#im actually very surprised with how far my french practice has come over the years

[frostedpuffs]

guys i. i caved

i watched the movie

[mccnyoongi]

knj ⇢ novels.

⇢ word count: 5k+

⇢ warnings: art dealer!namjoon, bougie & rich!namjoon, hints of sugar daddy joon but not really??, established relationship, THEY ARE VERY IN LOVE ITS VERY SOFT >:(, but also, smut/porn, unprotected sex, dom!joonie, lots of praise, degredation, spanking, hair pulling, choking, light exhibitionism, light anal play, a bit of impreg, good old fashioned parisian fucking.

⇢ summary: You might just fill a novel with all the things you love about Kim Namjoon.

⇢ author’s note: happy namjoon week - this went from being an 800 word smutty drabble to a full ass one shot with a whole lotta fluff and exposistion… so i hope you guys are ready for the most lovey dovey bullshit to ever come out of this blog (which is saying a lot im a small soft baby)! but im also a whore so its still filthy… ily 💞

You met Kim Namjoon just over two years ago. Your friend had dragged you to a new opening at a gallery, insisting that the artist was a) crazy talented and b) crazy cute, so there was no way she was about to miss it, but also no way she was about to go alone ‘like a loser.’ Said artist was the young, and, admittedly, quite cute, Kim Taehyung, who Namjoon had just started to represent, and would swear up and down that he was gonna be the next big thing. 

You were inclined to agree with both Namjoon and your friend, but you thought that Namjoon’s eyes were far more captivating than any painting you’d ever seen. And later that night, after everyone but the two of you had left, you found out that no collection of brush strokes or lines in a sketchbook could possibly compare to the beauty of Namjoon and the groans he’d involuntarily let out as he fucked the life out of you against the floor to ceiling windows of the empty gallery.

You figured it would be a one-time thing; that he was far too busy to be chasing after a girl like you. People were writing articles about him, you were scraping your way through your last semester of university as an English major and working a shitty part-time job. But then a week later you had gotten a special delivery- the Taehyung piece you and Namjoon had first crossed paths in front of. The one you had been staring at to avoid his searing gaze, the tension palpable despite knowing each other for only minutes.

He texted you about dinner plans the same day you received the painting. Your sweet, sweet, stupidly romantic boy.

Two years have gone and Namjoon was only proven right- Taehyung was his big break into the art world, and everything Namjoon had ever wanted. He’s not sure if it would all taste as sweet without you, but he does have you, so his life is cotton candy flavoured, rose-tinted and gorgeous. Right now, however, the cotton candy is overpowered by equally sweet red wine, a bottle shared between the two of you in the extravagant hotel room he had insisted upon. Paris suits him, you think. 

He loves the extravagance and being able to laugh at the pretentiousness of some, most, all of the artists here. He glows under the lights of the city as they pour in through the balcony windows, the moon as full as your heart and your glass. His eyes take in the view, something he once told you he’d never get tired of. He loves pretty landscapes, from cityscapes to rolling hills of the countryside, to the curves of your body. You take him in from your spot on the plush couch, a piece of furniture not even Marie Antoinette would turn her nose up at.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” It takes you a second to figure out that he’s referring to the wine- you were too busy thinking about the poems and sonnets you could write about his dimples. 

“Tastes expensive,” You comment, and you only say it because you know it was expensive, otherwise you wouldn’t know the difference. It is smooth though, running down your throat like water, dangerously easy to drink, and you’re suddenly thankful that you only have the one bottle to split between the two of you.

“It is expensive,” He chuckles but throws the rest of the glass back into his mouth like it’s a gin and tonic from a dive bar in your hometown. “But I stole it from Tae’s room- the kid fucking owes me.” The devious grin he throws at you is dazzling. Not that he’s in any kind of position where he needs to steal bottles of wine from his friends; he’s childish and teasing when it comes to them. You think it’s cute and endearing.

You humour him like your teenagers who have to be creative with their drinking habits. “Well then, it’s the best wine I’ve ever tasted.”

“You’ve impeccable taste, darling,” He gives you a nod that asks you to join him by the window without him having to actually ask. He never has to ask.

You stand to join him, the dress he had gifted you with for your first anniversary falling at its place on your thighs, the silk soft and cool on your skin. He wraps a toned arm around your waist when you’re close enough, always revelling in how small you feel in his arms. He noses at the crown of your head and your heart brims with nothing but love for your Kim Namjoon.

“We should get a place here,” He sets his now empty wine glass on the counter beside him, his hands now free as he pulls you to stand in front of him, wrapping both of his toned arms around you from behind, his feel and smell more comforting than the world’s best massage.

“What, in Paris?”

“France. Southern France maybe. Get a villa, or whatever they’re called. A boat too... I want a fucking boat, babe.”

“Then you’ll get a boat,” As far as you’re concerned, what Namjoon wants, Namjoon gets. The universe seems to bend around him, whether you like it or not. Thankfully you like it quite a bit, especially ever since Namjoon had decided he wanted you.

“And we’ll need a big backyard,” He’s quieter now, no hint of teasing in his tone and when you look over your shoulder at him, he’s avoiding eye contact, his eyes darting around at the view the window is still offering to him. “For some kids to, you know… Run around and shit.” He always clams up and gets a little awkward when treading unknown territory, even when he has no reason to be.

“Sounds like a plan, big guy.”

His arms tighten around you, and he nestles his nose back into your hair for all the words he’s not saying. Namjoon has many ways to say I love you, and every single one makes you float a bit off the ground. Tonight you’re practically fucking levitating.

His plush lips press against your head, soft kisses littering your skin as he travels the pecks down the side of your face. You lean into them, until he places one on the corner of your own lips and you turn your head, two pairs of lips finally meeting. They move in such tandem and harmony, they can only belong to two people madly in love. His tongue sweeps against your lips, the kiss deepening as he turns you to fully face him, mouths never leaving mouths, the two of you only becoming more entwined with one another.

