is what his mind insists that they think of him. He’s just super pissed he got himself into this situation, and he’s going to be a jackass about it. The cash prize thing isn’t the true story, but it’s the impression he wants to give off. Street cred and the like. He’s a rapper and he needs a certain amount of reputation so that he can call someone a motherfucker and people will take it seriously.
It’s his fault, of course it’s his fucking fault. He submitted a headshot and a copy of his self-produced-recorded-in-the-bathroom-of-his-friend’s-studio-apartment-because-it-had-great-acoustics mixtape to every goddamn company he could find. If you throw enough bait in the ocean, surely someone will snap. He’s not a considerably patient person, so after a very crafty google search of: “how to be famous”, and a very glamorous looking email from TB BWBB SK OTC LC – he still does not know what any of these letters stand for – reached out to him for an audition, well obviously he turned himself into the bait and tripped over his own feet running to be noticed. I’m special and worthy, make me your star!
Obviously, he doesn’t have an agent because 608 people have listened to said mixtape on SoundCloud and a whopping ten copies of it have sold on iTunes, and four of those copies were bought by his mom, but she will deny it until the ends of the earth. He probably could have used an agent, or common sense, or just someone to smack him in the head before that fateful audition two months ago.
“Bach-e-lor,” he read out looking at the extremely official looking poster board sign propped up on a music stand before him at the doors of that very glamorous brothel turned home brewery turned themed café turned TV Studio. “That is an English word, I do not know what that is.” He also didn’t really care about looking it up, because he is an overwhelmingly lazy person. It cannot be overstated, Yoongi should have someone follow him around to tell him when he’s being a fucking idiot.
“Boys will be boys,” he read the next line. The person who made the sign did not think about the spacing of letters, so the second part of the sentence was all crammed together. B o y s w illbeboys. Very sexy. “Well… I am a boy,” he nodded to himself, looking down for confirmation, even though no one was there to witness his joke.
So, he just walked right fucking into that studio and pretty much fucked up his entire future in one viciously fell swoop. What’s the worst that could happen, he thought? He goes on one of those K-Pop Idol shows and he doesn’t win but he gets his name and face out there so people go buy his mixtape and then some company is like “damn you’re fine” and he gets scouted and then becomes an international superstar. What could go wrong?
He did think it was kind of weird that they asked him what his preference in men was, but he’s never breathed the air of a talent agency, so he thought maybe that’s just how these things are. Yes, of course I like fellow musicians. No, I’m not a vegan, what do I look like to you, a monster?
To say it’s been a whirlwind would be an understatement. It only really starts to be real in the two weeks leading up to Night One, where he’s having his picture taken relentlessly, shoved into various seats and interviewed by various people who don’t get paid enough. Made up like a doll, advised to wear better clothes. He feels like an idol but excluding the being excited about it part. He’s trying to maintain his sleek, bad boy composure throughout all of it, and he’d say he’s doing a fairly good job, but there are cracks in the act, surely.
Two months and an unreasonable amount of Soju as a coping mechanism later, his bags are packed and all ready to move into this unforgivingly modern mansion for the next nine weeks. The mansion is the ugly kind of modern, not the “that looks relaxing and practical!” modern. All ninety-degree angles and manufactured pleasantness which don’t quite hit the mark. He supposes that the architecture is rather prophetic for the chaos that Yoongi is about to unleash inside its walls. If he’s going to be the next bachelor, and the first gay one, then goddammit if he isn’t going to raise hell.
“You’re telling me that twenty-five people are going to live in this thing?” Yoongi asks the producer who he has actually quite lovingly decided he will refer to as “Producer Dad.” See, he’s a pleasant person. Off camera, that is.
“Has anyone even explained how this show works to you?” Producer Dad says.
“Men. Roses. Hand to hand combat? Um… that’s the gist of it. I’m sure I’ll pick it up along the way, I’m a fast learner.” He did sign his soul away to this goddamn circus, though, so fast learner or not, he needs to be less of an idiot.
“So tonight, after you have your first impressions with everyone, you’re going to hand out fifteen roses. Only fifteen people will be in the mansion after that, not twenty-five.”
