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little-diable · 5 months

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"Angel" He calls me – Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

Listen, this is fucked up – even I was unsure where this came from. But I ain't sorry for it, I know y'all will love this, you filthy heathen (i love you). Shamelessly inspired by the song "The Fruits" by Paris Paloma. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Her mother accuses the reader of preparing a satanic ritual, so she hopes that Priest Riddle can free the young girl from the devil's grasp. What a shame that the young priest is even more cunning than the Devil himself.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, smut in a church, heavy dub!con, choking, wax play, blood play, Tom being Tom, religious connotations

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (about 2k words)

My love, are you the devil? I would worship you instead of him, I have no time for confession, for I'm too busy committing sins

“Priest Riddle!” Her mother’s shrill voice echoed through the empty church, repeated with every further step she took. (Y/n) struggled against her mother’s grasp, feet dragged along the cold ground as if she prayed that the floor would open up, that something or someone would crawl from the eternal darkness to hold onto her, rescue her from the hell she would experience any moment now. “Priest Riddle!”

The tall man appeared after another loud call of his name, concern tugged on his features, a facade her mother instantly seemed to buy into; a facade (y/n) instantly saw through. Priest Riddle was a devilish handsome man, a man so handsome he easily fooled those who clung to him, distracting them from his sinful character.

“Mathilda, (y/n), what is going on?” His bright eyes carried concern as he looked at (y/n)’s mother, concern that changed into something dark the second his gaze found (y/n)’s. Her mother’s torture was nothing against what he’d do to her, that much she was certain of after all those confessions she had been forced through – confessions that had ended with her knees having a carpet burn, with her ass bruised, and her jaw pulsing in pain from being stretched open.

“She’s gone insane, I’ve found her worshipping the devil! He has his dark grasp on her, oh you have to free my girl, you’re my only chance of finding help for her sinning soul, Father!” Tears dripped from her mother’s eyes, tears (y/n) silently cursed. She had done no such thing, all she had done was read a book Priest Riddle had borrowed her, one of the few interests both shared – Latin prayers her mother had mistaken for satanic rituals as (y/n) had tried to pronounce the words.

For a second, he studied (y/n), the annoyance she couldn’t shake, the wide pupils he had grown all too used to, feeling his cock twitch in his trousers at the excitement now thumping through his veins. “Leave her with me, Mathilda. She’s in good hands. I’ll take care of our girl.”

"Angel“ he calls me, does he know that I'm falling from a precipice that I tripped off long ago?

“Rituals, huh?” Her mother had left the church seconds ago, leaving the two of them behind. (Y/n)’s skin prickled, she was fighting against the need to scream, to throw a tantrum against her mother’s foolish behaviour. All because of him.

“This is your fault! She heard me read that prayer book of yours.” Within seconds he stood in front of her, ringed hand wrapped around her throat. Her heart was pounding, blood rushing through her veins, he could feel (y/n)’s fast pulse against his fingertips, a sensation that left the man smirking.

“My fault?” The way he spoke the words, with a voice so raspy and deep, (y/n) didn’t manage to stop her body from reacting, her thighs from trembling and her walls from clenching around nothing. For a few moments, neither of them spoke, all they did was stare at one another. “My fault, really, (y/n)?”

“I,” her words got stuck in her throat as he squeezed, cutting off her strength to pronounce any words. Priest Riddle always enjoyed silencing her, showing her how much power he held over her. (Y/n) was shoved backwards as he let go of her, watching her fall onto the stone stairs leading up to the altar.

“You see, (y/n), your mother may think I’m the saving grace, the voice of reason, but I think you know better, don’t you? There is no saving left for you, no grace I can give you. The Devil would have tried to save you, what a shame that I’m not him.” Angry tears welled up in her eyes, tears that began to drip as a laugh clawed through him. There was no escaping him, no matter how much her mind begged her to run, to never return to these unholy walls, her body craved his touch, desperate for everything he could offer.

“Undress, lay down on the altar, for me.” It took (y/n) a second to snap into motion, to undo the buttons of her dress with shaky fingers. Not once did her glassy eyes leave his frame, not as she stood naked, not as she slowly heaved herself onto the altar, not as she watched him alight the red candle placed next to the Holy Bible.

“Do you remember what John teaches us, (y/n)? He tells us: Whoever makes a practice of sinning is of the devil, for the devil has been sinning from the beginning. But tonight you will sin, tonight you will offer yourself to the devil, even though he will never have you. He fears me, and he will fear my precious toy once I’m done with you.”

“In nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” He was standing behind the altar, with his ringed fingers holding onto the burned candle. (Y/n) was forced to watch him tilt the candle, letting the wax drip down onto the valley between her naked breasts. She hissed at the sensation, torn between excitement and fear, and yet she craved more.

“Princeps gloriosissime caelestis militiae, sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio adversus principes et potestates, adversus mundi rectores tenebrarum harum, contra spiritalia nequitiae, in caelestibus.” Priest Riddle’s voice didn’t carry any emotion as he spoke the lines of the prayer to Saint Michael, a prayer used in exorcisms, a prayer he used to mock her now. The candle kept dripping, one by one the drops of wax marked her body, leaving (y/n) moaning as his cold hand joined the wax, touching her hardening nipples with a smirk growing on his lips.

“Veni in auxilium hominum, quos Deus ad imaginem similitudinis suae fecit, et a tyrannide diaboli emit pretio magno. Te custodem et patronum sancta veneratur Ecclesia; tibi tradidit Dominus animas redemptorum in superna felicitate locandas.” No longer did (y/n) try to keep her moans bottled in, she arched her back off the altar as he added more strength to his touch, tweaking her nipples as the wax dripped onto her stomach. It felt as if he was making an offering, sacrificing (y/n) for the sins they had committed together, giving her up for his eternal salvation.

“Deprecare Deum pacis, ut conterat Satanam sub pedibus nostris, ne ultra valeat captivos tenere homines, et Ecclesiae nocere. Offer nostras preces in conspectu Altissimi, ut cito anticipent nos misericordiae Domini, et apprehendas draconem, serpentem antiquum, qui est diabolus et Satanas, et ligatum mittas in abyssum, ut non seducat amplius gentes. Amen.” The last drop of wax fell as Priest Riddle ended the prayer, tossing the blown-out candle aside to press his lips against (y/n)’s. Both moaned in unison as her fingers began to work on his belt, needing to free his cock with the silent hope that he’d fuck her on the altar spurring her on.

He twitched in her grasp, a sensation so familiar, she found herself relaxing, giving her mind a few seconds to relax. Seconds he used to study her with danger laced in his gaze, danger that deepened as her eyes were drawn to his throat, watching him rip his silvery necklace from his neck. The necklace twinkled in the dim light, momentarily entrancing (y/n) as if she was studying a rare gem, an offering only God would make.

“We have been bound together for months, you are my possession, and you will do as I say, you will let me lead you till I no longer think you’re worthy of my time.” He tightened his grasp on his necklace, and without another warning, he ran the sharp edge of the cross along his skin, instantly drawing blood. Blood so red, it looked like sacred wine, richer than Jesus’ blood, more powerful than any other offering.

He wiped his bleeding thumb along her lips, letting her taste the copper staining her skin like a tattoo made for eternity. They held eye contact as she parted her lips, letting her tongue lick his skin clean, unable to stop her moan from clawing out of her. She was nothing but a toy, someone he used to pass time with, someone to fuck whenever his body called for excitement – and she loved it, every fucked up second of their time together.

Priest Riddle let go of her to position himself between her thighs, his fingertips dug into her skin as he wrapped her legs around his waist. Soon he’d fuck her, soon he’d remind her that she was his – his only.

You're faithless, for you pitched me, against your holy father and it seems that I am winning

Without giving (y/n) any chance to prepare herself, he pushed into her, forcing his cock into her tightness. Her arousal allowed him to move without any struggles, moving as if their bodies had been made for one another. In some fucked up way she could have found something romantic in this, claimed in a church for all holy and unholy eyes to see, but the darkness he emanated was enough to keep her from thinking these thoughts.

Months ago when this had happened for the first time, (y/n) had been frightened, not knowing what the man would do to her. But after the first of many orgasms had wrecked through her, she had felt like Judas, the backstabber, the liar she had been turned into. No longer held back by the fear of sinning, rather giving in – all for the promise of being punished by Priest Riddle.

“Even the devil wouldn’t take you in, a soul filled with sins that even He would turn his back on. I’m your only rescue.” He panted his words as he buried himself deep inside of her, eyes staring down at her. Without stopping his movements, his hips from snapping against hers, he pushed the cross past her lips, forcing her to hold it between her teeth. (Y/n) could still taste his blood – heightening her senses as her walls fluttered around him.

She hated herself for enjoying this, for being at his mercy with her legs spread and her back arched. He only spoke the truth, he was her only chance of guidance, the only one to cling to as the others had left her behind, engulfed in darkness. Her saving grace, the poison she was addicted to, the bruising grasp she couldn’t shake.

“Cum for me, show them that there is no chance of rescuing you from me.” With the cross held between her teeth, she moaned for him. (Y/n)’s orgasm wrecked through her, leaving her shaking and panting beneath him. But the priest kept moving, searching his own high with his fingertips digging into her skin.

A heavy moan rumbled through Priest Riddle as he came, imprinting himself on her walls without giving her a warning. Once again marked by the man who called her his own property, once again marked by the devil’s most brutal brother.

“I need you on your knees, it’s time to beg for His forgiveness, (y/n).”

……

Translation of the Latin prayer:

St. Michael the Archangel, illustrious leader of the heavenly army, defend us in the battle against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the world of darkness and the spirit of wickedness in high places.

Come to the rescue of mankind, whom God has made in His own image and likeness, and purchased from Satan's tyranny at so great a price.

Holy Church venerates you as her patron and guardian. The Lord has entrusted to you the task of leading the souls of the redeemed to heavenly blessedness.

Entreat the Lord of peace to cast Satan down under our feet, so as to keep him from further holding man captive and doing harm to the Church.

Carry our prayers up to God's throne, that the mercy of the Lord may quickly come and lay hold of the beast, the serpent of old, Satan and his demons, casting him in chains into the abyss, so that he can no longer seduce the nations. Amen.

#Tom Riddle smut #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle imagine #priest fic #Harry Potter smut

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volklana · 4 months

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I Gave You All

Title Comes From This Song:

Request from @whitedarkmoonflower :

Hi! I hope you are doing well? I love your Sihtric fics, they are so full of life and emotions, and so naturally flowing. 💖💖💖

I'm struggling a bit myself and I really, really need something angsty with my beloved Sihtric. Would you consider writing something where he's getting home from a battle and some rumors reach him that his wife hasn't been faithful to him?

And when he gets back he sees something that makes him believe these rumors, but it has some innocent explanation, he just doesn't want to listen and he's angry and accusative and pushes her away and she leaves upset for his mistrust and not letting her explain. And they both are heartbroken.

And then he finds out that nothing was actually as he thought and he desperately wants her back. The ending is up to you. I'm fine with everything.

Warnings: Mention of the word whore in a derogatory manner.

A/N : I really hope that I did your idea justice and hopefully this brings you some comfort sweetheart xxx

Blood dripped down Sihtric’s face and fell warm and sticky onto his forearm although he could not tell if it was his own or some fallen Dane’s just yet.

He was trying to force the air into his battle drunk lungs, chest rising and falling rapidly as sound began to flood his senses once more, and the vague recognition that someone was calling his name pulled him back to where he stood beaten and sore on the bloody battle field.

Finan was before him in an instant, worried eyes searching his face before he was pulled flush against his friend’s chest as he repeated "Thank god. Oh thank god.”

It was true, Sihtric had come but a hair’s width away from death, he had slipped and gone down, forcing him to fight for his life as blow after blow pummeled down on top of him and only by the grace of the gods, his opponent had slipped on blood or mud, it didn’t matter but Sihtric had managed to scramble the upper hand and fought tooth and nail before managing to wrangle his dagger free and drove it up under the jaw of his opponent and watched the light leave his eyes.

Finan grasped Sihtric by the face with both hands.

“What happened?” he demanded and Sihtric swallowed thickly.

“He said her name,” he rasped horsley, “He said her name and it threw me off center.”

Finan looked puzzled for a moment before Sihtric continued “He says that she is a whore and there is another man humping my wife.”

His stomach twisted and he was hurling all its contents upon the ground as Finan ran a worried hand through his hair.

Sihtric rode in silence. Just this morning his heart had been pining for you. He had imagined the softness of your hands against his hardened skin, the swell of your breast when you reached up to wrap your arms around him and the comfort of your embrace, but now he felt shame and rage at having left you for so long that you would go looking for solace in the arms of another man.

Beocca had added salt to his wounds when he teased “I hear your wife has returned to her old profession,” and after a pause he added “Humping for coin,” as if Sihtric wasn’t all too familiar with what your old profession was.

He had drawn out to strike the priest but Uhtred had intervened before any of his blows could land.

It was no secret that Sihtric had married an alehouse whore, but nobody had ever seen the broken woman that Sihtric had fallen in love with. The one who cried at his tenderness. The one who begged him to return to her time and time again. The one who begged him to take her away from the alehouse where men could pay to hurt her and own her body for the night, and the one who had shown him nothing but love and acceptance and faithfulness from the moment he made her his wife. You had never wanted that life for yourself and Sihtric was the only man to ever see you beyond a quick hump, and he was certain you were the only person in the world who had ever seen him for who he truly was. Would you really have returned to that world willingly? The logical parts of Sihtric’s brain wanted to dismiss the rumours, but the seeds of doubt had been sown and now he felt hollow.

They stopped for the night to allow the horses to rest and Finan arrived back to the table with a round of ales.

“Sihtric, she has never so much as looked at another man in the years since you wed,” Uhtred tried to reassure but he knew his words were falling on deaf ears, despite Osferth and Finan’s agreement.

Sihtric merely sat sullen, staring at his drink.

“Where is the Sihtric who begged me to allow him to marry his love? He would not have crumbled now by the words of a few others.”

“It is different now,” Sihtric sighed, taking a long gulp of his ale.

“Sihtric,” Finan tried softly “I have never seen y/n look at anyone the way she looks at you. It is like you are the only person that matters in any room she is in, and you know this. You don’t want to listen to us now but I know that you know this.”