He mostly tastes like the wine, French and pungent, but that distinctly Namjoon taste is still there- it’s minty and intoxicating. The familiarity makes you relax into his strong arms still curled around you. 

“So sweet,” He mumbles into your lips as if he still can’t believe that you’re real. “Always so sweet for me.” He finally pulls back from the kiss to admire you- your heated cheeks, swollen lips and half-lidded eyes. 

“Joonie-”

“I know, honey, I know. Gonna take such good care of you- my perfect girl.” You almost make a somewhat sarcastic comment at the word perfect, but it dies in your throat when his head dips down so he can suck harsh marks into the soft skin of your neck. He loves leaving marks there, even though you tease him and call him childish and cheesy for it, but he can’t help it. He loves making you into his very own work of art. If he had his way you’d be on display in the Louvre, the most beautiful piece there. Mona Lisa be damned.

“You’d better,” You tease because you don’t have the words to explain how much you love him, not out loud. That’s what writing is for. But for now, you’ll tease and poke and prod until he gives you what you need- which you never have to wait long for. He finds it impossible to say no to you.

“Don’t challenge me, little girl,” A fire has ignited in your lover’s eyes, one that sparks something within yourself, as it always has, and you genuinely believe it always will. 

The hand that tangles in your hair only stokes the flames that have begun deep within you. His hand is all at once rough and caring as it pulls, baring your neck to him as if he were some kind of bloodthirsty nightcrawler. But no, he’s just your Namjoon, the one who can dampen your panties and have your heart racing with just a look.

You grin at the tension and the intensity with which he looks into your own, lust-stricken eyes. “What, Namjoon? Afraid you won’t be able to deliver?” It’s an empty taunt, you both know it. He has delivered time and time again, leaving you with a stinging ass, hoarse voice, and an embarrassing waddle in your step. If there’s one thing Namjoon knows how to do, it’s deliver on his promises. And yet you still find yourself push, push, pushing. 

But Joon’s dominance holds strong, a real and honest, guttural growl tearing through his throat at your bratty behaviour. You don’t flinch, but instead bite your lip at the sound, the rumble of it tearing through you and straight into your core. 

“Gonna remind you who the fuck’s in charge, baby,” He’s whispering but to you, it’s just as loud and just as intense as a jet plane taking off, the rumbling of the syllables reaching every primal nerve in your body and setting them alight. His grip on your hair loosens, the large hand brushing stray hair away from your face, the softness of the action almost surprising you more than the forceful yanks he had subjected you to not moments before. “You want that?” He nudges your nose with your own, the air around the two of you thick with tension.

You almost respond by telling him what a dumb question that is- of course, you want it. You think you might even need it. But you decide to acquiesce, to submit because this night is too perfect to carry on being brat you’d have no problem being anywhere that isn’t this five-star hotel room in the heart of Paris with your near-perfect boyfriend. 

“Please, Joonie. Just want you.” And he’ll give you all of him, that much is clear. His jaw clenches as he looks you over with the same eyes he used to look over the lights of the city not ten minutes ago, but now his gaze is filled with an unbreaking, loving lust. 

He’s drinking you in- starting with your bare feet, freed from the confines of those strappy Louis Vuittons the moment you’d stepped through the door. He travels up the flesh of your legs that he just wants to sink his fucking teeth into; moves up the silk of the dress that accentuates everything he loves about your body to the lavish diamond choker he’d really fucking splurged on for the most recent anniversary; and finally to your eyes, beautiful, blown out and wide as they stare up at him. He could so easily get lost in those eyes, and he has many times before- but right now he’d rather be getting lost in your pussy.

“Turn around and put your hands on the glass, baby.” Your body obeys before your brain even has a chance to process his words, not that you have any complaints. 

You can still see Namjoon when you turn around; his mirror image in the reflection of the panelled windows far more enticing than any city on this planet. You feel bad for the smudges your hands will inevitably leave and Namjoon will inevitably tease you about tomorrow morning, but it’s a fleeting thought, the anticipation of what’s in store for the rest of your night clouding your judgement, in a welcomed break from the concerns of the real world. Now it’s just Namjoon.

The glass is cold against your hands, but Namjoon’s hands are warm as they start palming your silk-covered ass, jutted out slightly because of your position against the window. It’s no secret Namjoon loves this particular body part of yours- known among friends for casually and nonchalantly slipping a hand into your back pocket or up your skirt. 

He inches the skirt of your dress up your thighs and past your hips, not even bothering to stifle the groan that tears through him at the sight of the dampened lace now being the only thing to protect your modesty (hah). 

“So fucking pretty,” The way he says it is so fucking sincere you think you might tear up. Instead, you just let out a slight cry as he runs a single knuckle up and down your covered folds. The chuckle he lets out at your sound isn’t quite sinister but it’s nowhere near innocent; he’ll never get over the effect he has on you. “My girl’s got the prettiest cunt around, nothin’ fucking compares, baby.”

His next movement is so sudden; there’s no stopping the girlish squeal that escapes your soft pink painted lips as he gives a swift spank to your ass, his large hand and the force behind it making your nerve ending blossom in pleasurable pain. He delivers a flurry of quick smacks, too fast for your lust addled mind to possibly count as he alternates between your left and right cheeks. Your sounds are embarrassing, or they would be if you didn’t know how much he loved them. You squeal, whimper and moan as your ass juts out, begging him for more as your legs involuntarily kick from under you and your splayed hands turn into fists against the glass.

He keeps one hand on your now slightly pinkened ass, palming it and massaging it under his warm appendage, the other thumbing at your pussy, making you wish he’d just strip you of your underwear already. His patience is maddening though. His thumb roughly moves up and down your pussy, the cloth becoming wetter by the second.

“C’mon, Joonie,” Your voice is airy, almost breathless, but above all, pleading. “Need more, need you so so bad.”