“I don’t think I can remember fifteen different people’s names,” Yoongi says.
“Try your hardest.”
“At the end, once I’ve eliminated all of the contestants, do I get to keep the house?” It’s ugly, but he can always sell it and get something else.
“How is it that you have not been fired yet and replaced?”
“Between you and me, I think it’s because I’m unparalleled sexy,” Yoongi says. He might be lazy and a little bit full of himself, but he’s pretty sure the actual reason is that the powers that be want this show to fail. They don’t want a gay bachelor any more than the next “Forced Diversity” crybaby, so they chose someone who’s going to make it crash and burn so that they have an excuse to say “See! It didn’t work, so now we can’t ever do it again.” They did choose the right man, because gay? bisexual? questioning? all you can eat buffet? whatever the hell Yoongi is, he is the man for the job.
“Do I get my own bedroom? My own bathroom? My own closet? Walk in closet? This is very important.”
“I’m confused, you only have one bag?” Producer Dad says.
“You’re saying the truck hasn’t come yet?”
The Truck? Oh, Producer Dad you are in for it.
“This is going to be a long nine weeks.”
Yoongi shrugs. It’s going to be stupid and dumb, but he’s going to be living the good life. Nice bedroom which he will sleep very late into the morning in? Does the mansion come with a chef? Maybe even a bathtub? Fuck! They’re going to have a lot of trouble trying to get him to move out. He’s sure if he’s stubborn enough they’ll decide to forego the glue remover required to detach him from his bed, because it would be far easier to just stew in misery over the abyss of lost profits that this train wreck of a show is going to create than to buy industrial grade Yoongi Be Gone.
“I’ll play nice with the other boys as long as I get to advertise my mixtape every five minutes of screen time.” Something tells him that this ultimatum means he’s not going to be playing nice with the other boys.
He had been lying about the truck. It’s more just a van. As he walks up to the house, with its weirdly glamorous driveway, he sees it parked out in front, seeming to gleam in the harsh summer sun. Yoongi is not particularly good at packing, though, so a lot of the reason for why he takes up so much space is because he left all of his clothes on hangers and just threw them into an impractical number of trash bags. Producer Dad is not especially willing to help Yoongi move all of his stuff into the mansion, so he does his best impression of the cutest cat you’ve ever seen to all of the crew, but Producer Dad has spitefully told all of his Producer Siblings not to help Yoongi move in his armfuls and armfuls of clothes. And all of his personal bedding. And some audio recording equipment because what if he’s sitting in his bed avoiding the responsibilities of being a reality TV star and he comes up with the next Rap God? If this wasn’t a nine-week venture, he wouldn’t have travelled so heavy, but it is a nine-week venture so fuck it. If he’s going to be a diva then he will be the diva.
He’d like to think he unpacks all of his belongings pretty quickly. The hard part is making it up the stairs into the master bedroom. When he sees it for the first time, he gets an evil glint in his eyes. The room itself is nice, he does have his own bath and an okay closet, but what really gets him is the bed itself. He’s a struggling musician, he’s never even been in a room with a bed this big. He is realizing that the bedding he brought isn’t the right size, but still, this bed is big enough that he could starfish with room to spare. He could fit two people on here to starfish. He’s going to get used to it quite quickly. So quickly in fact that after he shoves all of his clothes in the closet, he passes out on the bed for a solid three or four hours. It’s amazing.
He is awoken when a Producer who is not Producer Dad comes screaming for him, panicked because apparently the crew thought he had run away, but actually he just sleeps like a brick. She is telling him to get changed because Tonight is the Night, and he groans because he was unconscious for so long that he blissfully forgot why it is that he gets to sleep in this nice bed. He wants to stay in this big fancy mansion just for the comfort of it, he doesn’t want to actually exert effort. Effort is disgusting.
Then he’s being put into a suit. Dragged into a trailer outside of the mansion that he’s sure will never make it on camera, where about five different people all start attacking his face all at once. His hair is done, he doesn’t know what there is to do, they put so much product in, but it looks the same now as it did before. He gets makeup slathered all over him. He’d never worn makeup before they started shooting promos for the show, but he looks damn good in it he decides as he looks at himself in the mirror. How does he still look tired, though? Probably because he doesn’t want to be here. His eyes look heavier than they felt before he took that nap. Ah, that nap. He will remember it fondly until his dying days.