Sihtric’s heart fluttered because he wanted to believe Finan, he wanted to believe you, but deep inside he had always carried a burning fear that he was never enough for you.

He had enough of Uhtred and Finan trying to placate him, so with his drink in hand he made his way toward the one person he believed would be honest with him, Beocca.

“Sihtric,” he sighed “I said what I said in jest. To tease. I don’t believe a word of it so I assumed you would not either.”

“I need to know what’s being said,” Sihtric sighed, collapsing down opposite him and Beocca eyed him suspiciously.

“What good will it do to listen to idle gossip?”

“I need to know!” Sihtric urged.

Beocca sighed a long, drawn out sigh before he nodded and began, “She has been seen with the blacksmith's son.”

“Where?” Sihtric demanded, and Beocca took an intake of break.

“Both going into his quarters and- and in your home.”

Sihtric looked crestfallen and then absolutely furious, as he contemplated that you might have had another man in the home he had provided for you.

“I do believe that there is a reasonable explanation,” Beocca offered and Sihtric spat, “Yes, that my wife is a whore.”

The ride back to Winchester usually filled Sihtric’s heart with excitement but this time he wished the ride would never end.

His heart was broken, so much so that last night he felt like he would die, silent tears and violent sobs wracked him in the room he shared with Finan but if the Irishman heard he at least pretended that he didn’t, and for this Sihtric was grateful.

Usually, Sihtric would be stopping and swooping to pick up every wild flower that he deemed perfect to put into the bouquet he would present sheepishly to you when he swooped you up into his arms- but not today.

He paused at the door, not ready to face the storm that was waiting inside, but then his heart sank to his toes, pressing his ear to the door he could hear you laughing softly inside.

He pressed his forehead against the cool wood of the door, his palms resting against the rough grain either side of his head and he shook, listening to your beautiful voice inside blissfully unaware that he was coming in to blow your whole life apart and then red hot fury overtook him when he heard the voice of a man. He turned on his heel and made his way to the alehouse where he drank until he was almost stupid and by the time he returned home the sun had set and his home was silent.

“Sihtric!” you exclaimed voice full of surprise and joy as you ran to greet him,throwing your arms around him and placing a kiss against his temple, glee slowly slipping from your expression as he went rigid in your arms, and refused to kiss you back, and the unmistakable scent of ale filled your senses.

“What is it my love? Are you hurt?” you asked slowly, taking a step back to examine his hardened expression.

“Is it true?” he asked, face and voice devoid of any emotion “You and the blacksmith’s son, is it true?”

“The blacksmith’s son?” you questioned as your heart began to thump in your chest.

“Is it true that after everything I have given you, you are humping the blacksmith's son for coin, here, under my roof. The very roof I put over your head.”

“Sihtric,” you cried, taking a step toward him, only to have him step away from you, “Months…Months you’ve been gone. Leaving me here alone and this is what you return and accuse me of? This is your opinion of me?”

“It is what half the men believe. You have been seen. I cannot believe that if you were to return to your old ways, you would do so with such little care for me, for us.”

“Return to my old ways?” you shrieked “Because no matter what fine dresses I wear, or how much I show you that I love you and only you, underneath it all I will only ever be an alehouse whore to you is it?”

“I took you from that life,” Sihtric spat, “I gave you everything, all I asked in return was that you loved me, that you kept your vows to me.”

“And I have,” you cried but he refused to meet your gaze so you turned on your heel, and began rummaging through a cupboard in the kitchen before returning with a leather pouch, in your shaking hands.

“You wanted to know what I was doing with Eadwyn, here. I wanted it to be a surprise,” tears were in your eyes as you thrusted the pouch into his hands “I had it made so that you would always have a piece of us wherever you went, but now…now it is tainted.”

Sihtric opened the pouch to find a silver dagger inside, the blade was forged in steel with a sharp, tapering edge, that almost gleamed in the light. The hilt of the dagger was inlaid with intricate, interwoven patterns and embedded in the decorative pommel was a red gem that Sihtric would have recognised anywhere. It had been his wedding present to you, a beautiful necklace that you had worn on the day you made your vows.

Sihtric’s eyes were glazed with tears as he looked at you trying to form words but coming up short.

“How did you afford this?” he gasped, and you laughed spitefully.

“I did not hump him,” you spat. “You want to know why he has been coming here at night? In exchange for him making this for you, I have been teaching him to read. He comes here after working in the forge all day and I teach him to read. He wishes to be a commander in Alfred’s fleet, and the king will not allow anyone unable to read to do so.”

“Y/n?” he cried mismatched eyes searching your own ones desperately.

But you put your hands up to prevent him taking another step towards you.

“You think you saved me, Sihtric Kjartansson? But I chose you. You think you were the first to profess love to me? To wish to take my hand in marriage, you were not. But. I. Chose. You. I gave you all. All the best parts of me. All the parts I saved only for you, because I loved you, I wanted to be loved by you, but now you have ripped my heart out and I have nothing left to give you.”

He tried to take another step toward you but you ducked past him storming out the door and slamming it closed behind you.

It was well past midnight when you found yourself pounding on the door of the nunnery, tears streaming down your face, as Hild scooped you into your embrace and pulled you to her in an all encompassing hug.

You cried yourself to sleep on the tiny straw bed and it felt like a darkness had swallowed you whole.

For weeks now Sihtric had been going out of his mind. Weight was dropping from his bones because he simply could not eat. Sleep was a concept he simply could not remember and despite never having felt so drained in all his life he could not rest.

Finan and Uhtred had tried their best to pull him from his sadness but he simply could not speak. He had completely retreated within, somewhere that his friends could not find him and pluck him from.

Osferth would never tell his friends this but there was a night where he physically held Sihtric in his arms after he arrived to find him crumpled over in pain on the floor. He was falling apart without you and it was all his own doing.

He didn’t even give you the chance to explain.

He had already made his mind up before he even asked you for an explanation.

And he would never forget the wild look in your eyes as you fell out of love with him.

Osferth burst into the alehouse where Sihtric was sipping on a tankard of ale with Finan and Uhtred, a piece of parchment in hand.

“She is with Hild,” he announced and Sihtric was rising quicker than a bolt of lightning, “Ready the horses,” he commanded and his friends were also springing into action.

Hild stood firm, arms folded across her chest, refusing to move aside and Sihtric rounded on her tears pooling in his eyes “Please. Please Hild I have to try make this right. I have to try.”

She reluctantly moved aside and sighed “She is in the orchard.”

Sihtric spotted you before you saw him, you looked utterly worn out. The skin around your eyes was red from crying and his stomach churned with the guilt that he had put the tears in your eyes.

“Y/n,” he tried weakly and you dropped the apron of apples you had gathered in shock, face contorting in pain when you saw him before you.

“How can I ever begin to make up for this y/n?” he begged and you shook your head as a single tear slipped down your cheek.

“I don’t think you can Sihtric,” you cried and he gasped a sob.

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

“Can’t you see what you’ve done?” you cried “You reduced me to nothing but a whore in your mind and heart because of some stupid lies and speculation. You didn’t even offer me the grace to explain myself because you have already decided that I can never be anything more than my past. How can I ever forget that? I can accept being a whore to everyone else Sihtric but for all these years I always believed I was more to you.”

“I let my insecurities lead my judgement,” he cried “All this time I could never believe that someone as beautiful as you chose me. I have always thought you deserved better than I could ever give, I was too blinded by my own fears and shortcomings to think clearly. But for all of that I am here before you begging you to love me again. I can’t be without you, life is unbearable without you.”

“You’ve shattered my heart, Sihtric. I don’t know if I can allow myself to love again, it is too painful, I won't live the rest of my life knowing you think I cannot be trusted when all I have ever done is be a faithful wife to you.”

Sihtric shook his head wildly, grasping your hands, heart breaking when you snatched them back.

“I will do whatever it takes to prove to you that I am not this man who has hurt you, mistreated you and made you cry. I love you more than anything on this earth. Allow me to rebuild our trust, because I will never doubt you another day again as long as there is breath in my lungs. And maybe..Maybe in time you could find your way to love me again.”

“I never stopped loving you,” you whispered “It is you who abandoned me.”

Sihtric had enough of distance and pulled you to him in a crushing embrace, relieved when you allowed him to scoop you closer, your head falling upon his shoulder as he wrapped his fingers up in your hair.

Your tears felt warm as they fell on his forearms and he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling that all familiar scent of home.

“Can you love me again?” he pleaded in a soft whisper against your skin, and you nodded gently in his arms.

“I will never doubt you another day of my life,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your hair, and then cupping your face in his hands he rested his forehead against yours “I promise to never take you or our love for granted again.” he vowed and you nodded in his hands.

“Believe me when I say, you are the only man I have ever loved, and I will never leave you for another. I am yours and I give you all, there is no room for another.”

Sihtric had to accept the fact that he had to believe what you were telling him now, he had allowed his insecurities to pull you apart once before. But never again.

The weight of both of your pasts would slowly ease. There would surely be more challenges to come and times where love would be tested and strained But never again would your trust in one another waver or the commitment and vows you made to one another.

And with Sihtric in your arms sleeping soundly you could finally release the heaviness you had been carrying since you had left Winchester in disgrace of your past, and your husband’s accusations.

Tagging: @canyonmoon-2@sihtricfedaraaahvicius@whitedarkmoonflower@shamrockqueen@thenameswinter99@foxyanon@acdassenza@thatawkwardlittlefangirl @gemini-mama

#sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson x reader #sihtric fic #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom fic

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loveharlow · 5 months

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SEVEN [THE INBETWEEN] - KISS IT BETTER

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[2.5k] Three weeks of no John B or Sarah and you're officially overwhelmed with grief and mixed signals, leading to an emotional outburst directed at certain blonde.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of death, mutual pining, grief avoidance, little fluff, mentions of low self-esteem/negative self-image, mentions of past non-con

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ I think this chapter is actually so soft and beautiful🥺 and I never really say this but I do think listening to the song on repeat as you read makes it one hundred times better.

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

THIS DAY MARKED THREE WEEKS SINCE YOU’D LOST JOHN B AND SARAH…And one week since JJ kissed you out of nowhere. Co-existing in your other presumed dead best friend’s house has been…odd, to say the least. You didn’t really know how to talk to JJ now, which was something you never thought would be an issue.

He’d been in the surf shack working on your car more than usual, without your company unfortunately. You’d been taking more small jobs just to get out of the house at this point. But barely talking to your best friend for an entire week while living in the same space was starting to take a toll on you.

And so was the kiss.

Did he mean to do it? Was it a spur of the moment thing? Did JJ have feelings for you? Ten thousand thoughts running around in your mind at once, driving you closer and closer to the edge of crazy. Your heart was telling you that the kiss was no accident — that it seemed too passionate and eager to be something he’d done in the heat of the moment. But your head was telling you that the kiss was an act of grief — something he’d done in a moment where his head wasn’t exactly screwed on straight.

That it was an honest mistake.

You didn’t know which part of you that you believed.

Or which part of you that you wanted to believe.

It was nightfall when you walked up the steps of The Chateau, bag slung lazily over your shoulder as you huffed out a puff of air, exhausted from your nearly ten hour long babysitting gig. Some couple needed someone to watch over their three kids while they went on a date. You should’ve known something was off when the mother was offering fifty dollars an hour, way over minimum wage — her three kids were more like a pint-sized trio of bats from hell. But you walked away with five-hundred more dollars in your pocket, so who were you to complain?

But even with fatigue and hunger weighing heavy on your bones, your heart still dropped at the thought of seeing JJ at the end of the day.

Sighing, you quietly opened the door of the home, throwing your bag on the sofa and letting the door close behind you as Marley immediately came charging, light paws feeling like punches on your thighs but you smiled nonetheless.

“Hi, pretty girl. How are you?” You cooed, scratching behind both of her ears as she wiggled against you.

Another set of footsteps rounded the corner, a freshly awoken JJ coming into your view. You coughed awkwardly under your breath, straightening out as the two of you locked eyes. “Oh, hey. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m just glad you made it in before it got too late, one of the corner stores got robbed a couple hours ago.” He said, voice raspy and low from sleep as he rubbed the exhaustion out of his eyes.

The two of you stood there awkwardly— JJ scratching the back of his head as you averted your eyes anywhere else, Marley’s panting filling the silence.

You took a deep breath, shoving your hands in the back of your pockets as JJ mindlessly nibbled on his lower lip. You took the opportunity to break the silence, the blonde seemingly having the same idea.

“Well, I’m gonna get ready for bed-”

“Look, I’m sorry-”

You both stopped talking, attempting to allow the other to speak. Small smiles broke out on your faces, the two of you looking down at your feet simultaneously. “This is awkward, if I’ve ever seen it…” JJ huffed out humorously. “Can we just…like, sit down and talk, for a minute?” He asked, his own words making him cringe slightly as he motioned towards the battered sofa.

You nodded, not saying a word as you plopped down on the piece of furniture, eyes on the floor as your hands held each other in your lap. JJ sat down oddly slow next to you. You expected him to try and create as much distance between the two of you as possible but surprisingly, he sat so close that your shoulders were brushing in the tiniest of ways.

The unexpectedness of it all had your brows furrowing, finding some kind of courage to look the boy in his eyes as he finally settled on the right words to say.

“...I shouldn’t have kissed you.” For some reason, the string of words made your heart tremble and your lips parted in surprise. They hurt more than you ever expected them to. Noticing your solemn expression, JJ was quick to clean up his statement, turning in his seat to look at you completely. “Not in the sense that I didn’t want to, no, God no.” He sputtered, hands moving around wildly. “It’s just that, with everything going on, I don't think that moment was the best moment to act on my feelings-”

He was cut off when you lurched forward, colliding your lips with his in the heat of the moment. In your haste and his surprise, the blonde accidentally bit your lip but you didn’t mind, never breaking the exchange. After a moment, you both seemed to settle into it — one of his hands sliding around your hip and waist to find a home on the end of your back, pulling you closer in the smallest motion. Your own hands cradled his jaw on each side, pulling him deeper into you.

You kissed that boy until you couldn’t anymore. Until your lips were swollen and wet, your head spinning as you pulled back and let your hands fall, sliding down the length of his neck and shoulders while his own hand slid back to rest on your thigh.