Normally begging works fairly quickly on Namjoon. Unless he’s in a mood where he wants everything drawn out, wants you drooling, dripping and barely able to think before he gives you what you want. Two guesses as to how he’s feeling tonight.

Your begs don’t get you what you want- although you’re not sure you’re even clear as to what exactly it is that you want- instead, they land you another spank, this time to your still goddamn clothed pussy. You let out a sob of both surprise and pain, your elbows buckling so your forearms and the side of your face are against the window and you’re bent over even further than before.

“Greedy fucking slut…” He gropes at your pussy now, massaging away any lingering pain. “You’ll get what I give you and you’ll fucking take it,” A hand winds into your hair once more, now mussed and tangled from his earlier ministrations, and pulls forcefully so that your head is next to his, most of your weight supported by the fist in you hair and his other arm as it curls around your middle. “Isn’t that right?”

You nod in spite of your limited movement, desperate to please. “Yeah-yes Joonie, I’ll take it all,” Your eyes close in sheer submission. “Take anything you give me.”

“Cause I know what you need, yeah?” You nod again as his hand loosens in your hair to squeeze at your cheeks and pucker your lips. “No one else. Just me. Just me and you.”

“Just us.” He lets out a puff of air at your words- satisfaction maybe, or excitement- but it seems to have been enough when he bends you back against the glass and grips at your hips. 

Excitement buzzes through your bones at the feeling of his talented figures hook into each side of the lace there. He pulls slowly at the fabric, too fucking slowly, so slowly that you think you might lose your mind if it wasn’t for his hands and overall commanding presence tethering you to some lose grip of reality. 

He grins when he sees the mess you’ve made, all thanks to him. Pride blossoms in his chest, like it, always does when he gets to see a physical manifestation of the effect he has on you. 

The panties are gone, but you barely register it. He could have thrown them out the window for all you cared, the only thing you could possibly focus on is his fingers, skilled and devilish on your finally bare pussy. He’s still teasing of course, relentlessly, never giving enough pressure, never focusing on one spot for too long- circling around your clit, dipping into your hole but never more than a single knuckle. Evil bastard. He taunts you with sinful words as he goes.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby,” A pinch to your clit and you whine pitifully. “Soaking my fucking hand and I barely have to work to get you this wet,” A generous drag of his thumb against your swollen bud and your hips buck in a desperate attempt for something, anything, just more. “That’s how fucking easy you are for me, my perfect slut, made to get fucked by me.”

“Joonie, please, please, I am, ‘m your slut, Joonie-” Your begging is cut off with an abrupt sob when Namjoon plunges two of his deliciously thick and strong fingers into your weeping cunt with little pretense. 

“This? Is this what you were fucking begging for? Just needed something to fill your desperate pussy, hm?”

You don’t answer- you can’t, not with him pistoning his fingers in and out of you with an unforgiving pace and an even better curve and arch. Your mouth is open in silent cries at what he’s giving you, as it’s both so much but not nearly enough to take you over the edge, to bring you the peak you so fucking desperately crave.

“That’s all you ever want, isn’t it though? Your pussy filled and your head empty,” More spanks are landed on your ass as he speaks, punishing you for something he loves about you. “Always so needy for me, just like you should be.”

You whine and buck your hips frantically, knowing you don’t need words to beg him. He knows your body well enough to understand that you’re pleading for more, even if he’s finger fucked the words out of your head. It might even be more delicious this way.

“I know, baby, I know,” He speaks softer now, as if he’s talking you through a nightmare and not knuckle deep inside you as we speak. “Just need to get fucked so fuckin’ bad, don’t you baby? Can’t even fucking help it.” He coos; how can he still find you adorable like this, doubled over and stuffed full of his fingers, breasts spilling out of the top of your dress.

“You gotta cum for me first though before you get what you really want,” His other hand reaches around your front to rub brutish but calculated circles into your swollen clit and your cries become even more wanton and needy. “Gonna stuff you full of my cock, promise, just need your tight, filthy cunt to cum around my fingers first, alright baby?”

You nod frantically- “Yeah, Joon, gonna cum soon, need it,” You wish you can see him as you reciprocate his crude promises to the best of your fucked out abilities. You know he must have the biggest shit-eating- or is it pussy eating- grin on his face as your breath catches on every other syllable. “Need your cock so fucking bad.”

“You’ll fucking get it,” He sighs out, bending over to mouth at your neck to whisper into your ear. “Now fucking cum.”

The command is a trigger for you almost like even your body knows that it belongs to him. You orgasm on shaking, unsteady legs, eyes shut tightly, as if letting any light in would overwhelm you to the point of no return, and fingernails digging into your palms in an attempt to ground yourself. Your moans are a combination of your lover’s name and incoherent babbles while Namjoon gracefully coaxes you through the ordeal, soft mumbles of what’s to come in your ear, and hands still incessant at your core.

His voice, which sent you tumbling over the edge of the earth is also what brings you back, calling you his good girl, perfect girl, my girl. His hand is gently petting at your messy hair, pulling you to an upright position, though most, if not all of your weight is being supported by him. 

He tilts your head up by your chin, getting a good view of you- blown out pupils, heaving chest and sweaty skin. He’s so fucking proud because he did that, it’s all him, you don’t fall apart like this for anyone else, and no one else can cause his cock to strain against his pants the way you do. The perfect match- and the wicked grin you give him when your eyes meet his only confirms the notion. You’re both as beautifully depraved as one another. Soulmates, if you believe in that kind of thing.

Namjoon does believe in that kind of thing. And you’re his person. This notion is only further confirmed when he moves his calloused hand down to your neck and wraps around the soft skin there; and your grin doesn’t falter a bit, but instead, it widens a fraction. The sight makes his heart jumps in his chest in time with his cock jumping in his pants.

“Good fuckin’ girl…” He’s referring to both you cumming on his command and your unwavering submission. It’s beautiful and so are you. “I think you deserve a reward, baby.”