“Can I just eat?” he complains after possibly four hours or possibly twenty minutes. “Give me food. Please. How humiliating would it be if you could hear my stomach growl on camera?”
Producer Dad rolls his eyes, but he relents and then Yoongi is being given what seems to him like someone’s leftovers but he’s a hungry bitch, so he doesn’t really care.
“Why do you film it so late at night?” Yoongi asks, because the sun set nearly an hour ago and now he’s just standing by, waiting for shooting to begin.
“It’s for the drama of it.”
“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes, “that makes total sense.” These entertainment types are so weird to him. They don’t seem like bad people, they just have vastly different priorities and thoughts as he does. Who would think that people walking out of a limo is more dramatic at night? These guys! Everyone is in agreement about it. Yoongi feels like a child in comparison to everyone around him.
The production quality of this show overall seems astoundingly low. The house is pretty nice and all that, but no one seems to know what they’re doing. Or maybe he just thinks that because he himself does not know what he’s doing. He shouldn’t even be here. Why the fuck is he here?
He’s not a reality star, or an idol. He’s not really an anything. He’s just some guy who got in over his head and signed up for the wrong kind of show, and now he’s here.
There is some truth to the fact that he did technically sort of a little bit kind of definitely know what he was doing. Initially, yeah, he had no clue. But it didn’t take that long for him to realize what kind of show this was. He’ll deny it to anyone who asks, make up some new, even more outrageous explanation for how he got here, but he did say yes knowing full well what he was doing.
He’s not very proud of the fact that he’s here, but it was on purpose, more or less. It’s not the way he would like to have done it, but people will know his name after tonight, or technically on Friday when this airs. The mixtape has been out for months and no one has noticed it. Months! He needs something. This is definitely not the way he thought it would happen, but this is how it is going to happen.
“Are you ready to shoot your pre thoughts?” Producer Dad asks as he beckons for the host of the show to come by. Yoongi has talked to the host like a whole two times so far, and has decided that his name is Host Uncle, because he is never content with anything that Yoongi does.
“Fuck, I mean, I guess so?”
“Please try to refrain from swearing, okay? It costs the network actual money when we have to bleep your words.”
“I’ve got to get it all out now then,” he says before doing something that would not be condoned by the network or his own mother.
“I do not get paid enough for this,” Producer Dad says before Yoongi is being put on his mark and then being counted down.
“So Yoongi, you’re about to meet twenty-five men for the first time, one of them could even be your future husband! How are you feeling?” Host Uncle asks in a news reporter sort of voice that doesn’t sound natural.
“Well, I certainly am feeling emotions,” he says, though he refuses to show any actual emotions on his face.
“What kind of emotions might those be?”
“Disbelief,” he says, “did not think I would ever be here.”
Host Uncle has a fake laugh and then misinterprets the words either intentionally or unintentionally. “It’s almost like your whole life has culminated in this moment!”
“Okay,” he says apathetically. “I’m just here to promote my mixtape.”
“Cut!” Producer Dad shouts. “Yoongi, we talked about this.”
“Sure, but I ignored you.”
“Let’s try that again, but please avoid plugging your mixtape this time, okay?”
Yoongi groans loudly. One time was painful enough and now he’s got to do it again, and he really exerted as much emotion as he was capable of exerting in that first take, which is little to none. He doesn’t think he’s going to be able to top that.
They do at least five takes. Yoongi doesn’t watch reality shows, it never occurred to him just how much of what goes on the screen is rehearsed and fake. They only let him off the hook when he goes completely over the top.
“Yes of course I’m super excited!” he says with the most insincere tone known to man, but no one seems to notice it, or maybe they’re all just so thankful that the words he’s saying aren’t negative that they’re choosing to see it as a win.
“Do you think that one of these men is going to be your soulmate?”
“Well, I sure hope so,” he says before he smiles at the camera with his cheesiest, gummiest, toothpaste commercial smile.