“...What was that for?” He asked in a whisper. He sounded breathless.

You simply gulped, tucking a small strand of hair behind your ear before speaking. “...When you kissed me, I felt something. Something I didn’t think I should feel while kissing my best friend. Because I never thought I’d be kissing my best friend at all.” You explained, elevating your gaze to meet his eyes. “And I thought to myself that I should feel repulsed. That the kiss should feel wrong. Right? But nothing about that kiss felt wrong.” You told him. “I haven’t been avoiding you because of the kiss, JJ. I’ve been avoiding you because I haven’t been able to get the thought of kissing you again out of my head since it happened.”

“And now that you have?” He asked, eyes searching yours. “Now, that you have kissed me again?”

“...I’m struggling not to do it a third time.” You breathed out, eyes fleeting towards his lips for the slightest of moments. “I don’t know what this is. In my head, you’re my absolute best friend and I love you in that aspect but everytime I see you now, I can’t help but think about you in ways that I shouldn’t. So, if that kiss or this one didn’t mean anything to you, you’d better tell me now because-”

“Oh, it meant something.” He cut you off enthusiastically, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I know you probably have no idea but that kiss meant everything to me.” He told you, edging closer on the sofa. “I’ve had this huge crush on you for, like, ever. Probably since I even knew what a crush was. But you know how I am…” He lowered his voice, avoiding your eyes. “I didn’t trust myself with you. Anytime I look at you, I see this ball of light around you and I never want it to go away. Or be the reason for it going away. With me and all my shit…”

“I don’t think of you like that.” You said honestly, a small frown on your face. “You aren’t some southside screw up or a charity case. JJ, you know that I don’t care about all that. I’m always there to walk through it with you, your life doesn’t define you, you know that. Or at least, you should.” You told the blonde, running a soft hand through his hair. “And I know that it may take some time for you to believe that for yourself but I’ll be the one to tell you it everyday until you actually hear it, as a friend or…whatever else.”

You reminded the boy, biting your lower lip in thought. “...That’s why you never said anything? Because you thought you weren’t good for me?”

He seemed to ponder on the statement before nodding, somewhat shamefully. “I mean, c'mon, look at you.” He scoffed, wide blue eyes looking at your face with so much adoration and purity that you never cared to notice before. “Someone like you doesn’t need to waste her life away trying to love someone like me.”

“I do love you-”

“Not in the way that I love you.” He blurted, pinching his eyes shut as he cut you off.

“...I could. But you’ll never know if you don’t let me try.” You told him. “I won’t sit here and tell you that I love you in that way because I really don’t know. But whatever I’m starting to feel for you is beyond a friendship and once I figure that out, who knows? But I also don’t want you to wait on me to figure things out if that’s not what you want.” You concluded, retreating your hands back to the comfort of your lap.

You don’t know how helpless you looked, but you made no attempt to hide the frown that you could feel on your face. You knew JJ was known as promiscuous but his ways seemed to have settled with everything that’s happened. Although the thought of him with anyone made your gut turn, you didn’t want to confine him within the cage of your emotional contemplation. You didn’t want to lead him on now knowing how he felt about you.

“Hey,” He started, a hand on your arm. “I will wait. And that’s my choice. If you decide that you want me, that you want this, then I will be here. I know my past actions are probably making my words seem like a load of shit right now, but weeks ago? When I was hooking up with half the island? I was under the impression that you and I would never happen. But now there’s a chance.” He spoke, laughing at the end of his sentence, the oddness of the action making your face twist. “Sorry, I just, I thought about somethin'.” He said, waving himself off. “I was talking to Bree one day, about you. I told him that the odds of you ever liking me back were one in a million. And he told me that a one in a million chance is still a chance, to which I told him that he was full of shit. But now…” He trailed off, shrugging.

“...John B knew?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. JJ rolled his eyes playfully.

“I think everyone knew, except you, of course.” He cocked an eyebrow, you being the one to roll your eyes this time.

“...So what do we do now?” You asked, voice small.

JJ sighed, suddenly sitting up straighter in his seat and taking both of your hands in his own. “...As much as I want to make you my girlfriend, right here and right now, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I think that we both need time to grieve and sort ourselves and I also think that you need time to explore your feelings more and make sure that this isn’t a fluke.” That was the most mature sentence you'd ever heard leave JJ's lips.

“A fluke?” You asked, mildly offended. “What does that mean?”

“Just that, I’ve seen how you can deal with grief. And not to twist the knife…are you okay with me talking about the…Rafe thing?” You clenched your jaw at the mere mention of his name, nodding stiffly in JJ’s direction, the boy drawing his lips into a thin line before continuing. “When that happened, you were still grieving. You kissed him because you were in a bad place and he was there and he ended up...taking advantage of that vulnerable part of you, right?” You hummed in agreement. “I am not at all blaming you for what happened when I say this. You didn’t deserve it and that asshole should be six feet under for what he did and, God so help me, I will put him there myself-”

“JJ.” You interrupted the boy’s rant, wanting him to finish his point completely. Huffing out a puff of air, he continued.

“I’m sorry. I just, I really hate that that happened to you. And I know it happened to you, not me but I want to kill him. Every day that I wake up, I just hope he's dead somewhere.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.” You reassured.

“But all I’m trying to say is that, I don’t want to repeat that same cycle — taking advantage of your emotional state. I want you to be yourself again and be in the right space before trying to take this any further. And I want you to have no doubts and be completely sure.” You understood his point of view and his reasoning behind it. Nodding, you allowed him to finish his sentence. “So, for now? We can just figure things out, set some kinda boundaries, if you want.”

You thought about it for a moment, fingers drawing shapes on one of his hands. “...Just honesty. If you kiss someone, hook up with someone…” The words made your eyes twitch. “Just don’t let me find out from someone else.”

“Oh, I can promise you that I have no one else on my mind, especially now that I know I’m on yours, so there will be nothing to tell ‘n nothin’ to find out, m’lady.” He smiled, saluting towards you. “I’m all yours, even if you aren’t mine. Yet.” He winked.

It’d been weeks since you’d seen the goofy side of JJ. It was comforting.

You giggled, bowing your head slightly. “I promise that I am solely focused on clarifying my feelings towards you and only you, blondie.” You returned the sentiment and the salute. “What about our friendship, though? Is it still a friendship?”

“Mmm….” He thought aloud, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Actually, you’re the smart one. What’s like a fancy, silly term for developing a relationship? Like getting to know each other but not dating, like the in between stage?”

“...We can say we’re in a courtship?” You suggest half-jokingly, shrugging. “But… does this also mean we have to stop kissing each other? 'Cause I kind of like that part.”

JJ faked offense, throwing a palm against his chest and gasping. “Kissing?” He asked, wide eyed and shocked. “We are pogues. And number one rule of pogues, is no pogue-on-pogue macking…Eugh.” He reprimanded playfully, fake gagging. You slapped his shoulder in response, a smile on your face as one grew on his.

“No pogue-on-pogue macking, huh?” You said, playfully swatting his arms as he did yours. “

“That’s exactly right, little miss lips-a-lot - Ow! Did you just pinch my nipple?” He laugh-shouted, holding his chest as your swatting ceased. “What are you? Six?-”

You took the opportunity with JJ's guard down to grab the nape of his neck and pull his face into yours, giving him one last hard, passionate kiss of the night, slightly biting his lip as you drew your face away from his.

“How’s that for no pogue-on-pogue macking?”

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.SVN Taglist; @esquivelbianca @fallingwallsh @calmoistorm @i-love-ptv @liability28 @rivaiken @sophiahristov @rafxcameronss @ldrvinyl @purplerose291 @boo22sstuff @heartsforandrewgarfield @coolgirl458 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @jujubeaz @ellobruv-blog @yourmumstoy @belle101200 @libertyybellls @c4ttheart @ihe4rttwd @redhead1180 @ditzyzombiesblog @spideysimpossiblegirl @sex-me-stiles @honeyiti @rafedrewandjjs @highformaybank @broidfk609

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xstevex-world · 2 years

Text

Steve Harrington’s favourite musician has been the same since he was 17.

He distinctly remembers hearing Chrissy Cunningham play in his car radio during his senior year, subsequently listening to nothing but her breakout EP for a week straight - and that was just the beginning.

He followed all of work for over the past 7 years: bought physical and digital copies of all her albums, watched every music video multiple times, read every interview, saved up enough while working weekend shifts at scoops to get tickets to her sold out shows in Indiana - he had so much merch that Jonathan Byers once joked that Steve could probably make a shrine to his idol.

He had even kept up during her hitatus, almost two full years of radio silence from the star, like she had disappeared off the face of the earth. It wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened, but it didn’t help that it overlapped with him dropping out of business school to pursue a career in cosmetology and that final falling out he had with his father over his choice in education.

The day she came back felt like Christmas.

Her comeback announcement dropped on June 13th - and it wasn’t just a new post on social media or a candid shot online someone managed to snap.

It was a whole EP drop, 4 entire songs (and a music video) that he knew he was going to play on repeat after 716 days of radio silence.

That opened the floodgates for everything to start again: she went back on social media, thanked her fans for their wholehearted response to her new releases. She started doing interviews again: discussing her mental health and the impact of her mothers control in her life; her reunion with her best friend (and apparent ex) from high school; her label dropping her after it was found that her “momager” had embezzled a huge amount of money from said company, releasing her from her contract early and allowing her to find new partners, new producers, new projects.

She talks about how she’s never been happier, and Steve can’t help but beam at it. He can hear it in her music, how it’s going more against the grain of what’s popular, opting instead for etherial synths mixed with heavy guitars. She sings about heartbreak and moving on and being better than then the people who brought her down for long, now that she’s starting fresh.

Steve loves it, thinks some of the changes have something to with Eddie Munson’s name appearing in the credits of all her new material.

Truthfully, he got curious after someone on Twitter posted a screengrab of cameos made by Munson and his own bandmates in all of her new music videos. He thankful someone else made the connection, and although he’s not the biggest fan of Corroded Coffin’s music (apart from the collaboration EP they did with Chrissy: “CCxCC presents Satanic Slumber Party”, that was incredible), he would lying if he didn’t say he was totally enamoured by Eddie goddamn Munson.

Let alone the fact that he’s totally Steve’s type (big hair, bigger eyes, a complete dork with a heart of gold but who also looks like he would bite someone in both a feral dog and a “please take me to your bedroom right now” kind of way), the guy is a genius when it comes to music, spending interviews talking about the process of artistry and the importance of storytelling - even when they’re discussing songs about him, written by Chrissy about their break up, he’s still so passionate and witty, the two of them spending interviews bouncing off each other in a way that would rival his relationship Robin.

He’s fine, really, he knows logically this is just a celebrity crush that will pass if he stops thinking about it for long enough, but he’s certain that this could develop into one of those all encompassing obsessions if he doesn’t curb it now- and that’s exact what he does. He tries to put that energy into school, excelling more than he ever did in an academic setting. He meets up more often with Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle and Barb, inviting them over more often for dinner or drinks, sometimes even just because he wants to make a breakfast feast and need someone else to eat it.

It’s at times like this that he misses Robin, who only has about 6 weeks left of her internship in Paris - he hasn’t seen her in person since he went to visit her a few months ago during spring break. He wishes she was her to openly judge him over this, before rambling on about her own current hyperfixation or moaning about her lack of romantic adventures since she and Vickie broke up.

They still talk on the phone every afternoon (nighttime for her), ranting to each other about their perspective day and sharing any worthwhile gossip.

Tonight’s no different, he’s telling her about the current drama happening in his classes when Robin says:

“I met someone today.”

He’s ecstatic - in his opinion robin deserves the world and the fact she’s met someone on her own in a city where she has been finding it hard interacting with people outside of her placement is a miracle in itself.

She tells him more: how she met this girl that morning at café, acting as a knight in shining armour (Robin’s words, not Steve’s) when the girl got flustered trying to order her coffee in broken French; how she spent the day showing this girl around to her favourite shops and parks and museums; how they spent hours talking about everything and nothing; how Robin hasn’t felt this way about someone since Vickie.

“So then we had dinner at that Italian place, the one I took you to, and, Steve, oh my goddess, she has the cutest little laugh-“

“Did you get her name?”

“Oh, sorry” he can hear her move the phone from one ear to the other. “Yeah it’s Chrissy.”

Steve stops his pacing. That would be one hell of a coincidence, if it was Chrissy Cunningham. She is playing in Paris the following night, the penultimate stop of her current tour. (The very show that he had been tempted to go to, since he could stay with Robin. It absolutely wasn’t because Corroded Coffin was joining her for the European leg of the tour - acting as her band, as well as performing songs from their collaboration as the encore - something that did not happen at any of the American shows). It couldn’t be the same Chrissy that Robin had fallen head over heels for in the space of a few hours, right?

“Did you get any of her socials?” He asks, cautiously.

“Nope,” she answers, popping the p for emphasis. “I didn’t think to ask, because I’m an idiot and all that-“

“Robs,” he interrupts, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’re not an idiot.”

Her hears her laugh on the other end of the line, the same kind of self-deprecating giggle she uses when she’s nervous. He wishes he was there with her so she could see him roll his eyes at her, their main way of communicating their love.

“What did she look like?”

“Oh!” She exclaims as he hears her tumbling over something (knowing Robin, probably herself). “We took a picture together, hold on, I’ll send it over.”

His phone vibrates against his ear, so he brings it in front of him, putting Robin on speaker so he can see the photo.

And.

Holy fuck.

“Robin,” he says slowly, because he actually can’t believe it himself. “Do you know who that is?”

((Part 2))

#stranger things #stranger things au #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #Steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #Buckingham #bandcheer #robin x chrissy #robin buckley x chrissy cunningham #Luci’s ST thoughts

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noisyquokka · 5 months

Text

Try Again

PAIRING - Hyunjin x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - After a short-lived relationship ends, Hyunjin struggles with the idea of “just friends”. Three years later, it seems you haven’t lost interest either.