At his words, you suddenly feel as though your orgasm hasn’t quite sated you, but wracked up your neediness several notches. The sound of his zipper being undone is enough for your pussy to slicken even further; you feel like a mess but you’re revelling in it and you know he is too.

Your dress- the fact that you were even still wearing it had slipped your mind somewhere in that mind-blowing orgasm- is pulled over your head, leaving you bare in front of appreciative and loving eyes. He kneads at your tits for fleeting moments, even teasing your already hardened nipples and you keen, every single part of you oversensitive and buzzing.

“Up against the window now, baby,” He steels you by the hips and shuffles you forward, breasts once more pressed against the chilly glass, but you don’t have to bend over so much as arch your back and present yourself for the taking. 

His hands grab at your waist, grip strong and surely going to bruise, the marks leftover for him to trace and press sweet kisses to in the days to come. It is sweet now, but lustfully so, while he rocks his hips, the thing you crave most still two layers away as it grinds against you.

He doesn’t bother actually undressing, he likes the visuals and the power dynamic of your naked form against his completely covered one too much. Instead, he unsheaths himself from the confines of his pants, cock hard and at attention, small beads of white collecting at its angry red tip. He’s so hard, so fucking hard because you make him unbearably hard. 

You’re a minx and a menace, even when you don’t realize it. Right now, however, you're fully aware of it, pushing back on his now bare cock, looking over your shoulder to smirk at him. You just might fucking kill him, he thinks.

“Joonie, come on-” You’re not quite begging anymore. Your voice has taken on a playful lilt with a hefty side of undeniable lust. “Gimme your cock already, just fuck me, need to feel you in me, fucking me, cumming in me-”

He interrupts you again. Not with a spank, or his fingers inside you, but with his hand finding home on your neck once more. He adds pressure, restricts your breathing ever so slightly and your heart skips a beat. “What, you get what you want and you turn into a greedy tease? Ungrateful fucking whore,” He slides the length of his cock along your dripping heat, you’re so fucking tempting and he thinks he might be the strongest man alive for not sliding into you right then and there. “I’ll give you my cock. You know I will. And I’m gonna fuck you so hard, make you cum so hard I’m gonna have to carry you out of the hotel when we check out tomorrow morning, and all those prissy bitches in the lobby are gonna see my cum dripping out of you because you’ll be so stuffed full of it.”

You swallow and he can feel the movement of your throat against his palm. His grip softens for a second and he sighs into your ear as you soak his cock before he even begins to fuck you.

“Fuck me Namjoon. Please.”

The dam breaks- he can’t hold himself back anymore, not for a million dollars, not for the entire damn Louvre. He slides into you, filling you to the brim in mere seconds and your groans harmonize with each other. Two proverbial puzzle pieces locking together, the head brushing against your cervix. The fear that you might split in two over his girth is no longer there, instead, it’s just bliss as you know no one else will ever fit with you like he does.

He throbs within you and you clench around him, wondering if he’ll just fucking move because if he doesn’t you might just have to bite his goddamn head off-

And now he’s cutting off your inner monologues too, as he pulls almost completely out of you only to pound back in with force and heat. Your whines are high pitched and his growls are low and grumbling as he starts to properly fuck you, to batter your needy pussy.

“Shit, Joon, oh my God,” You stutter out none too gracefully and his hand tightens once more around your throat, the goal to restrict your breathing enough to drive up your oversensitivity into overdrive. His own maddening breaths and grunts tickle your ear.

“That fucking good, huh?” He laughs airily. “Love when I can make you like this, my little bitch, keening and begging and praying.” Puffs of air fog up the window, and no doubt there’ll be crude outlines of you by the time you’re done, your own little piece of crude and fleeting art and it will be beautiful, but nowhere near as exquisite as the hand around your neck or his length sliding in and out of you at an unforgiving pace.

His hand still at your waist slides to your ass, landing a few more lingering spanks to make sure the pink hue will last well into tomorrow and you groan at each one, all the sensations too much in the best way possible. When it’s the colour he wants he gropes it roughly, fingernails digging in just enough to leave little crescent marks in their wake. As he pulls at the flesh there he notices your untouched hole, tempting him just by being there.

He lets his thumb ghost over your asshole; the idea had always enticed him. Now it’s even more so, so taboo and brilliantly so.

“One day I’ll take this hole too, huh?” He lets his finger rub over the whole, not penetrating, only teasing, only tempting. “You’ll let me have all of you, won’t you.”

“You already have all of me,” You counter, because it’s true, especially now, with the way he has you in his grasp. “You just have to take it.”

 He groans at that- you know how to make him crumble, don’t you? You’ve got him wrapped around your pinky finger, but there’s only one finger of yours he wants. “Gonna put a fucking ring on that finger soon, baby. Then we’ll really belong to each other,” Your whimpers make him grin and his hips stutter at their pace on your cunt. “But for now-” He’s falling apart, you can tell by the way he’s choking through his words. “For now, I’ll just make sure everyone knows your mine by painting your beautiful body with my marks, my bruises, my cum.”

“Are you gonna cum in me, Joonie?” The mere idea of it makes you clench tightly around him, needing to milk him until he does. “Please…”

“You want my cum?” You nod, a hand coming off its place to grab at his head beside yours, at his silken locks, now laden with sweat. “I’ll fill you with it, baby, might even knock you up-” You both gasp at his words, his thrusts becoming even harsher and your pussy gushing even more around him. “Then everyone will really fucking know who you belong to when you’re carrying my fucking baby.”

“Namjoon, I’m gonna-”

“Cum around my cock and milk it dry, my perfect greedy whore? Then do it. Fucking do it.”

And you do- you fall headfirst into yet another mind-boggling orgasm, so full, and as you do, his hand tightens once more, all your breathing cut off. He only does it for a few seconds, before moving his hand up to your face, puckering your lips, but it makes a fucking difference, your eyes rolling back into your head, cries sounding something like Namjoon’s name tumbling out. You might even thank him, you’re not sure.