“It’ll have to do,” Producer Dad finally says.
“The name of my autobiography,” Yoongi mutters. “Can I eat more food now?”
Producer Dad makes an exaggerated sound of frustration, throwing his hands in the air, which Yoongi takes as a yes. He goes back to the trailer where he knows that they’re storing the food, and he then proceeds to eat his emotions away. His emotions are very hungry.
A lot of people he doesn’t know are trying to tell him things. Lots of crew members who seem like perfectly nice people but they’re talking about things he doesn’t care about so he instead decides to tune them out and think about himself instead.
What’s nine weeks? He’s been on this earth for much longer than that, he’ll be able to make it through nine weeks. He’s in a big fancy house. It may be hideous but it does nevertheless have a very good bed. He thinks lovingly of that bed for the next several minutes.
From outside the trailer, he hears Producer Dad shout, “First limo is en route!” All hell breaks loose. Everyone starts scrambling like a bomb went off. Yoongi is being dabbed off and he’s not even sweating. People are fixing his everything. Then he’s being tugged back outside to stand in front of the mansion at a dramatic angle.
He remembers that he has to start acting now. Well, maybe not "acting," but he has to prepare himself to be on camera now and for the next two and a half months. The last few days of promos and pre-interviews are just the appetizer, now it’s time for him to become what he hates. Remember Yoongi, you’re only here for the plu. You just have to make it through this with as many cheeky self-plugs as you can get. People absolutely eat up reality stars. This could be great for you.
He’s actually getting nervous. He didn’t think he was going to get nervous, but he is. It’s not nerves because he’s worried about meeting all the guys, it’s nerves because the weight of everything around him is starting to fall on his shoulders and he is not strong enough not to be crushed by it.
“The limo is going to be here in five minutes, are you ready, Yoongi?”
“I am full of regret and lots of food.”
“You just have to be personable; I know you can do it. I know somewhere in there, deep, deep, deep down, you’re not an asshole.”
“I’ve yet to find that person,” Yoongi responds, smirking.
“You’re insufferable. You know what to do, right? You only have to connect with 15 guys tonight. That’s all you have to do.”
“Run that by me one more time, chief.”
He groans out the anger that he wants to take out by smacking Yoongi across the face. “Twenty-five guys stepping out of the limo. Fifteen roses. Nine weeks. Then you pick one guy.”
“Pick him to do what?” Yoongi says, playing dumb. Producer Dad gives Yoongi a stare so intimidating that his balls shrivel back into his body. “Fuck, oh my god, I’m just kidding! Fall in love blah blah blah. I got it.”
Producer Dad then turns white as a sheet as he hears something in his headpiece. “It’s here!” The camera catches the shot as everyone runs away so as not to be seen in shot. Yoongi is left standing there, the drama of the dark night finally starting to make sense to him as he watches the limo slowly make its way to the driveway right in front of him. How cliché it would be to say his fate is behind those doors, yet too true to deny.
He doesn’t know if he has ever felt so alone and transparent in his entire life. He’s standing here, made up and plasticized. Full of annoyance and nerves and stupidity. Thinking about what he would be doing if he wasn’t here. In one of those dead-end jobs that he uses to support his nonexistent music career. No one knowing his name. But soon the scene of him standing here waiting for that door to open will be seen by the whole country.
He feels fake right now, and he knows that’s because his on-camera self thus far has been fake. He isn’t this person. He’s genuinely a nice person. He definitely needs his mouth washed out with brillo pad, but he’s a good friend, a hard worker. Here he stands feeling like an action figure bent to do The Man’s will.
The minute that the door to the first limo opens, he has a very disheartening realization. Shit. He can’t be a jackass to all of these guys. It’s just not inside of him. He wants so much to be a jackass. It would be such a pleasure. But that would not be fair. It would be so awful for this to be the very first season of this show, queer representation hoorah and then to be piece of shit to everybody. These are the people he’s going to be sharing the screen with for so many weeks, and they are real people. Real people who actually came here to find love and what they got was Yoongi taking the piss. Sure, some of them might just be in it for the fame and drama of it all, not unlike himself, but they’re still human beings.