WORDCOUNT - 2.9k

WARNINGS - lovers to friends to …., mutual pining, jealous!Hyunjin, a lil playful banter/angst that turns kinda steamy, kinda left open-ended... part 2 perhaps? 🤨

A/N - Literal WEEKS late, but uhhh… that’s never stopped me before! 🤭 My little addition for Hyune Day! Enjoy, Darlings! 💛

(Based loosely on Try Again - PRETTYMUCH cause I've been listening to it on repeat and it feels like a Hyunjin song to me, personally. I also wrote this to satisfy my insatiable love for watching him practice, cause let's be honest... choreographer!Hyunjin just hits different iykyk)

“Would you at least take some videos if you’re gonna bury your head in your phone?”

Your eyes sweep up to the shadow of the man who pauses his movement in the middle of the studio. Hyunjin straightens up, his fingers reaching for the brim of his hat. He pulls it off and runs his fingers through his dampened tresses, already sweaty from the past hour of practice.

“Well, excuse me, Hwang,” you mutter, resting your hand on your thigh. “I didn’t know I was summoned here to be your videographer.”

“You’re supposed to be critiquing my choreo so far.”

He’s been working on this choreo for his new solo, and while he didn’t expect you to drop in, he knows Minho has some part in you ending up here. Why? Because he was stupid enough to spill his feelings to him in full confidence that Minho would keep his mouth shut. One could say he kept his word, but still, he plays with fire in his process.

“Ah, right…” God, is it fun to ponder your next remark. You smirk as you watch him reach for the open water bottle near him. “Not enough sneaker squeaks.”

His hand pauses mid-drink, bourbon eyes cutting to your proud little grin. Your eyes are already back on the phone in your grip, tapping away like you’re texting someone. For a moment, Hyunjin is itching to know who it could be. But then he reminds himself that you’re not together anymore. He tilts his head slightly, tries not to let it bother him.

“You’re so unserious, my god,” Hyunjin mutters, and swipes at his forehead with a huff.

Your grin turns into a playful lip bite, and you can’t help but tease him a little.

“I’m being completely serious.” Your eyes find him again, and he exhales heavily. “The sneaker squeaks are an essential part of the performance. How will anyone memorize your routine if they can’t count the squeaks?”

“Okay.” He scoffs, pushing his hair back and putting his hat back on, swiftly turning back to his Bluetooth. You mock him with your typical Hwang Hyunjin voice, not noticing the way he shakes his head and smirks to himself.

Hyunjin taps the play button on his phone, taking a deep breath as he readies himself for another run-through.

It’s been hours since he started working on this specific number, and while the comeback wasn’t for a couple of months, he thought getting ahead of schedule would be nice. However, your being around brought on a difficulty to slip into the choreographer head space. Ever since his conversation with Minho, and Minho's comment about how you quote-unquote very well feel the same, I mean, have you seen the way they look at you?!, he’s been the embodiment of a goldfish in a bowl. He wishes things would’ve started off better because apparently, this lovers-to-friends plot line was only digging his early grave. Hyunjin’s fairly certain that after you two broke up, you only agreed to stay friends because you made good connections with the rest of the boys.

The rational side of him knows that’s not the truth.

Fucking less than five months and the metaphorical flames fizzle like a defective sparkler.

The only problem is that those feelings never fizzled for him. Even now, his heart stutters in his chest when you lock eyes with him. When you give him one of your little grins and cock your head as if to say you’ve won in the various dumb debates that you love to drag each other into.

Like right now.

“Seungmin agrees with me,” you say, standing up and shoving your phone at him right as he begins the dance. Hyunjin’s brows raise, blinking and tilting his head in a non-verbal question to get you to move.

“Seungmin agrees with you because it’s a dumb argument… and it’s you versus me.” he mutters the last part, watching you roll your eyes and backtracking to your spot.

“If you’re so confident in this, why am I still here?”

“You could leave,” Hyunjin says, his exertion making his comment sound harsher than he meant it to be. He locks eyes with yours in the mirror, his dark tresses falling in his line of sight. The smirk that threatens to quirk his lips sneaks in when you seemingly freeze on the spot, your eyes wider than usual. “I know you’ve got work in the morning.”

You’re mulling it over in your head now — a glimmer in your eye that Hyunjin pinpoints as he attempts to keep track of where he is in the choreography. He watches your eyes sweep to the phone, most likely checking the time. It’s roughly 1:00 am. You lock eyes again, the answer clear before you speak.

“Well, now I’m not leaving since you want me to.”

He gives a sardonic laugh, rolls his eyes as his foot slips and he misses a beat. Distractions…

“I didn’t say that,” he replies lowly, snatching the towel off the top of the stereo.

“You’re mumbling…”

“I said I didn’t say that,” Hyunjin speaks up, his hand bringing the fabric to his face to pat the sweat from his skin. You watch the drops of sweat as they drip off the ends of his hair when he pulls his hat off, and you feel the need to clear your throat. And then the towel is thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. All it has you doing is a double-take on the black tee shirt he’s wearing. The way it hugs his shoulders and chest should be outlawed, you think.

But then he reaches for the open bottle of water again, and you purse your lips. It’s another short swig, a singular drop of water escaping from the corner of his mouth. It travels down his chin, slowly slipping down the length of his neck, your eyes trained on the path it follows. It stops just before the collar of his black tee and you question why it’s suddenly hotter in the studio.

You swallow, forcing your gaze away and back to your phone before Hyunjin can witness any more of your blatant ogling. As you return your gaze to your phone, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You’re not embarrassed, not really, but the idea of getting caught sends your brain into overdrive.

“Still waiting on some critique I can work with~” he sing-songs, placing the bottle and towel back beside his phone.

“Maybe I don’t have anything to say,” you reply, and he chuckles.

“You?! With nothing to say? That’s a first.” He walks over, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest.

With the wave of feelings you’re dealing with, Hyunjin’s comment has you bristling. You glare up at him as he arches a brow at you as if challenging you to say something. That stupid smirk quirks his lips. Butterflies swarm in your gut.

“Fine, then.” You lean forward, propping your forearm on your knee as the two of you stare each other down. “You’ve been favoring your right leg through the entire first verse of the song, your hip rolls aren’t deep enough during the chorus, you seem undecided on whether the overall choreo should be slower or faster—” You list off each critique on your fingers, and while Hyunjin wanted your genuine criticism to work toward a better overall performance, he’s clocked out to what you’re saying. His eyes sweep over your face as you continue listing the things he could improve, and he grins at the way your eyes seem to glow in the studio lighting. A fire. Passion for the things he’s passionate about.

“—And another… thing…” Your voice drops to a surprised whisper almost instantly when you feel Hyunjin’s fingers curl under your chin, feather-light against your skin. You blink, realizing just how close he’s gotten, having bent down so his elbows rest on his knees. His head cocks slightly, tongue darting out to lick the corner of his lips. Brown eyes flicker down to yours a moment later.

“Another thing?” Hyunjin repeats, his tone a low murmur. His breaths mingle with yours, your heart beating erratically in such close proximity. His index finger runs the span of your jaw as he stares, a tangible connection that still feels natural and electric to him. A reminder of the silent tension that has always lingered.

The familiar scent of his cologne clouds your senses. It brings you back to the nights he used to spend at your apartment, with the two of you watching K-dramas until 3:00 am. Your bodies a mess of limbs in your bed, his distracting kisses up your neck until you’d try to playfully shove him away. He’d reach for your jaw to pull you in for soft kisses that would evolve into slow and lazy make-outs in his arms. Your eyes dart down at the reminder, and you mentally curse yourself.

“I, Uh.” you stammer out a few words before falling silent, your eyes fixated on his. The moment hangs in the air, the tension between you thick and palpable.

Something, something, boundaries… Something, something, self-control…

Hyunjin can’t help the sly grin, feeling the skin under his touch move when you swallow. All logic has left you in favor of longing for those familiar caresses you had years ago. It sure hasn’t changed, every subtle brush of his fingers ushers forth shivers down your spine. You are teetering on the edge of a cliff, the question being do you jump? You want to. Hell, with the way Hyunjin’s gaze keeps darting down, you can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling the same way.

You attempt to regain control of yourself, but it’s futile — your focus is lost, distracted by the proximity of his lips. Fuck, is he leaning in…

“Your expressions.” You finally manage, the only lingering critique swirling around in your head. “They, uh, could be sharper…” You say, watching Hyunjin sharpen his gaze like a conniving fox. And like a trickster, his fingers drag from your jaw to your neck, dark eyes following its path until the steady thrum of your pulse halts his journey. Your eyes drink him in, lips parted as Hyunjin’s brow twitches in a knowing gesture.

We can’t do this, not after all this time.

The silence crackles with anticipation. You’re fairly certain that Hyunjin knows some part of this is dangerous cause he hesitates for a moment. But then he’s leaning in, his thumb tracing circles against your neck. You mirror his movements, so close that this sliver of distance feels like a challenge. Unspoken desire hums between you two, a heat that has always lingered, just waiting for the right moment to reignite.

Just friends…

The soft brush of Hyunjin’s lips against yours slams the factory reset on your thoughts, mental gymnastics be damned. The tension snaps like a rubber band. You finally give in, capturing his mouth in a meaningful liplock. It feels like no time has passed - he still kisses you with the same careful tenderness that he always has. That familiar heat runs through your body as you sink into him, chasing his lips when he pulls away for a split second only to recapture yours with a fervor.

Your phone is forgotten in your lap, hands sliding up his chest in a new wave of confidence. You pull him closer and Hyunjin groans softly, his free hand coming up to brace his weight against the wall behind you. Your mouths move together in a seamless rhythm, your kisses growing hungrier and more desperate. The brim of his hat grazes your forehead and you slip one of your hands higher into his hair, hooking your finger around the strap. It falls to the floor with a dull thud, allowing your fingers to rake freely through his dark tresses. A subtle pull that has him smirking against your mouth.

Hyunjin pulls back slightly, his fingers sliding from your neck to your jaw. Your lips part in a sigh as you both sit there on the floor of the dance studio, panting against each other’s mouths. Eyes closed, you feel his forehead rest against yours, your noses brushing. You bite your lip, savoring the warmth of his skin on yours.

“I’ve missed this,” he tells you, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too.” You murmur, lashes fluttering. God, what an understatement. You’ve been close even after you ended things, with friendly shoves and your usual back-and-forth banter. But the feel of his warm hands against your skin, the comfort of his close presence, his plush lips. This is what you’ve truly been craving.

His scent lingers in your lungs, his heart beating steady beneath your palm. You feel Hyunjin’s fingers knead the skin of your jaw, tilting your head up so he can come back for another chaste kiss that soothes the ache in your chest. He pulls back, pressing his lips to your forehead as he shifts to sit beside you on the studio floor, his back to the wall. You lean back, resting your head against the wall, your eyes locked on the ceiling.

Silence… as comfortable as it’s always been with the man beside you, you despise it right now. It only has you in your head after both of your confessions. What does it mean for you two?

Your gaze wanders back to his. Only those browns are already looking back, a softness in them that has always been there when they’re looking at you. Hyunjin gives you a half grin, reaching out for your nearest hand and slipping his fingers between your own. His thumb caresses the back of your hand as you both sit there, minutes passing by.

“You’re not going to say anything, are you?” Hyunjin’s voice shatters the silence, staring up at the ceiling.

“We should be running through what not to do when you stay friends with your ex right about now,” You’re half joking, but your tone is more tense than nonchalant. Hyunjin laughs under his breath, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You don’t look at him, but you feel him squeeze your hand lightly.

“You should know how difficult it is to stay friends with an ex.”

“Oh, is it?” A small huff escapes your mouth, and you steal another glance, licking your lips.

“You don’t need me to tell you why, do you?” Hyunjin replies, his voice a low murmur. His head turns to you, his gaze fixed on your lips as you bite at them nervously. “You could have cut all contact with me. You could have moved on and we would have gone our separate ways…”

“I didn’t want to do that.” You admit. Your fingers twitch in his palm, pads running over small callouses and lines as you try to distract yourself with something. Anything. His hand wraps around yours again, squeezing firmer this time. A gesture of reassurance.

“I didn’t either.”

You swallow, picking your gaze off your entwined hands, and your heart skips a beat when you meet his eyes.

“We’re gonna have to decide what this is, aren’t we?” You say, the words sounding more serious than intended. Hyunjin does respond immediately. He just stares, his eyes awash in a mix of emotions you can’t quite decipher. He breathes in, tilting his head slightly.

“Yeah…” He says, his voice low and steady. The weight of that realization settles on his chest, but Hyunjin shakes his head and offers you a genuine grin. “Maybe after a good night’s rest.”

“And a shower.” You smirk, pulling away from him in a joking fashion. But he pulls you back into him, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You screw your face up and he rolls his eyes.

“Didn’t hear you complaining with my lips on yours just a moment ago.” He teases, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. You huff a laugh, leaning back against him.

“Hard to complain when you’re a good kisser.” you counter, bringing a hand up to his shoulder.

“Ah, couldn’t forget that over the years?” Hyunjin mutters, a hint of playfulness in his tone. His lips connect to the junction of your jaw, slowly trailing kisses down the hollow of your neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulder blade, your lashes fluttering over your cheeks.

“I don’t think I ever could.”

Your words send a rush of satisfaction through him and he nips at the sensitive skin just behind your ear. This closeness and playful back and forth is what he’s missed. A comfort that he never wanted to let go of. Even now, as the clock nears 2:00 am.

You capture his face in your hands and pull him back up with little argument, your thumb tracing the corner of his lips.

You don’t realize he’s leaning in again until you feel his lips on yours. It’s a slow and tender kiss this time, but the passion behind it burns hot. You revel in the subtle way he pulls you in, his hand falling off your shoulder to find purchase at your lower back.

Hyunjin eases up, and you’re left breathless yet again, your heart thumping in your chest.

“You gonna be able to sleep after this?” He asks, a sly grin curling his lips.

“Old habits die hard…” You breathe, pulling him in once again.

Psst!! If you've made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

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belovedmusings · 6 months

Text

Take me down slow, control, and abuse me.

Choso Kamo x You x Suguru Geto

Explicit Themes 18+ (🚫Minors DNI🚫)

Part eight of the 'Two + One' story. Click for story masterlist.

Guitarist! Choso Kamo is your boyfriend, and he just woke you up in the middle of the night after he heard you having a certain dream about his bandmate, Suguru. This is the subsequent conversation.