At the peak of it, he reaches his own release, cum spurting into you and somehow it feels even better and the pleasure might be making you insane. He groans your name, and from his mouth, it sounds like the most beautiful ballad you’ve ever heard. He cums so much, and so hard you almost take it as a compliment, some of his cum spilling out of you and onto your thighs, and probably onto the tiled floor, it’s just so fucking much.

The world is still around, like you and Namjoon are the only things not frozen in time, chests heaving and overheated. The lust fades slowly, at the same rate his cock softens within you though he doesn’t pull out quite yet. As the lust dissipates, you’re left with a love for the man who can fuck you within an inch of your life and hand-feed you a silly, childish sundae not twenty minutes later as you watch your favourite episodes of shitty sitcoms and mumble I love yous into ice cream frosted lips. 

The cum has been cleaned off of both of you, and the floor, because, yes, it did drip down a little, and you’re bare-faced and cozy pyjama laden and he still looks at you the exact way you did when you were decked out in diamonds, luxury brands and makeup.

Yes, you might just write a novel about all the ways you love Kim Namjoon.

[andieperrie18]

Why? (one)

DAMIAN WAYNE X OC

THIS IS A DAMIAN WAYNE ROMANCE. IM OBSESSED WITH HIM FOR A WHILE NOW AND HE DOESN’T GET MUCH ATTENTION SO HERE I AM! THIS WORK CONTINUATION CAN BE FOUND OF WATTPAD. 

( I was inspired by this song when I wrote this. I found myself daydreaming how me and Damian cuddling at hotel terrace while staring at the view of the Eiffel tower. EMEGED!!!) 

"She and I are polar opposites, but she didn't mind."

~•~

Coming from a family of bachelors, Damian had already concluded that he was going to be like his father and brothers. A player, as he had his first fling with Raven but because of their age gap, he thought that it was better if they just stayed as friends. Soon she started dating Garfield Logan, aka Beast boy in which that they seem to have a functional relationship. Damian didn't like it at first but it was a wake-up call. He grew to a decision that love and relationships have no place in his life since he grew up to a very strict dogma to never show emotion as assassins are meant to be indestructible and precise with their aims and goals. He was far from going to be one of Gotham City's youngest famous bachelors

And yet how did he found himself here.

Standing by a sundeck made from white marble with the Eiffel tower across his line of sight. His tongue had a lingering taste of Earl Grey from the French china near his lips. The Majestic symmetry of the Parisian masterpiece gave part of his morning with a pinch of sugar. Damian Wayne is a hard person to impress but even he was held captive by the alluring horizon of Paris, France.

"You're up early."

A serene voice aired from behind him, always sends up a chill up his manly spines when he hears them. His eyes moved towards the balcony's door where a petite frame leaned. Beautifully disheveled locks, face naturally fresh, pearl white skin exposed under his white shirt that she wore. He didn't hold his smile as his jaded irises stared at her as she moved up towards him.

"You got a problem with that?" never thought the cockiness that came from him would actually sound so really humorous unlike before. She narrowed her own hazel orbs, "As a matter of fact, I do. You are practically showing the whole city how blessed you are. So yes, I have a problem with that." That made him twitch, from top to bottom with excitement.

Not sparing a moment, grabbing those petite waste close against his own, and his nose touching against him.

Tatiana Vrielle De Monte Carlo was no fling of his. Born from pure royalty but she was far from that when he first laid eyes on her. His total opposite. Tati is loud, enthusiastic, optimistic and talented. For a son of the greatest detective in Gotham, he never thought that she was royal. But when he did, he was shocked by what he found out from that side of hers.

Tati is different from Vrielle, Duchess of Casterly Grace. Vrielle is as quiet and observant as Damian Wayne. She is witty as she was cunning. He was immediately magnetized by these traits as this wildness that Vrielle carried is as exciting as Tati's adventurous side.

"I'm only yours, beloved." He never felt worried about her. Damian trusted his gut that she would never betray her.

"Tut tut! Now my husband! Where's my breakfast?!"

- - - -

Damian stared at the white parchment that was sprawled over the coffee table. A letter from his father, written by their trusty butler asking for him to come home and attend the Wayne Gala at the end of the week. He disliked parties as he never was a party person though he attends the gala's that his beloved fiance is invited in and he was quite surprised how he actually lasted till the time they were about to go home. He had to thank his companion for basically whispering things to keep him at bay and help him along the bloody party. After one party where Damian had seemed to have gotten used to the crowd and manage to walk through like a pro with her by his side. They have basically crowned as the prince and princess of Casterly Grace. The small kingdom near the outskirts of Paris had its reputation of being the most independent kingdom as all the heirs of the Monte Carlo famiglia are married to whoever they chose and it never affected they period of reign and it seems to continue till Tati's time.

"Don't just stare at it. Are you going?" Tati walked towards her in her formal Duchess outfit, her own formal meaning, a turtleneck short-folded sleeved crop top, high waist grey pants, and black army boots. One would have expected more of suit for a duchess like her but nope. Damian also found them cute anyway. He didn't reply but shrugged, "It's not like I annoyed with the number of people that will fill father's mansion, it is my family who I am thinking about when I attend." that was a fact.

Damian has been away from Gotham for two years now. The reason he left then forsaken city was because Bruce had forced him to find that peace and fun childhood that he missed in which he had successfully achieved the moment he met Tati. And also because of his mother who had seemed to have abandoned him to raise the cult that was brought down by past events. Him denying the offer of his beloved mother to make his own father proud. There's no day that passed when he thought of his mother, the League, and his deceased grandfather. How he vowed that he will lead the League when he finishes under the Dark Knight. But all were thrown out the window the moment his father and his extended family entered the picture. He felt emotions that he never thought he'd actually feel.