Alright, Yoongi, what are you going to do? He decides that maybe he will make nice. He’s going to be an asshole to the camera without question but to these dudes? Who came all the way out here to find love? Putting themselves into such an uncomfortable position? That wouldn’t be fair. By no means is Yoongi going to fall in love with anyone, he has some self-respect, but he won’t be a jerk. He will try his hardest not to be.
The door opens in such a way that Yoongi cannot see who’s inside. He doesn’t mean to but Yoongi looks at the camera and makes a very nervous, and probably very cute expression. This is actually about to be real.
The first person that steps out of the limo is… a guy. Korean. Wild, who would have thought? He’s wearing a suit, it could be the exact same one as the one on Yoongi. He has two arms, two legs. Silver hair, dyed. Quite a nice texture. Looks soft. Great skin care regimen. Alright, so he’s hot. Yoongi has two eyes and a dick, he knows when someone is hot.
The distance between them can’t be more than a few yards and yet the length of time that it takes for this guy to walk up to Yoongi is centuries long. He’s quite a bit taller than him, but Yoongi is not a very large person to begin with.
He stops in front of Yoongi, neither of them is doing anything that would be defined as “smiling” but it also couldn’t be defined as anything else.
“Hi,” the other man says. Yoongi takes in a deep breath as subtly as he can. So it begins.
“Hi,” Yoongi responds. Had he meant to say more? Wow, they’re both going to be good at this.
“I’m uh, this is a really weird format to meet someone for the first time isn’t it?” he says sheepishly. Time is not progressing in the way that time usually progresses. He’s not sure if he’s entered a dream or not. It’s not that it feels magical, it just doesn’t feel grounded. He’s not really here. This isn’t really happening.
“Yes,” Yoongi says. Maybe once his mouth stops being dry, he’ll graduate to more than one syllable at a time.
“It’s really nice to meet you.”
“Yeah.” Uncomfortable silence… maybe he should mention his mixtape?
“Are you nervous?” he asks.
“I’m just awkward,” he says, smiling just a little bit to show how uncomfortable he actually is. It’s not a sincere smile. It’s a mom just told me to smile for a picture but I’m eleven and I just want to get through this vacation in one-piece smile.
“Me too. I didn’t know I would be going first. It’s a lot of pressure to say something meaningful… I guess I should tell you my name,” he says. Yes, that might help, you very pretty man. “I’m Namjoon.”
“Yoongi.” Yoongi goes in for a handshake but Namjoon misreads it, so they have an awkward hug with Yoongi’s hand in his stomach. Holy shit, he went into this hoping so much to be a serious, stoic, confident rapper promoting his mixtape, and this is Bachelor One and he already wants to hide in a sewer.
“This can only get weirder from now on,” Namjoon says with actually a really cute smile, and Yoongi doesn’t know why but those words actually comfort him a little bit. “Good luck. I hope when we talk again it’ll feel a little less terrifying.” Oh that’s right, Yoongi reminds himself that after all these introductions he has to go and have one-on-one conversations with everyone and try not to get super drunk while he does it. That’s going to be the hardest part. He wishes he had warmed up with at least something to make his posture a little less straight.
He watches as Namjoon walks past him into the house, and due to the fact that Yoongi has hormones, he looks at him as he walks past and is very sad to learn that there is no ass to speak of. Twenty-four people to go whose asses will surely be more impressive.
Now it’s round two and he’s still uncomfortable but he’s done this once so now he thinks he can handle it a little bit better. Fuck, this one is cute. This one is bubblier. The instant he steps out of the limo, his face already has a smile on it. Christ, this is a good one. So was the last one. This is already hard. There’s no way he’d have been able to be an asshole to faces like these, even if he tried.
“Jimin,” he announces after a few words. Yoongi can tell that he’s going to go in for a hug because that radiates off of this guy. It’s a nice hug. They exchange a few pleasantries. It doesn’t feel natural, but it’s not awful. Jimin walks away and Yoongi is starting to think that this might not be as disgustingly fake as he thought it would be. Jimin made it a little less extremely uncomfortable. Oh, he has very much got an ass. Yoongi makes an unconscious nod before he remembers that there’s a camera on him.