Relevant tags: sexual tension, thoughts of infidelity, characters with questionable morals, Choso is sweet and loyal, slow burn, no "y/n" for immersion, 2nd POV, reader has no defining characteristics, explicit smut, cowgirl, riding, nipple play (fem receiving), oral sex (male receiving), soft and tender sex, love bites, creampie

Recommended songs to listen to while reading: Use Me (PLAZA), I Wanna Be Yours (Arctic Monkeys), fue mejor (Kali Uchis, SZA)

A/N: Enjoy ;)

Read on Ao3 if you prefer!

Or read below cut:

His eyes are locked on yours. There’s no vindication—just confusion. You can’t lie to him. It hurts too much to even think about telling this precious man you love an untruth.

“Choso,” You begin, slicing through the tension-thick air. There’s a lump already forming in your throat, and you brace yourself to lose the man you love. “I…I need to be honest with you.”

Worry instantly etches into his features. “…all right.”

“When I said I just thought he was good-looking, that…that wasn’t the entire truth. I…ever since we met him, I-I’ve been attracted to him but I-I…I love you so much, the guilt is eating me alive.”

It all comes out in a rush, the truth of your feelings, and it takes him a moment to catch up with you to process your words.

He digests the initial part first. “Ever…since we met him? You mean, at my audition?”

You nod shamefully. It’s begun–and you decide now is the best time to just get it all out. There’s no way he’s going to accept everything you’ve done, because you know you wouldn’t, but you just can’t keep hiding things from him. This is the man you love, and what is love without honesty?

After you start, it just pours out of you.

Everything that has happened. Initiating sex in the car after you left his house because he’d turned you on, listening to his voice on repeat through the band’s songs, the fantasizing, the stolen moments that happened in Suguru’s kitchen, then backstage at their concert, then three times again that same night, once at the bar, then in the car, then in your living room after Choso had been carried to bed, then two months later when you brought him back to talk after running into him at the grocery store. All of the forbidden touches, the heated words, the almost-kisses–you spill it all. He deserves to know. He’s too good of a person to be with someone as horrible as you.

By the time you finish, the two of you had sat up in bed, a bedside lamp on to illuminate the room. Sleep is lost on you both now.

For a while, he just sits there in silence, eyes trained on the foot of the bed. It feels stuffy yet cold, and you wonder if you’ve stopped breathing at some point, waiting for his response. You’re not even sure what you expect. How can anyone possibly react to something like what you just told him?

Your heart drops through you at the first sight of a tear sliding down his cheek. He hasn’t said anything, but it’s clear that he’s hurting.

What have you done? You were given the most precious boyfriend in the world and you’ve screwed it up by being selfish and undisciplined?

He parts his lips, searching for the words. They only come after another beat of silence.

“...all of that…” He begins in a gravelly voice, one you know he uses when he’s holding back his emotions, “and…all I can think about is…I’m in the way of you and him, aren’t I?”

You had no idea what you expected, but that reaction is ten-thousand times worse than anything you could’ve conjured up in your head.

“No,” Your own voice shakes, you’re hurt because you hurt Choso, “You’re not…you’re not in the way, you’re my boyfriend. I love you.”

“But you want him,” He replies, voice strained. His eyes are still averted from you. “And he wants you. Not just a little, either.”

What argument can you make? You just have to speak from the heart. “Choso, I swear to god, I love you and Suguru hasn’t affected the way I feel about you in the slightest.”

“But I’m not your only option,” He says, monotony terribly forced as more tears stream down his cheeks. “And your other option is Suguru. The guy who is everything I am and more.”

You wonder if the crack you just felt in your heart was audible. “What?”

“He can give you the things I can…and the things I can’t.”

You need to fix this now.

“You’re the man I love,” You say, “Choso, what we have is so special, and–”

“I want what’s best for you,” Choso interrupts you, finally meeting your eyes. They’re glassy and weighted. “I just want you to be happy. He can make you happy.”

“No,” You instantly say, “No, loving you is what makes me happy. Being with you makes me happy. I don’t want to leave you, Choso. I don’t.”

“If you’re happy with me, then why…why do you want Suguru that badly?”

The full truth. What has exactly cemented itself within your soul–you need to bear it to him now.

“Choso,” You begin, taking his hands and locked eyes with him. “I need you to believe me when I say that I have never ever second-guessed my feelings for you. I know that I am in love with you, and every single moment with you is a blessing that I will forever be grateful for. It’s just that…since I met Suguru, I’ve begun imagining what it would be like with him. Also, not instead. I want you in my life, I want you loving me, I want you to be my boyfriend now and forever, and more if that’s what comes with our future. But I…honestly, I want Suguru there too.”

Choso looks perplexed for a moment, eyes flitting between yours as he once again absorbs all of your words. “...you want him…too?”

Your next nod is earnest yet careful. “Yes. I know it’s ridiculous, selfish, and impossible, but I love and cherish you so much…and I want Suguru. I could never be without you, Chos’, and I sure as hell could never ever replace you with him. I don’t even know if Suguru and I are actually compatible and would go anywhere. Please, believe me.”

He draws in a slow breath, eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that you have to deal with this, and with me,” You add, “And I understand if you want me gone, I know even thinking that is horrible, and I am the worst person on Earth for hurting you.”

“I don’t want you gone,” He immediately says, surprising you thoroughly.

“What? But I’m…I’m pretty sure all of this qualifies me as some sort of heartless…whore.”

He furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head vehemently. “You are not a whore. Do you go out every time I’m gone and sleep with random men you meet? Do you message more online? Do you send them pictures?”

“N-no, of course not.”

“You’re not a whore,” He says again, sighing heavily. “It’s…this is Suguru we’re talking about. Just Suguru. And this has gone on since we met him, for what…the better half of a year now? More than that? You haven’t even kissed him, let alone slept with him. You just…you just have a lot of affection to give.”

You look down at your lap. “It’s probably just physical, anyway…”

“You said you told him you wanted more, though, after he said that’s what he wants,” Choso points out. “Don’t sugarcoat it for me.”

“No, I-I mean, I’ve barely been around him. Who’s to say it isn’t just lust?” You feel like you’re backtracking, but also like maybe you’re telling the truth. You don’t know anymore. “Maybe I was just caught up in it all when he said it. We could end up not liking each other at all if we really got to know each other…”

After you trail off, no words fill the space between you two for another few moments.

“So,” he exhales, “You want him…too. In what sense?”

“Well,” You begin unsurely. “I…don’t know.”

“Do you think if you slept with him, your curiosity would go away?”

There’s a seriousness that hangs in the air, one that you can’t help but feel is unwelcome.

“What?”

“I just…don’t see another solution to this. Because I love the band, and Suguru made it clear he wants me to stay. That means that at some point, you two are going to have to be around each other. If you…end up alone, it could mean you two just give in, and none of us want that. Suguru doesn’t want to go behind my back, you don’t want to cheat on me, and I don’t want either of you to betray me.”

“But I still don’t see how the correct solution is for me to sleep with him,” You reply rather bluntly, bewildered.

“Because then I’d know about it,” Choso explains. “I mean, listen…I don’t like the idea of the woman I love sleeping with another man, but this isn’t just some guy, it’s Suguru. I know he’s a good man. I know he respects me. So if I…allowed you to…see what he’s all about, then no one would be lying to anyone. There would be no problem.”

Your eyes narrow. Is your boyfriend seriously suggesting you sleep with Suguru?

“But…what about your feelings? I’d still be…getting intimate with another man. Wouldn’t that bother you?” You question him, running a hand through your hair.

“It’s not bothering me as much as it should,” He admits, “Because…all this time, all those moments, and neither of you said ‘forget about him’ and did it behind my back. Yes, you two have gotten close, but you’ve stopped yourselves. So…I know you both care about me. It sounds so strange coming from me, but…I’d let you do it, love.”

All you can do is draw in a deep breath. What is he even saying?

He’s seriously giving you the go-ahead? To sleep with Suguru?

“All I ask is…for you to agree to a few things,” Choso adds, “You’d use protection…and…don’t kiss him.”

Don’t kiss him.

A flash of Suguru’s lip rings comes to mind like the shutter of a camera, and you steel yourself. No kissing him. Something you’d fantasized about for the longest time…barred.

But he’s letting you sleep with Suguru.

So what if you can’t kiss him?

“Okay,” You nod, then you hear yourself, and you shake your head, “W-wait, no, Choso, I can’t do this to you. You can’t be okay with this!”

“But I am,” He insists, reaching up and touching your face. There is only a gentleness in his eyes, no hint of anger or animosity towards you in them. “I love you, and I want to give you the world. If I can give you this by simply allowing you, I will.”

“But it’s sex,” You argue, “For crying out loud, Choso, how can you be okay with this? I’d never be okay if you wanted to sleep with another woman!”

“That’s okay,” He assures you, “It is sex, and to the two of us it means something different. For me, it’s exclusive. For you, it's an expression. I don’t like sleeping with anyone I’m not in love with, but for you, it’s more about who you find attractive. I trust you. I know you’ll never leave me, you’ve made that clear. If, throughout this entire thing, you’ve fantasized about Suguru yet never resented me or started finding faults in me, wishing I was him…I know you love me.”

“I do,” is what you reply with immediately. “I love you so much, Chos’.”

“See? I trust you,” He repeats. “If you wanted to cheat you’d have done so by now.”

For a while, you just remain silent.

Is he really giving you a pass? To have sex with Suguru? Just like that?

“Will you look at me differently? And him?” You ask, searching his eyes with yours.

“You’re always going to be the woman I love,” Choso shakes his head. “And he’s always going to be Suguru.”

“What about when we’re all together? When you’re in the same room as me and him? Will you be able to take it?”

Choso consider your words for a moment before nodding. “Yes. I will. Things will probably be less tense now that it’s out in the open, don’t you think?”

“…well, possibly, yes.”

There is about a full minute of absolutely no sound in the room. You don’t know what to say. You weren’t expecting a full fight, because you know that’s not what Choso is about, but you sure as hell weren’t expecting this either. How are you supposed to react?

Choso has given you his permission to sleep with Suguru. You can actually do what you’ve been wanting to do–well, mostly–and more than anything, right now you’re just feeling…weird.

“Chos’, I…I don’t know what to say…”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to. We’ve talked it over and said everything we need to say.”

Well, he’s right. You’ve asked about his feelings, about his reaction, he knows the dirty details of your thoughts…and this is the end result. The boyfriend you have been in love with since before this entire mess has started still loves you even after everything you’ve considered doing, and everything you’ve done, and what’s more is that he is green-lighting even more that you never thought he’d be okay with.

Your eyes happen upon him, and you really take him in. The way his layered hair falls in messy strands around his face, the soft droop of his chocolate eyes, smeared with his trademark purple eyeliner. You follow the shape of his jaw, the curve of his Adam’s apple down to his neck, further to the collar of his shirt, where you remember he has that tattoo of your name on his heart. More than ever now, you understand that he’d gotten that done with utmost sincerity. So much emotion sweeps over you in a tidal wave–you love your boyfriend so much, and you’re sorry he’s even in this position, whether he’s okay with it or not.

There isn’t much time between after you’ve had that thought and when you climb into his lap, kissing him in a way that you hope conveys everything you’re feeling for him at the moment.

Choso responds eagerly, and soon layers come off, the black ink of your name etched into his breast on full display. It’s a lot of touching and grinding–you try to knead your affection into him with your hands and the way you move your hips on his, feeling him getting hard beneath you, your lips reaching any expanse of skin of his that they can reach.

You kiss down his frame, paying special attention to the delicate part of his neck where it meets his shoulder and leaving a mark there. It’s easy to elicit noises from him, soft and breathy in nature, and you keep going, leaving a path of claims as you devour his body slowly.

Soon, you wind up between his legs, face beside his stiff length, but before you pay it any mind, you give attention to his thighs, a place you know is particularly sensitive. That’s when the sounds leaving his lips become more pronounced, abdomen rising and falling with each new mark you bite into the flesh there.

By the time you take him into your mouth, his cock is maroon-hard and weeping, the bitterness mixing with the flavor of his musk. The both of you moan at the same time, and his hands thread into your hair, gently holding it back as you suck, rising and sinking down on him over and over in the way you know drives him mad. His noises string together, strained groans and soft whimpers mixing to create a beautiful enough symphony that even that itself is music he creates. His thumbs caress your cheeks and you feel his eyes admiring you as you suck him off, a rosy blush spreading over your face.

When he’s good and soaked, and when he’s near his peak, twitching on your tongue with the threat of release, you pull off, looking up at him.

His eyebrows are drawn up, hair messily splayed across his pillow from his writhing, a crimson over the bridge of his nose. He’s panting, chest rising and falling rigidly, deep exhales painting the air.

“You’re so beautiful,” You tell him breathlessly, climbing back up his now mark-ridden body, straddling his hips with your legs. You take him into your hand and guide him towards your heat, allowing it inside as you seat yourself down.

“Oh, fuck,” He grunts, hands finding your waist instinctively. You can feel him throbbing inside of you, having been edged already, and you know it won’t take him long to reach his peak.

He knows this, and so when you start rolling your hips, keeping him fully inside, he begins roaming his palms over your skin, doing his best to bring you to the edge as well. The two of you move in a way that can only be disguised as a sensual, intimate dance. His hands find your breasts, teasing your nipples with the pads of his thumbs, then running a palm down your front until he finds your clit. He starts rubbing it to the tempo of your movements, and little gasps leave your mouth, spurring on more impassioned grinds from you.

You look down at him, staring up at you with reverent, lidded eyes, and you know that no matter what you do with Suguru, it can never replace what you have with Choso.

“I love you,” You murmur, leaning down and initiating a hungry kiss.

He returns it with fervor, speaking into your wet cavern with a reciprocal, “I love you,” before chasing it down with his tongue. He starts meeting your movements with his own, intensity increasing until soon he’s moaning down your throat and cumming deep inside, your own orgasm rippling through you at the same time.

He holds you close and you don’t stop showering him with your love, intent on making sure he knows how much he means to you.

What comes next can wait until tomorrow.

a/n: you get to have your cake and eat it too in this universe, mmm hmm, mm hmm. now...what will happen next?

Please don't copy or repost, but feel free to reblog and share!