Tati knew how vulnerable Damian was when the topic family comes to motion. She knows about his rough childhood, from the league to be the fourth generation Robin. He would always show a stoic demeanor that will trick a normal person to thinking that he is indestructible but the truth, his mind was a mess. He can't seem to comprehend where he is the picture. Its almost as if he thinks that he isn't part of the picture and he can't seem to fit in. She walked towards the towering young man who gazed upon the tiled floors like it his head was screwed to place. She vowed to support him no matter what the odds are. Pulling his head towards her chest and let it rest there as Damian only wrapped his arms around his lover and thanked whatever being that lived up the clouds that gave him her. She pulled him away slowly as he found her lips curved down with twinkling eyes.

"Let's get some food, I'm losing weight for standing for too long. I'll pay this time, you can get your favorite."

[wreckedrecords]

Countdown (Treebros)

HAPPY HOLIDAYS SORRY IM LATE RIP but here you go my dude, happy secret santa @-clemb0t- !!!!!! Hope you like it!!!!! @dear-evan-hansen-secret-santa

Nineteen hours.

It was five am, the sun still far from touching the starry sky patched together by clouds. Evan was awake. Why was he awake? Because in approximately five hours, he would be meeting Connor for breakfast. Why was this so important? Because Evan had hardly seen him at all since they'd started college. Sure, they'd seen one another since they began, but it wasn't nearly as much as it used to be, and Evan struggled to keep contact what with his disdain for phone calls. He still made an effort to video chat, which for some reason felt less horrible, and sometimes their calls consisted of them just silently existing with each other's company, Evan doing his homework and Connor sketching away at his notebooks. The silence used to bother him, but as he grew closer to Connor, he realized that silence with him wasn't bad. It actually meant that Connor was comfortable, and so Evan grew used to it. So much so that now he didn't even think about how strange it would seem to someone else. Connor had refused to come home for the holidays, no desire to see his father, despite mending his relationship with his mother and Zoe, so Evan actually had yet to see him this winter.

So why was he up way too early?

Because Evan Hansen had the butterflies, and damn anyone who can sleep with a giddy feeling like that.

He was in the bathroom trying to fix his hair, sighing as the curls refused to shape themselves in any manner except bed head. The lights were bright, but he'd been up long enough now that they didn't irritate his eyes. With a disappointed groan, he shed his shirt and pajama pants, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror now. He started the shower, getting in and closing his eyes as he began to wash his hair.

It felt like an eternity ago, but Evan swore he could still smell the autumn air and feel the dry grass making his skin itch. His fingers twitched, the water running over them as the warmth reminded him of how it felt to hold hands with someone for the first time, the way it made him feel that first time Connor ever opened up to him fully and exposed his inner skeleton like it was something to be ashamed of. Evan didn't find it beautiful, but he didn't find it ugly. It was just a part of his friend. He'd told him so. They'd been up in a tree when it happened, and when he'd made Connor laugh with a remark about how without skeletons, no one would be able to move or grow, he'd felt something inside him burn. Something warm and fluttering and nauseating all at once. He'd been so captivated that he'd never even heard the branch crack.

Evan rubbed the suds from his face, sighing. He'd thought that the feeling would go away like it did with Zoe, but it didn't. It was definitely not going anywhere any time soon, and the thought made him dizzy. Evan was just a little, tiny, itsy bit in love. Just a teeny-weeny bit. Still, it was enough to give him some resolve. He swore he would tell Connor by New Year's, even if it killed him.

Fourteen hours.

Evan had been genuinely shocked by the massive hug he'd received from Connor upon being spotted waiting outside the cafe. Hugging was not very Connor.

"Damn, Hansen, it feels like it's been forever." Connor sighed, his nose brushing Evan's ear and his breath warm.

Error 404: page not found.

Evan Hansen has left the building.

911, I think my crush is trying to kill me.

"Hey, ground control to Major Tom, you in there?"

Evan realized he was just gaping, face hot and Connor holding him at arm's length with one brow raised. He snapped his mouth shut. "Oh- uh- Yeah! I missed you, too. Sorry, I wasn't, uh, epecting to get hugged?" He shrugged, giving a half smile.

Connor rolled his eyes. "What, I'm not allowed to be happy to see my friend?" He scoffed, sliding his hands casually into his pockets, the cold biting at their noses.

Evan quickly shook his head, eyes wide. "No! I mean- Yeah, you are- Allowed to be, that is-"

"Relax, Hansen. I'm kidding." Connor chuckled. His hair was longer, just by a little, and it shifted in the breeze as they both shuddered. "Come on, let's head in. I'm starving.”

Quickly, Evan nodded, looking down as they headed inside. Oh boy, this might end up being a little harder than he had been trying to convince himself it would be. He’d forgotten how Connor made him feel face to face. What was the word… Stupid? No… Dumbstruck. That was a good one.

Despite the nerves remaining, Evan gradually relaxed through breakfast, Connor getting him to laugh and smile in a way he hadn’t since Thanksgiving when they’d spent the day with Heidi. Now THAT had been fun. It made him smile to see the graphite smudges on the side of Connor’s hand, the only visible sign of his artistic side that made it into the public eye. Evan got French Toast, because he believed that no other breakfast could top it. None. He was practically religious about it. Connor got bacon, sausage, ham, eggs, and potatoes. He still had an outrageous appetite. As they ate, they talked, not really catching up but more just… picking up right where they’d left off. That was something Evan always liked about seeing Connor. It was like they’d never been apart. He sighed gently, feeling relaxed as he watched the way Connor’s lips moved when he talked, the way they’d quirk to the side when he was about to say something clever or inappropriate, how he licked the edge of his bottom lip where it had cracked some from being chapped.

“... when I ate an entire package of cigarettes and washed it down with detergent pods.”

Evan nearly spat out his orange juice, beginning to cough as he tried to cover his mouth while his nose burned. “Wh-what?!”

Connor was resting his chin in his hand, elbow on the table, his eyes half-lidded. “You were zoning out.” He said cooly, eyes trained on Evan’s as he felt his face warm up.

“Oh, sorry.” He huffed, looking down with a furrowed brow. “I guess I was. Not that you were boring, I was just- thinking.”