As much as he would like for it not to be true, a lot of the guys run the same as the previous. This one has black hair, but this one has black hair. That one has piercings, oh those are very nice piercings, but that one has a velvet suit jacket and that really does something for Yoongi. He remembers that he has to make it through twenty-five different people, and there are too many names to remember, so he starts assigning them letters.
“Nice to meet you A, I’m Yoongi.”
“Oh, hello B, I’m Yoongi.”
“Thank you so much for saying that C, my name is Yoongi.”
He doesn’t tell any of them that they are being given letters. That would be rude.
“Jungkook.” Okay, yeah cool, your name is L now. “Jin.” Congratulations contestant number whatever, your name is Q. Yoongi skips the letter P because he feels like that would just be cruel, especially considering that Q is unbelievably handsome.
It’s been half an hour, is he nearly done? Producer Dad shows him his fingers. Four left. Thank god. He only has to meet four more people. But then he has to go talk to all of them. But then, quite a mercy, he gets to eliminate ten of them! No need to remember them anymore. He’s got to keep the first two because they’re the only ones whose names he thinks he remembers, but other than that it’ll be a crap shoot.
“Taehyung.” Oh, his voice is deep, and Yoongi decides that he likes that. Yes, very much so. He instantly forgets the name that this man just assigned himself, but V seems to suit him quit well. Goodbye V, and yes, Yoongi looks at his ass too. But he’s gotten fairly good at being subtle about it. The viewers at home will still probably be able to tell. Maybe it will make him genuine and endearing? Maybe he’ll just be called a pig.
The next one has brown hair. A very squishy face, which Yoongi has been told he also has. The second he steps out of the limo he can tell that this one, much like the second guy who Yoongi wants to say was called Jimin, that this guy radiates something. A very bright smile, if a little nervous. He looks very good in his suit. Everyone that has walked out of the limo has looked nice and been nice, but there’s something about this one in particular that just gets right to Yoongi’s core.
“Nice to meet you,” he says, which is a phrase that Yoongi has heard countless times before, and it’s a little disappointing that that is how this one has started the conversation.
“Hello,” he says. To be fair, Yoongi’s first line hasn’t had a lot of variety either.
"Your bio failed to mention that you were this cute," he says, and gives Yoongi a respectful once-over. Yoongi refrains from rolling his eyes. “Before I say anything else, I read on your bio that you're a rapper?”
His eyes immediately sparkle. Yes! Finally, someone is asking him about it! “I am! Yes!” Is this excitement? Is that what he feels? Excitement? Let me talk about myself please!
“That’s really cool. You may be here on this weird show now, but the next minute you’ll be an idol.”
“A man can dream, right?” Yoongi says. His squishy cheeks are about to make their debut to the camera, he can just tell.
“You look like you make a good rapper,” he says. His face becomes warm. Is this blush? He’s super pale, this guy is going to be able to tell that he’s blushing.
“I have a mixtape, you should listen to it,” Yoongi stumbles a little bit on his words. He realizes that this is the first time he’s managing to get a plug in for his mixtape, so he looks at the camera quickly and says, “Agust D, check it out.”
“How about you tell me more about it when we talk later, yeah?” he says smiling. This guy can most definitely tell that Yoongi is blushing. You can read it on his face like a book. Yoongi also suspects that he knows what he’s doing. He’s so charming. He’s cute. Everyone has been cute, literally everyone, but this one complimented not just his face but also said he looks like a good rapper. Fifteen roses to give out, this guy has already earned one.
“Two left after me, but make sure I’m the one you remember, okay?” he says. Fuck. Yoongi nods, and he turns to watch him go, but then he realizes-
“Wait, you didn’t tell me your name!”
“Silly me,” he says, smiling with his soft oh-my-god-yoongi-are-you-gay? cheeks, really bright like he’s a light source and Yoongi is a flower that needs it to grow. “Hoseok.”
Alright, Hoseok. You get to have a name instead of a letter. You’ve earned it.
Also? Very nice ass.
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