Taglist (comment here or my masterlist if you want to be added): @jaegerstan222 , @cosmicstarlatte , @dabisdolly , @moonriseoverkyoto , @propheticfire , @bontensbabygirl , @crlyhairedwxtch , @alittlebirdahgaselx , @okkovtsu , @notbellasstuff , @uchihabbynic , @polaroidnana , @childofilluvatar , @shadowfoxy , @jordan-network , @dreamtravelersade , @unmatchxd , @lucyrocks86 , @spineyy , @k3lbade , @xxbuckpoppi , @naughtygobbo , @slammynics , @roseambers , @luvingyouwasreallyhard , @hinachaaan , @redladyrae-blog , @spiteless-xo , @slutforaz , @bellaabee082 , @thedorklingqueen , @delayedrage , @poopwons , @pandisastergod , @username23345 , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @forest-haven , @midnaamethyste , @bihanspookies , @mysteriouskiller1 , @liyahthings , @makingtimemine , @tr330 , @captainstarnoir , @nana-lover05 , @vvarkiki , @missmuffinr

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victorbutnotreally · 3 months

Note

OMG I'M FINALLY FINDING A BLOG WHICH IS MY CUP OF TEA. YOU'RE AWESOMEEEEE

i have an idea but i can't write for shit, so i'll give it to my favorite tumblr writer (which is youuu)

smau where han messages the wrong number and it's some guy from like another country. and they become friends and then han comes to find out that his text pal is actually a celeb he fanboys over.

(bonus points if mn knows han as well)

OMG - Han Jisung x Male Reader

A/N: Love that!! Thank you sm for requesting <3 (I can't title things for the life of me, so you can ask for a different title in the replies and I'll change it) French music makes writing so much more fun.

warnings: slight swearing

blue {} - han purple {} - Mn

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

{Oh. How nice of this person to wish me a good practice session.

"Is he getting here anytime soon?" Minho's voice echoed through the practice room.

"I'll ask!"

When he opened his phone again to change the number, he saw a familiar figure in the random person's profile picture. Mn Ln. Finally, someone who he can rant about the Mn Ln. }

{ Great. Got my hopes up for nothing }

{ Naturally, Mn wouldn't want his personal number leaked. So he lied. He was surprised at how smooth that was, but hey, it's text. He wanted to know more, though. Is that narcissistic?

He set his coffee mug down on his nightstand and looked a lot more like a contortionist as he continued to text, the risk of spilling coffee being gone now. }

{ Being called the best vocalist ever was certainly not something he expected. He was great, sure, but the best? Not when Freddie Mercury has music out there. But he'll take that compliment.

He was impressed at the fan. 'Achilles, my love" was one of his more niche songs, having been written when he was only 15 when he got completely shattered after reading 'The Song of Achilles' and decided to pour his heart and soul into a song which he released years later.}

{They don't know Mn yet, but who wouldn't like him after listening to Achilles my love? The way Jisung made the members listen to Mn's music was like a little kid making their parents watch Frozen. But the members never complained, the music was really good. Would they roll their eyes when Jisung keeps sending Mn memes into the groupchat? Sure. Did they have certain parts of certain songs memorized because Jisung kept watching his edits on repeat? Oh yes. }

{Mn didn't want his identity leaked. He had to think of a name quick. Chris, as in Bang Chan from Stray Kids was what came to mind. }

At the Paris Fashion Week

{Jisung found a spot away from the cameras and was texting 'Chris'. After a few months of them being 'text pals', he was pretty fond of the random citizen. But despite the sheer amount of songs, pictures, and videos he's sent of Mn, 'Chris' was never as obsessed with him as Jisung was.}

{Holding a glass of champagne in his hand and dearly missing his coffee, Mn who was decked head to toe in Hermes, makes his way over to the figure he recognized as Han Jisung of Stray Kids. How he loved that band. He was listening to Han's song 'Volcano' on the way there. As he goes to talk to him, his eyes caught onto the rapper's phone screen. And by instinct, he accidentally read a few texts. Texts that were from him. He wanted to tell Jisung, but how?}

"Hi! Huge fan, Jisung.." Jisung's eyes widened as he shoved his phone into his pocket and extended his hand for a handshake. It was his first time seeing his favorite singer in real life.

"Oh my god...you..sorry, I'm just flustered all of a sudden. I'm your biggest fan, really."

"I appreciate it. We should collab someday." "Yes!!" Was that too loud? No, right?

Mn was endeared by the enthusiasm. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and unlocked it.

"Care for a selfie?"

"I'd love to.." Jisung tried keeping his voice from sounding too loud and excited as he smiled beautifully in the selfie he took with the singer. He took one on his phone as well, along with a photo of just Mn, not being able to resist the opportunity.

A/N: I'm ending so abruptly since I have really bad writer's block rn and I didn't even know how I posted this much. If you have any ideas on how Jisung finds out he's been texting Mn all this time, then let me know in the replies or send a DM.

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rahuratna · 3 months

Text

Ikemen Kaisen

Chapter 1: Step into the Industry

Cross posted!

Summary: A cursed spirit develops a massive crush on the 7:3 sorcerer while he's on a mission. Trapping him in its unique otome game domain, the spirit soon discovers that it's bitten off a lot more than it can chew with this particular jujutsu sorcerer ...

Content: Humour, fluff, crack, otome game satire, Nanami has Rizz with a capital 'R', the first year trio obtaining front row seats to this absolute shitshow.

“Yes, Itadori, you heard me correctly.”

Yuuji’s eyes had widened to impossible proportions, hands clasped together so tightly, his knuckles were turning white.

“Wait, you’re serious? You’re for real, Nanamin? We’re going to -”

“A concert, yes. I don’t like repeating mission details, so listen closely.”

Yuuji snapped to attention, one hand raised to his head in a smart salute.

“Yuuji, reporting for duty, sir!”

Nanami sighed. It was Thursday, a day he didn’t particularly fancy in terms of starting a new mission. Missions that started mid-week invariably ended up incurring overtime, along with eating into his weekend on occasion. He would do his duty diligently, nonetheless, as he was expected to show Yuuji the general procedure for such investigations. Thus, he had occupied this empty classroom for a briefing. He stood before the whiteboard on which he had neatly printed the details in bullet points (a necessity for Yuuji’s attention span). Pointing to the first line, he began.

“We’ve been receiving reports for a few months now about suspicious activity at idol performances all around Tokyo. Fans of certain idols have been going missing. All cases so far showed that the victims disappeared shortly after concerts, fan-meets and other public appearances. Initially, we could not make a direct correlation to curse activity. The disappearances themselves were sporadic and presented no specific pattern, so the case was placed under revision and monitored. Recent events, however, changed things.”

Nanami pointed to a photograph of a young man, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, artfully posed to highlight his muscular torso in a hooded jacket that was unzipped. He wore tight, dark jeans, strategically ripped, and was smiling coyly at the camera. He was undoubtedly very good looking.

“This is Takashima Ryouta, stage name Ryo-ri.”

“Eh? Like RiRi?”

“It’s his concert we’ll be attending. Recent disappearances occurring after his concerts have been far more targeted and blatant. Furthermore, our windows have reported cursed energy levels spiking in the general vicinity of these events.”

Yuuji raised his hand.

“Yes, Itadori?”

“How do we know that these disappearances are even linked to idols specifically? What if it’s something else they all have in common? Like, some kinda shady fan club? Or maybe someone’s just targeting big groups of people?”

Nanami pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, expression carefully blank despite the small surge of pride he felt at Yuuji’s astute observation.

“The latest victims were obviously targeted with intent. You see, Takashima has recently been growing in popularity, thanks to his appearance on a TV show. Some of his fanbase is therefore quite intense.”

Yuuji sighed.

“Yeah, they go rabid for guys who look like that.”

“For this reason, his agency has come up with a strategy to gain interest amongst his fans, but also keep him safe. Our intelligence network has informed us that they put up a lottery for each live event he performs at, allowing one fan to join him on stage for the duration of a song. The lottery is fake, however. Girls are hired from talent agencies affiliated with Takashima’s. They are disguised heavily and every time he makes an appearance, one of these ‘lucky’ girls is the one chosen to join him on stage. This way, his fans will continue to buy tickets in the hopes that they will be chosen by lottery, but will never actually interact with him on stage.”

Yuuji’s mouth dropped open.

“Whoa! That’s … really not cool! Isn’t that kinda like false advertising?”

“We’re not here to judge the insidious marketing strategies employed by a soulless, capitalist-driven entertainment industry that consumers blindly latch onto like tapeworms.”

“Er – “

“Rather, we’re going to be investigating why all the young ladies hired from the talent agency to join Takashima on stage have disappeared shortly after each performance.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. As I said, this, along with the more pronounced spikes in cursed energy, make this a case we can no longer afford to leave to regular law enforcement. You and I will be stationed within this area,” and here Nanami pointed to a roughly circular outline on a map of Akihabara. “We have also been provided with special VIP pass tickets to the concert tomorrow and will be closely monitoring the interactions between Takashima and this week’s chosen representative on stage. Afterwards, we will conduct surveillance on the individual in question. Please remember, our presence must be kept discreet at all times and we must blend in to the crowd at the concert as seamlessly as possible.”

Yuuji tapped his chin. “Blend in, huh? That won’t be a problem for me but, uh, Nanamin, not to be weird or anything – “

“Don’t worry on my account, Itadori. I have everything planned out. I have never had trouble with creating a cover.”

Yuuji shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited outside the main entrance of Jujutsu Tech for Nanami to make his appearance. For once, the energetic young student had arrived earlier than his experienced mentor. He had grabbed a hot coffee from the machine in the foyer to pass the time. The caffeine was not calming in the slightest.

There was something about the current mission that both excited him and filled him with nervous anticipation. From the summarized report that Nanami had left for him to read, he knew that the number of disappearances meant that they might be dealing with a tricky opponent this time. The fact that this activity was happening in such a crowded area of Tokyo also indicated that whoever was engineering these vanishings was either unhinged or audacious, neither of which boded well.

A black sedan with tinted windows made its way around the side of the building and Yuuji hopped forward, waving. The car drew to a halt beside him and he opened the passenger door, grinning as he spied Nanami in the driver’s seat.

“Whoa Nanamin, I like the fit!”

Nanami’s immaculate suit had been replaced by jeans, a simple, but expensive-looking grey knit shirt and a long, dark overcoat. His signature shades had been substituted for designer sunglasses and the sleek band of his wristwatch gleamed from beneath his sleeve. The normally swept back hairstyle was a little more relaxed, making him look closer to his age than he usually did.

“Thank you, Yuuji. You’re suitably dressed, I see.”

The student cocked his head and Nanami nodded, anticipating his question.

“I’ll be calling you Yuuji for the duration of this mission. I’ve decided that we’ll present ourselves as uncle and nephew. I am your – “

“For real?”

Yuuji’s eyes were shining in a way that made Nanami cough and turn away. He propped up his glasses and shifted gear, the car gliding away from the main gates of the school.

“Yes. That way I can call you Yuuji and you can continue to call me … Nanamin, I suppose. I am visiting home after some time away and decided to spend some quality time with you, my nephew. And so, I’m taking you to a concert that you’ve been wanting to attend for some time. I trust you did your homework?”

Yuuji nodded proudly before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“I downloaded all of Ryo-ri’s songs last night and learned the lyrics. He’s not bad! I can totally jam to this.”

“Good. It’ll be a long drive, so use the time to brush up on the mission details.”

Which is exactly what Yuuji did, to begin with. He pulled the folder from his backpack and opened it out on his lap. Nanami had been kind enough to summarize the numerous reports for him and provided concise profiles of the main players in the case. Eyes running over Takashima’s info page, Yuuji frowned slightly. Something was missing. He glanced out of the window at the passing scenery, trying for a while to figure out what it was, before his eyes widened.

So obvious!

Scrolling rapidly on his phone, Yuuji began to search for Takashima’s Instagram. The information in Nanami’s profile, as succinct and useful as it was, lacked … flavour. Social media would give Yuuji a more accurate idea of the image the idol was trying to put out there. Soon enough, he found what he was looking for.

Uhhh, okay then.

Takashima’s pictures skirted that fine border of what Kugisaki would call ‘spicy’. They were definitely risqué for an idol, but this was what seemed to appeal to his particular audience. Yuuji’s eyebrows shot up at the sheer number of likes one particular photo had. The picture was a mirror selfie, showing Takashima’s glistening torso, presumably after a workout, his face obscured teasingly by the phone. Yuuji nodded sagely. This image fitted in with a lot of the lyrics he had been learning yesterday.

“Ohh, I see. He’s going for playful fuckboy, but like, more tasteful.”

“Pardon?”

“Oops … I said that out loud, huh?”

“Yes, you did. Now explain.”

Yuuji scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“Sooo, like, how do I explain this? Idols have images they create, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“And those images draw fans and make them more popular. I checked out Ryo-ri’s IG page and … and you know what IG is right?”

“I’m not five centuries old, Yuuji.”

“Fine, fine! Just checking. Wait, do you have – “

“I use it to follow recipe pages and food blogs. Let’s move on.”

“So, from what I’m seeing here, Ryo-ri’s fans are mainly girls who like this image he puts out of being … you know. Like a playboy, a guy who doesn’t take things seriously, but nice at the same time. The persona is … the guy who’ll steal a girl’s heart and move on quickly, but she can’t have bad feelings towards him, because he’s not an asshole? It’s why he also has fans who are guys. They kinda want to be like him and they feel his lyrics. You get what I’m saying?”

Nanami hummed thoughtfully. “I think so. And this is what’s called … a fuckboy?”

Yuuji snorted loudly.

“That word sounds so wrong coming from you. Not exactly. Guys who get called that can be flaky and do dumb stuff, but Ryo-ri’s got the right balance. He’s got the ‘naughty, but chill’ vibe.”

“I see. And do you think this makes him more or less likely to be responsible for the disappearances?”

The words sobered Yuuji, who sat back, a warm feeling filtering into his chest. As much as he had found it difficult to get along with the taciturn ex-salaryman to begin with, his view had changed a lot over time. Nanami was the epitome of a responsible adult, his stern exterior hiding just how kind and patient he was, especially with students. There were times like these, when he would ask for Yuuji’s opinion in such a straightforward manner that it made the boy want to prove himself even more, to show that he could also be an exemplary sorcerer.