“... Are you doing okay? You’ve sort of had a dopey expression all morning like you’re totally somewhere else.” There was a moment of silence, and Connor didn’t rush him, didn’t sound or look frustrated in the least, so Evan tried to take a deep breath.

“I’ve just got something, um. On my mind.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Another deep breath.

Do it, Hansen.

He could practically hear Jared’s voice in his head telling him not to be a pussy.

You can do it. Just breathe.

“Connor, you’re my best friend-”

“More to drink?” The voice came from their waitress, who now stood over them, Connor looking up casually but Evan nearly bending the fork in his hand.

“Sure, thanks. Just water, though.” Connor shrugged, and the woman took his glass. He looked back to Evan, who was now staring hard at his lap and trying not to choke on his own spit. Connor furrowed his brows. “Evan?”

“I’m good!” His voice cracked some, and he cleared it, noticing how it made his companion smile a little. He coughed. “I just. Choked on my orange juice.”

“What were you gonna say?”

Shit. Crap crap crap. Abort mission.

“Just that. Nothing else! I’ve just been thinking about the day I broke my arm is all.” He cleared his throat again, glancing up then looking back down. “About how lucky I am to have you.”

Connor was quiet for a moment, a bit surprised judging by the look on his face, but he hummed quietly and sat back. “Jesus, Hansen. Don’t turn to mush on me yet.” He huffed, and Evan offered a weak smile.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it. Have you decided if you’re going to Zoe’s party tonight?”

The mention of The Thing Evan had been ignoring all week made him sigh and shift uncomfortably in his seat as he picked at the last few bites of his breakfast. “I don’t know… You know I don’t like stuff like that.”

“Yeah, but you promised her you’d show up. So did I.”

“Your parents are gonna be gone?” Evan looked up, raising a brow.

Connor nodded. “Yeah. If you want, we can go, make an appearance, and then leave or lock ourselves in my room like we usually do.”

Privacy on New Year’s Eve.

“... I… Yeah, alright, but only because it’s Zoe.” Evan murmured.

They were brought their check, and Evan tried not to read into the way their fingers brushed when they both reached for it, or the way Connor smirked when he snagged it while Evan was in shock.

Seven hours.

After their late breakfast, they walked around downtown, window shopping and exploring all the after-Christmas sales going on. They walked hrough the park, weaving in and out of stores, making quiet jokes and snickering at things that caused others to stare. It was hard to mind at all when they were together. They ended up sitting on a bench with teas in hand, warming their chilled fingers and the company sending warmth through Evan’s entire body. They were shoulder to shoulder, watching the gray sky as it started to clear up some, close, but distant at the same time. It was Connor that spoke first, as it normally was.

“... You ready to talk about it yet?”

“Huh?” Evan’s ease faded away again.

“Are you ready to talk about what’s on your mind yet? I know you were only telling me half of it earlier. I know you too well for you to get away with that stuff. Plus, you’re a really shitty liar, Evan.” The long-haired young man breathed a quiet, relaxed sigh, his breath turning into fog and his hair hanging in his face.

Evan shrugged. It wasn’t worth lying about. At least not to Connor. “... Well… I was trying to tell you something kind of important? You know it’s hard for me. Especially when I’m put on the spot.” He huffed, playing with the tag of his tea that hung outside the cup.

Connor waited.

Evan tried to untangle his thoughts and catch all the butterflies in his stomach. Tried not to think about the way Connor looked with his rosy cheeks and nose, his slightly wavy hair, his narrow jaw and high cheekbones-

“Connor, I-”

“Evan?” This time, the voice didn’t come from a waitress, but from none other than Jared fucking Kleinman. Evan paled. This couldn’t be happening. He was so close. So close to admitting his long time crush.

“The world hates me.” He whispered, covering his face and groaning with enough distress that Connor actually looked worried.

“Woah, Evan, chill. I thought you sort of liked Kleinman.”

“Eat shit, Murphy. Evan loves me more than you. You don’t get special privaleges for being his boyfriend.” Jared walked toward them, shopping bags on each arm and a donut in one hand. “What’s up? I didn’t expect to see you out and about.”

Evan took a deep breath and sighed. Calm down. He didn’t mean to interrupt your confession. It’s totally cool. “We went out to brunch. I thought you flew back to school already.”

“Nah. I’m here until Thursday. Hey, congrats on accepting your homosexuality, though. Brunch, a nice way to tell the world you like men.” He shrugged. Evan sighed a little, deflating, and Jared raised his donut-weilding hand. “Just kidding. I promise. Too far?”

“Everything out of your mouth is too far, Kleinman.”

Jared mocked him, looking them over. “Gay jokes aside, you two going to your place later?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because I’ve been looking for someone to go shopping with to kill time until then.”

The world definitely, most certainly hated Evan Hansen.

Five hours.

They left for the party early by Zoe’s request, the poor girl out of her mind trying to decorate. Connor insisted most people would end up drinking and not care about decorations, Jared agreed that he would be one of those people, and Evan was just happy to have something to do. He was running out of resolution, so he decided to tell Zoe. That way someone would be able to hold him to it and he would end up telling Connor out of sheer fear of Zoe’s meddling. He tried to convince himself this was a good idea.

He was holding the chair Zoe stood on, the girl putting up sparkling ribbons and rainbow streamers. He cleared his throat. “Um. Zoe? Can I talk to you about something?”

She had her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on sticking the pin into the wall. “You can talk to me about anything, Evan. You know that.” She grunted as she stuck it into the wall, huffing softly while taking in the decorations. Jared and Connor were setting up food in the kitchen, and Evan shrugged a little shyly.

“Okay, sure, but… This is about Connor…”

“Oh, we’re finally having this talk?” She asked plainly, to which Evan blinked.

“... Sorry?”

“The talk where you tell me you’re super in love with my brother.” She shrugged, smiling at him like this was old news.

Evan sighed, sitting in the chair as she stepped off of it. “It’s that obvious?”