“Umm, I think it means we should watch him carefully at the concert. If he is involved, I’m not sure he’d be so … obvious about it? He’s not super high profile, but he’s getting there. If his fans are disappearing, that looks bad for him. I … I think maybe there’s something else to this too.”

Nanami nodded slowly.

“All right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Yuuji spent the rest of the ride watching some of Ryo-ri’s live performances on YouTube and searching for the specific songs where the girls would join him on stage. In between, he did some other stalking.

“Hey, hey, Nanamin. Guess whose IG I found?”

A small chime sounded from Nanami’s pocket.

“Yuuji – “

“That’s my invite. Don’t ignore your precious nephew!”

“My profile isn’t that interesting. How did you find me, anyway?”

“I checked who Gojo-sensei follows. And, I mean, there’s only one person who’d call himself ‘Gruyère_Ghostbuster’ – “

“Don’t say that out loud.”

“And hey! Your profile is cool! It’s not just food, Nanamin. You’ve got such awesome nature photos and wait … are these videos of yourself cooking? I recognise that watch! Are you making rolled eggs here? And oooh … you’ve got puppy videos?”

The weather was perfect, the sky bright and clear, the normal obscuring fog of the city conspicuously absent. The air still carried a chill and Yuuji wrapped his red scarf closer around his neck. They had parked some distance away from the open-air venue where the concert would take place and were now steadily making their way in that direction, soaking in the sights and sounds of Akihabara.

Yuuji was carrying a bag of manga he had bought at a nearby store and chattered amiably about the recent story arc. Nanami followed a few paces behind, nodding along to Yuuji’s remarks. On the surface, they looked every bit the ordinary uncle and nephew. Only someone who knew exactly what to look for would note the way the boy sometimes shifted his body to observe people better or the way the older man’s eyes would flit sharply back and forth beneath the sunglasses.

Thus far, there had been nothing overtly suspicious in the area, besides the low-grade cursed spirits that showed themselves at intervals. After some time, they found themselves at the venue which adjoined a hotel and conference centre. The centre itself housed quite a variety of functions, with a spa, restaurants and various stores catering to a wealthier clientele. Nanami took the lead, passing through the security checkpoint at the hotel. Yuuji trotted nervously after him, half expecting a security alarm to start blaring because of what he knew was strapped to the older sorcerer’s back.

Nothing happened. Nanami turned his head slightly.

“Cursed energy can also be used to conceal things.”

“Ha. Cool. I guess I gotta learn that sometime. Where are we going, by the way? The concert will be out that way, but I know it’s still early …”

“We have VIP tickets, remember. That means we get access to any of the services here and hotel rooms close to the concert venue. I’m sure you’re hungry, so let’s get something to eat first.”

Nanami began to make his way to the upper levels of the centre. Yuuji followed, sticking close to his mentor. As confident and easy-going as the teen usually was, there was an air of opulence and rarified luxury here that was starting to make him feel small and very out of place. Looking around, he could see executives in expensive suits talking on their phones and people carrying shopping bags with hideously expensive name brands emblazoned on the front. He glanced down at his sneakers and discreetly tried to rub off a scuff mark against the back of his leg before glancing over at Nanami. The tall man showed no sign at all of slowing down, his stride elegant and assured, looking every bit as if he belonged in this setting. People parted ways to allow him to pass.

Eventually, he led them to what looked like a high-end steakhouse. The maître d’ stepped forward, his eyes roving intimidatingly over the two, and Yuuji was tempted for a minute to mutter apologies, scamper off and order a cheap slice of pizza somewhere. A firm hand on his shoulder stilled him and he felt a small sense of reassurance assert itself as Nanami’s deep voice sounded above his head, explaining that they had a reservation.

By the time they reached the table, Yuuji’s excitement was back.

“Wow! Look at the view from up here!”

“Hmm. A good view over the stadium. See that? That’s the stage where Takashima will be performing.”

“Ahh, so that’s why you chose this place.”

“Indeed. Reconnaissance. That, and the steak here is superb. We can see them work on putting up the stage props. That way, we’ll sense if anything deliberate is happening behind the scenes.”

With that, the sorcerer began to study the menu. The meal was, unsurprisingly, a fantastic experience. Nanami ordered them a selection of starters, steak for mains (with a carefully selected wine pairing for himself) and the most delicious chocolate dessert Yuuji had ever tasted. When they were done, the pink-haired boy sat back and sighed.

“How come we get to do all of this? Do the higher-ups really approve all the costs?”

Nanami sipped his wine before replying.

“Depends. If a proper motivation is provided, there’s no reason for them to refuse. Of course, this requires us to fill out a series of detailed documents that most jujutsu sorcerers don’t bother with.”

“But not you?”

“Have you forgotten my previous profession? Form-filling is my speciality. My paperwork is nothing less than exceptional and thorough. There is always solid evidence of what I need. If it is not approved, I log an official query that requires a lengthy board meeting and an extensive review of all documentation.” The corner of Nanami’s mouth crooked up in a small, rare smile. “It’s been some time since any of my requests were denied. Let it never be said that I’m not compliant.”

Yuuji grinned in return and raised his glass of juice.

“Kanpai, Nanamin.”

There had been no sign of anything unusual during their late lunch and by the time they made their way down to the concert, the lower levels were already swarming with people. Looking around, Yuuji saw, unsurprisingly, that most of the crowd consisted of young women. They were chattering and laughing loudly, and everywhere he looked he saw faces alight with excitement. Contrary to the atmosphere that was growing around them, Yuuji’s concern spiked. There was potential danger lurking somewhere, and it would be difficult to detect in such a large mass of people.

Nanami steered him through the crowd to a separate entrance where fewer people had queued. This was the entry-point for those with VIP tickets. They were soon through the checkpoint and were directed by various ushers up a winding staircase to a wide outdoor box that spanned an entire floor. Although sheltered from the elements, the box projected overhead towards the stage, offering a perfect view of where the performance would take place. They took their seats, scanning their surroundings carefully. Thus far, there had still been no sign of elevated cursed energy.

“Yuuji, remember why you’re here.”

“Oh, right!”

Springing up, the youngster made his way around, using the allowance Nanami had given him to buy some merch and snacks from the vendors that were stationed against the back of the VIP box. He began to slowly make a circuit, pausing now and then to start casual conversation with others who were also making purchases. Soon enough, his friendly and open personality had drawn a few others into his orbit, and he compared merch, exchanged contact details, introduced people to his awesome ‘uncle’ and even found himself invited to an online fan-club of Ryo-ri’s. Eventually, he made his way back to Nanami.

The older sorcerer had been casually sipping a coffee, eyes taking in the stage and the members of the audience who had been filling into the main area below. He glanced up as Yuuji took his seat.

“Anything?”

“Nothing so far. Everyone seems pretty normal.”

“All right. When the performance starts, you focus on the stage. I’ll check the audience.”

A lesser-known girl band opened the concert, the energy of their performance doing a lot to hype up the crowd. Yuuji played his part very convincingly, shouting encouragement and applauding loudly. Nanami bit back a smile when he noticed that others were taking their cue from his lively ‘nephew’. The first act was followed by another group and then there was a slight lull, a sense of building anticipation as the main performance drew near.

“There he is,” Nanami muttered, as Ryo-ri bounded onto the stage to a cacophony of high-pitched screams and thunderous applause. The idol hitched up his baggy jeans and swaggered from one end to the other, delivering a series of compliments to his ‘beautiful’ audience and blowing a kiss that made some of the girls in the front row look like they were about to pass out in ecstasy. Ryo-ri started with what Yuuji recognised as the biggest hit from his second album, a high energy dance number that really got the crowd on its feet.

The pink-haired teen threw himself into his own act, starting up a glow-stick dance routine in the front row that the people around them soon joined in. Nanami shifted awkwardly. As much as he had encouraged Yuuji to act the part of the excited nephew, he should have foreseen how it would make him look in comparison. The girls behind them were quick enough to catch on, because they were soon shoving their extra glow-sticks into Nanami’s hands and encouraging him to get on his feet too. Yuuji turned and snorted with laughter.

“Just follow my lead, Nanamin! It’s easy, see?”

As he waved the glow-sticks around his head and turned on the spot, Nanami’s profound sense of existential horror soon settled into detachment as he went through the motions. He was just glad that Gojo wasn’t here to witness this debacle. Soon enough, it was time for the anticipated lottery announcement. Ryo-ri made a show of pulling a piece of paper from a large bowl that had been carried onto the stage and read the number of the winning ticket. One of the women in the front row screamed in excitement and the crowd parted to allow her entry to the stage. Burly security guards did a quick check of her person before showing her through. Yuuji slowed down his routine, pausing to take a sip of water and munch on a handful of popcorn, his eyes glued to the stage. Nanami used this momentary lull to mutter the word “bathroom” and make his way to the end of the VIP box. Here, the sorcerer paused, eyes scanning the crowd carefully through his dark glasses.

The young woman, presumably one of the secretly vetted members of the talent agency, climbed onto the stage. Her hand was placed over her mouth and her eyes shone with glistening disbelief as Ryo-ri took her hand and twirled her around, dropping her softly into a plush seat that someone had brought up at some point. She was certainly a good actor. The idol began to sing a crooning ballad, one of his more popular slow-paced songs, as he danced languidly around her. Nanami frowned as he began to sense a change in the crowd’s mood. On the surface, people were hooting and cheering at the display, but there were undercurrents of negative emotion that had begun to rise like a miasma over some portions of the audience. There could be no mistaking the general feeling.

Jealousy. Resentment. Longing.

What the sorcerer had not expected was the strength of the emotion being exhibited. Was it like this at every performance with an idol in high public demand?

Not quite.

Ryo-ri was pretty avant-garde in his approach to gaining popularity. Nanami recalled what Yuuji had mentioned earlier in the car, about how the idol was not afraid of presenting an image that was quite risky in the Japanese entertainment industry. Inviting a fan on stage was not a common practice and it was understandable, judging from the sensations Nanami was getting from the audience. But then, this was what sold tickets and drew fans into a never-ending circle of unfulfilled desire. The sorcerer allowed his mind to sink into that meditative state that allowed him to spread his senses even further, more receptive to slight changes in cursed energy. As unpleasant as the sensation was, sickly sweet with underlying bitterness brushing against the edge of his mind, he observed the swathe of people below him with unerring focus.

Ryo-ri had upped the ante of his performance, twirling strands of the ‘lucky’ woman’s hair around his finger, gyrating sensually in front of her before dropping to his knees at her feet, one hand brushing gently across her ankle. Nanami felt distaste rise in his throat as the poisonous thrum of envy from the audience grew further. Those happy faces and the applause were so deceptive, considering the hidden depths of emotion some were allowing to fill their hearts, overflowing into the space around them.

And then, he felt it.

The swell of negative emotion grew like a wave, the spike of cursed energy at its peak so sharp and subtle, like a blade honed so fine that it passed painlessly across the skin, leaving blood blooming in its wake. Across the way, Nanami saw Yuuji mask his own reaction admirably, a tiny pause in his energetic waving as he sensed it too. Scanning the crowd, Nanami frowned as the minute trace of cursed energy was lost under the current of emotion once more. With a small signal to Yuuji to stay where he was and observe, the sorcerer made his way quickly and quietly down the stairs to the security check point. Here, people could move between the VIP box and the general area freely, as long as they displayed their pass when they returned.

He emerged into the crowd, the sights, smells and sounds assailing him, tugging at his awareness like a petulant child. Focusing ahead, Nanami began trawling, edging his way slowly and meticulously forward. Glancing up he saw Yuuji take a break from dancing and lean nonchalantly against the railing, sipping an iced drink, alert to what was happening on stage. Shoulders brushed and slid across his, Nanami’s height allowing him a fairly good view over the majority of the people around him.

And so it was that he felt it again, that sharp, tingling touch of poison, dangerous and chemical on the tongue, like the scent of paint-thinner that hung in the air of empty buildings. He turned towards the source, concealed eyes searching through the throng of people. Something was definitely here. Something cunning, something with a sinister awareness that slid away from the edges of one’s perception. Feeling the tension coil within his frame, Nanami pressed on.

Ryooo – riiiiii. Ryoutaaaaa. Ryo. Ryyyyo.

It rolls so nicely off the tongue. So sweet, so sweet. A sticky fruit candy on a hot summer’s day.

He’s up there, for all of us to see. Our eyes are crawling all over him, like many, many spotlights. How precious he is. Precious as a little pearl.

He’s definitely better than all the others. Gino was a looker, oh yes, but … there was something missing. That innocent little boy act? It got old so, so quickly. Yawn. And Kiko was great too, but then he couldn’t handle the fame and went away for a while. Ick. So uncool. But Ryooooo-riiiiii. Oh, Ryo-ri. He’s … different. He owns the stage.

His hair is shiny as tinsel under those lights, and his eyes! Oh, his blue eyes are focused and so, so dreamy. And look, look at his shirt. So translucent with sweat. Delicious.

Ryooutaaaaa. Why won’t he look this way? It’s so unfair. If he could just see me … maybe he’d be the one who wouldn’t be able to look away. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

Tiny little trickles of sweat, from his brow and upper lip. How nice if he could wipe it away and smile, right into my eyes, with that look. That look. The one in his photos, the one that makes me feel so … present. So solid. Oh yes, Ryo-ri is perfect. He’ll do.

Last month, his sneakers were orange. Orange! Imagine, such a bright, garish colour. But Ryo-ri makes it work, somehow. He always looks so tasty. Nobody can pull off orange shoes like Ryo-ri.

But, but, what’s this? Who? Who’s here?

Is someone here to stop me? I won’t let that happen. Who is it? They can try, hahahaha! Nobody has stopped me before and they won’t now.

Wait … something’s different. Something is searching. Careful now. This doesn’t feel like anything good. I feel eyes, but different. And a presence. A strong one. Who, who is it? Where? Careful.

There! I see him. He’s coming this way. I can’t let him … who is this anyway? How dare he. I want to crush him like a stupid little bug. Like that bitch on stage, that ugly, lying, cheating, stupid, stupid, stupid little bitch. Both of them.

He’s coming closer. No, no, I can’t let this happen. Careful. Don’t get angry. Don’t let him find us.

He’s here! He’s right here. Something’s not … he’s dangerous! Get away! He’s turning this way! I can see his face! He’s … oh.