Zoe’s smile softened, and she nudged him over until they were both half on the chair, half off. “Yeah. It’s pretty bad.”

“Um. So would it be a good thing then to say that uh. I might tell him? Tonight?”

At that, her interest spiked immensely. “Tonight?!” She grinned widely, enough to nearly blind Evan with the brightness of her expression. “That’d be so great, Evan! I can’t believe you’re actually going to tell him!”

He stiffened as her voice rose, to the point that he covered her mouth with one hand. “Zoe!”

She pushed it away. “Don’t shush me. This is exciting!” She whisper-yelled, making Evan smile some. Her excitement was contageous.

“I’m… I’m going to try. No promises, okay?”

“I’ll help!”

“God, no offense, but uh- please don’t.”

Two hours.

The party was just beginning to get started, but already Evan felt sick and out of place. Music was playing, young adults dancing and talking and laughing loudly, and the air was thick with so many bodies around them. He felt claustrophobic. He was clutching a glass of water, and Connor was standing beside him looking concerned.

“... Ev, we should go outside.” He said just over the music, and Evan didn’t speak, only nodding his head. He grabbed his coat, tugging it on without a word and making a beeline for the door, Connor right behind him. He felt the young man place a warm, reassuring hand on his back, making his heart thump faster as Connor guided him toward the bench swing in the back of the Murphy’s yard. There were twinkle lights strung up over it and in the tree it hung from, and the sight made Evan’s romantic side want to curl up and cry with delight. It was so cheesy, and he was pretty sure Zoe saw a chance and took it. He sat down, Connor beside him, few others out in the cold night air. Evan wrapped his arms around himself and took a deep breath. “... Better?”

He nodded, to which Connor grunted quietly, sitting down beside him and draping an arm over the back of the swing. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” Connor shrugged.

Evan chewed on his lip for a moment, then closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. “Hey… Listen…” He began, mouth dry.

Connor looked down, giving Evan his undivided attention. “Yeah?”

Evan nearly choked on his tongue, but looked foward. “I’ve been trying to tell you something all day.”

“Mhm.”

He looked in Connor’s direction, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze, staring down shyly. “We’re close, right? Best friends?”

“Of course we are, Ev.”

“Nothing could really ruin that, right?” He tried, and Connor shook his head calmly.

“Of course not, dude.”

“Right… So like… Say I told you something really important, you wouldn’t freak out, right?”

“Never.” It was reassuring that Connor could tell he was serious and was avoiding making jokes about it. It made this easier.

Evan looked down at his hands, knuckles red and a little stiff from the chill, gripping his jacket tightly and pulsing his grip to calm himself down. He tried to remember how to breathe. The music from the house was muffled and almost pleasant from this far, and when he looked up finally, Connor’s eyes were on him and they were so accepting and warm that Evan wanted to fall right into them and never come out again. They felt like home. Oh God. They were leaning in. “I… I want to tell you…”

“Yeah?” Closer.

“Connor, I’m-”

The sound of loud laughter nearby startled both of them, the pairleaning apart, creating distance as they looked up in surprise to see some drunk kids laughing on the lawn nearby. Connor sighed with evident irritation. “... Assholes…” He muttered. “Do you want to just go watch a movie in my room? We won’t be able to hear the music much in there.”

Evan silently admited defeat, just nodding and looking away.

Five minutes.

It was almost here. The new year had almost arrived. The two were sitting on Connor’s bed, watching a movie on the television in his room. Well, a movie played while Evan tenderly flipped through Connor’s sketchbooks and Connor sketched Evan doing so. The books were filled with pictures of strangers, of birds and trees and coffee shops and classrooms. Evan’s favorites were the ones of things that weren’t real, like the tree monster that lurked in a forest, or the ones that didn’t make sense at all but he somehow understood the feelings line for line.

“... Can you tell me now?”

Evan stopped, eyes freezing on a picture of him from that day at the orchard. He felt his chest getting tight and head light, body warm. He loved that day. Loved it more than life itself. “... I can try?” He offered, and Connor set down his sketchbook, nodding and waiting patiently. “... Um. So can we start back with me talking about the day I broke my arm?”

“Sure.”

“Well… That’s when it started? This, I mean, What I’m trying to talk about.” He rubbed the back of his neck, gently setting aside the small stack of sketchbooks. “That day, when you took my hand, and when I looked up and you were there… It was the first time anyone had ever really been there for me in my life.” He murmured. To Connor, this was a story he’d heard before, but it was different. Deeper, now. He stayed silent, only nodding softly to show he was listening. “It was really important to me, but… For more than one, uh, reason. I- I think I might- well, I sort of know that-”

His eyes widened as the voices from downstairs joined together, chanting loudly.

“Ten!”

“Wait- I promised myself I’d tell you before-”

“Nine!”

“Evan, calm down.”

“Eight!”

“I’ve wanted to tell you for a really long time!-”

“Seven!”

“-ever since that day, you haven’t just been my best friend-”

“Six!”

“-I’ve wanted more, I want to be something-”

“Five!”

“-something together, with you, I-”

“Four!”

“I-”

“Ev, breathe.”

“Three!”

“I’ve been trying to tell you all day that I-”

“Two!”

“-for years, I’ve been-”

“One!”

“-kind of really in love with you!”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The cheers from downstairs sounded far away, like Evan was underwater, floating, his head light and lungs running out of air, skin cool but insides hot. Connor’s cold, slender hands were holding his face, and their lips were touching. They were kissing. Connor was kissing him, lightly but there was certainly no mistaking the action. Everyone was shouting, Evan’s heart beating in his ears, his face warm, lips tingling. It felt different than he’d imagined. Connor’s lips were softer than they looked. They were gentler, and so was he, more than Evan had anticipated.

When the cheers died down, Connor pulled away, leaving Evan stunned into silence. “I like you too, you idiot.” He huffed. “Was that so hard?”

Evan practically whimpered. “It was horrible.”