Oh.

72 notes · View notes

chiluxotter · 9 months

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Cutlery

#lobotomy corporation #benjamin lobcorp #angela lobcorp #benjangela #angebenja #my art #someone has been listening to a certain song on repeat #/p or /r depends on your interpretation #Luci shouts about their relationship in the tags again and cries #they're so important to me

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der7py · 6 months

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Yandere pop idol x reader

Your a huge fan of a certain pop idol, Kenzie Willer. The nation calls her a heartthrob, and an absolute doll!♡ But no one knew that she was a big fan of you.

Warnings: Stalking, Slight manipulation

___________________

You had always been a huge fan of her work, she was your biggest idol! Ironic that she was a pop idol. You went to all her concerts, listened to all her albums, and bought all her mercy. You were definitely a die-hard fan

But little did you know, she was your biggest fan too. She first noticed you when she was signing autographs at her booth.

She felt her heart practically stop when she looked at you. She couldn't breathe. Did she even want to? You were the reason she could even breathe. She practically stumbled over her words as she signed your poster, adding a heart at the end of her name like she did with the rest of her posters.

After that moment, she wanted to know everything about you. Your favorite color, favorite place to eat, where you slept at night, what school you went to, ect.

She forced her managers to find all of your social media accounts so she could stalk make sure you were doing okay and staying up to date with you and your life! ♡

After that, you started receiving free stuff. A favorite plushie? On your front door step. Tickets to that movie you wanted to see? Right there in your mailbox. You even started winning tickets to her concerts! How lucky were you?

___________________

You were so pumped! You had just won free tickets to see your favorite pop idols concert! The package even came with free merchandise of hers that you were definitely wearing. Everyone screamed and cheered as she came out on stage, waving at the crowd and blowing kisses. She was truly the nation's heartthrob. She even made eye contact with you! She blew a kiss right at your direction, before starting to sing.

Her voice swayed the whole crowd, everyone singing with her while jumping up and down. This was her newest album, "Bitter Love." The album was about unrequited love, which struck you deep in your chest. You knew what it was like to chase after someone who didn't love you, and didn't even know that you existed. You had listened to it on repeat, finding comfort in the album.

"Alright, everybody! For our next song, I want one of you to come sing it with me!" She yelled, a thousand hands, including yours, shooting up into the air. She looked around, tapping her finger on her chin before pointing at you with a smile. "You! Yes, you! Come up on here, sweetheart!" You were jumping for joy as three big burly bodyguards helped you towards the stage, envious looks thrown your way. But you didn't care. You got to meet your biggest idol!

The entire time you're on stage singing with her, she's touching you in some way. Either it is a hand around your waist, hand on your shoulder, or her body simply pressing against yours. She nearly passed out with how close you two were. You've never had more fun in your life than this very moment.

___________________

Everyone knows that Kenzie is extremely affectionate, so it doesn't bother you when her hands are all over you. After the song is over, she hands you a seashell and kisses your cheek, leaving a pink lipstick stain on your cheek.

As her big burly bodyguards escort you down, you flip the seashell over to see her number, with the words call me in cursive writing. You can feel your heart speed-up.

Obviously, after the concert is over, you call her, I mean, who wouldn't? A fucking pop idol is interested in you. Why wouldn't you immediately call her after?

You two kick it off immediately. She has so much in common with you! And she's always so supportive and sweet towards you. You're honestly surprised she shares the same interests with you. You never expected someone like her to even have one thing in common with you.

Kenzie's thrilled. She finally has you in her grasp, and she's never letting you go either. You're a little fly stuck in her huge spider web.

But don't worry, sweetheart, the web is nice and soft for your pretty little head. And she'll make sure you're nice and cozied up in her silk.

#yandere #yandere character #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #female yandere #female yandere x reader

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milkgemini · 2 years

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Come Over

Pairing: Jake Kiszka X f!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: the fluffiest of smut 🥹 soft!jake, unprotected sex, fingering/oral (f receiving), 18+ minors DNI! A/N: ok i don’t usually write soft jake but i had to for my baby girl @gretavanbear. I listened to this song on repeat as i wrote this. i highly suggest tuning in! (just listen to the lyrics ok) i hope y’all like it :’)

“A Storm Weather Advisory has been issued along and north of I-78. Wind will also be a factor Wednesday, with gusts of up to 50 mph along the coast, and 30-35 mph inland.”

The voice of the woman reporting the weather forecast on your TV echoes in the background as you fold your laundry in the living room, on the phone with your best friend.

The two of you spent most nights on the phone, listening to each other carrying out mundane tasks. Just appreciating the other’s presence on the opposite side of the phone.

“Hear that, Jake?” You call over to your phone laying on the couch.

“What?” He responds.

“Gonna be a storm tonight they’re saying. Looks like it’s gonna be a bad one.” You warn him.

“Hmm, you’ll be alright.��

You and Jake had been graced with the most beautiful friendship since the 7th grade. Now in your 20s, he’s still your “go-to” for everything. The first person you call after receiving good news, the one you base your weekend plans around. The last thought on your mind before you go to bed, still taking up your thoughts the second you open your eyes in the morning.

He knew everything about you. Including your ridiculous fear of thunder and lightning. Ever since you were a kid, the sound of the thunder nearing closer, shaking the walls of your house. It was your own personal nightmare.

There was one thing Jake was unaware of about you. Something you weren’t even sure of yourself. Your entire friendship with Jake had been just that… friends. But there was a certain feeling you experienced in the pit of your stomach everytime your eyes landed on him as you met up. That first glance at him as he approached you, whether it be over dinner or picking you up to go on a drive and listen to the new music he discovered that week.

Deny. Deny. Deny.

You had watched him go through girl after girl. Years of listening to him tell you the quirks about the girl of the week, just to watch him with another one the following weekend. For some reason, it didn’t affect you as much as you’d expected. You’d known nothing else but friendship with Jake. Your denial of the true feelings you had for him had taken over your brain. Pushing the thoughts so far back, you pretended they never existed in the first place.

“Where are you going?” You asked him with a smirk on your face. Figuring he’d have plans with someone tonight. He always had plans.

“Huh?” His voice sounded far away from the phone.

“It sounds like you’re in the car. Going somewhere?” You prodded.

“Oh. Just driving. Not much going on tonight.”

Jake lived about 35 minutes from your apartment. Neither of you cared about taking the drive. The times you drove to Jake’s place felt like 5 minutes in the car. But the trek home felt like 5 hours. Back to your apartment. Where you lived alone, the scent of him still lingering on your clothes. Sometimes you’d lay in bed and catch yourself inhaling his aroma on your sweater from when he hugged you goodbye.

And there it was. The first crack of thunder. You’d remember from middle school someone telling you if you counted how many seconds between the flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder, that’s how many miles away the storm was. Whether that was true or not, who knows.

It had been drizzling the entirety of the time you had been on the phone with Jake. As you carried your basket of clean folded clothes to your bedroom, you rested your phone on top, Jake listening on the other side.

You began to take the clothes out of the basket and place them in their known spots in your room. This one goes in the bottom drawer. This one is meant to be hung on a hanger in the closet.

There was one window in your bedroom. You always kept the blinds up, enjoying the sunlight that washed over your space in the morning. The rain began to smack against the side of your window, followed by a strong howl of wind causing the tree outside to brush up against your apartment building.

Distracting yourself with laundry was the best way to avoid the anxiety that started to creep up in your stomach as you heard the storm coming undone outside.

You pulled out the top drawer of your dresser and began to place your underwear and socks in their correct spots, always priding yourself for your organization skills.

Complete darkness. Accompanied by the sound of every electronic device in your house powering down.

“Shit. Jake?” You called for him.

“Yeah?” You heard the engine of his car revving in the background.

“My fucking power just went out. Fuck!” Grabbing your phone to turn on the flashlight, you scurried around your room. Finding your lighter and beginning to bring a flame to every candle you could find.

He didn’t respond.

You checked your phone to make sure you still had service.

4 bars.

“Hello? Jake, can you hear me?” Your voice had a whine to it. You hated being alone, especially during a blackout from the storm.

You jumped out of your skin as you heard a knock at your door.

“Jake, please answer me. There’s someone at my door now!” You rushed down the hall to peek around the corner, trying your best to see who was there at this time of night in this weather.

“Just come to the door please.” The sound of pouring rain muffled his voice on the phone.

You felt the smile spread across your face at the sound of his voice confirming he was at your front door.

Unlocking the door, you swing it open to him. Your arms immediately reaching out to welcome his embrace.

“Jake! You came…” you didn’t care if he was soaking wet, nuzzling your face against his chest. He was just what you needed right now to bring you back down to earth, away from your worries.

“You called.” He smoothed the hair on the back of your head.

“I’ve been heading your way since you caught on to the fact I was in the car.” He broke away from the embrace, looking down at you with a warm smile.

You blushed to yourself, giving him a quick laugh under your breath, avoiding his eyes. Why were you nervous right now? He’s your best friend.

“Thank you, Jake. I mean it. I really appreciate you being with me right now. You know how I get wi-“ you were rambling on.

“The storm. I know.” As if he could read your mind.

“Yeah..” you trailed off. Slightly embarrassed of your juvenile fear.

“Got another lighter? I’ll help.” He followed you to the kitchen as you searched your drawers.

You handed him the white BIC lighter. He scanned it in his hand.

“Aren’t these bad luck?” He said with a laugh.

“I don’t even care at this point. I just don’t want to be in the dark anymore.” You whined to him.

“24 years old and she’s still scared of the dark.” He teased.

You rolled your eyes at him even though he couldn’t see it.

On your tippy toes, you tried your best to reach for the final candle that sat atop your kitchen cabinets. In the darkness, you heard his footsteps approach from behind.

“Here, I got it.” His back pressed against yours as he reached for the white candle above.

As he held it in front of the two of you to light it, you caught a glimpse of his face behind the flame. His brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to get the flame to catch the wick.

His eyes lifted to yours, a smirk beginning to form on his face as he caught you already looking at him.

“What?” His voice came out as a chuckle.

The candle was lit, and he placed it on the counter top.

“Nothing… I-“ you tucked your hair behind your ear, a nervous habit of yours that of course Jake was aware of.

“Spit it out then.” He egged you on.

“I just really appreciate you coming here.” Your voice whispered soft, a hint of nerves behind them.

With his back pressed against the counter top, he pushed off of it to step closer to you.

The darkness of your lifeless apartment was accompanied by the warm glow of every candle you owned. The golden light reflecting off each of your features.

As he stepped closer to you, he grabbed your arm at your elbow.

“I care about you.” His voice was raspy but soft at the same time. The sound of it traveling through your ears caused you to melt each time.

He took another step. Now toe to toe with you in the middle of your kitchen.

You could feel your heartbeat thumping in your ears.

“I know.” You replied to him, trying your hardest not to show how bad your nerves were affecting you right now.

“I don’t think you do.” His hand was rubbing against the skin of your arm, goosebumps following his touch.

You tilted your head at him in confusion.

His eyes fell to the floor as he continued to rub against your arm, inhaling deeply and blowing the air out of his mouth.

“I care about you. A lot.” He finally replies, eyes meeting yours again.

“I care about you too, Jake. A lot.” Your teeth shone through your wide smile as you locked your gaze with him.

The pad of his thumb found your jawline and traced the outline of it. Your knees felt as if they were going to give out. You watched his face as his eyes were trained on where his skin met yours.

“Can I show you?” He whispered to you, eyes flicking back to meet yours.

“Show me what, Jake?” You questioned him, unable to read his thoughts.

He leaned closer to you. His forehead pressing against you. His nose slotted next to yours. You worried he would be able to hear your quick breathing.

“Let me show you how much I care about you.” He pinched your chin with his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your head up to him.

It felt as if time had frozen. In this moment; here you were. Your best friend of years a breath away from your lips.

His lips were parted and the bottom of his teeth peeked through.

You watched his lips until you couldn’t anymore. Your gaze interrupted by the plush feeling of his mouth pressed to yours. He kissed you soft and sweet. His hand leaving your jawline only to replace his touch to your cheek. He cupped the side of your face as if to hold you against him forever. He never wanted this moment to end.

The butterflies in your stomach were so powerful they almost hurt. Your mind had turned to mush, lost to your entire being surrounded by Jake.

You felt him. You smelled his deep cologne. You heard his lips smack against yours.

From the grip he had on your cheek, you knew he wanted more, but was afraid to step any further.

You answered his silent pleas, slightly parting your lips to invite his tongue inside.

He lightly touched the tip of your tongue with his. You answered his call by sliding yours against the flat of his tongue. You felt his quiet moans travel into your mouth and down your throat.

His hand left its placement on your cheek to find your hip. He tightened his grip around you, squeezing the skin above your bone.

The kiss deepened. Mouths open wider. Lips slick and swollen.

A song from your phone, on repeat since Jake got there, faintly played in the background of the noises of your lips meeting together.

“Lover you should’ve come over. Cause it’s not too late”

You picked up on the lyric and huffed a breath of laughter in between kisses.

He parted his lips from yours and pressed his forehead against you, catching his breath. Your eyes scanned over his features before you grasped his fingers and led him down the hall to your room.

The heels of his boots clicked as he followed you down the hardwood floor.

You entered the room first. He swiftly wrapped you in his arms, turning to press you against the bedroom door, shutting it with a click.

You embraced his weight pushing you against the door as he continued the kiss with an open mouth. Inhaling sharply and exhaling out of his nose against your cheek.

Your fingertips grazed along his chest. Following down the buttons of his shirt until you reached the hem of it. You tucked both of your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, dipping past underneath his underwear, feeling his warm skin against your icy finger tips. He inhaled sharply through gritted teeth at your cold touch.

Your fingers ran along the band of his briefs until they met in the middle to reach the button of his jeans. His hips bucked towards your touch as you poked the button through the hole and began to pull his zipper down.

“Wait.” He broke the kiss from you.

“I- I’m sorry did I-“ you were embarrassed thinking you went too far.

“Before we do this. I need to be honest with you.” You felt his stare burn into your eyes, petrified at what was to come next.

You nodded at him, begging him to continue with his thoughts.

“If we do this…” he stroked the back of his hand against your cheek, “I can’t just be your friend anymore.”

You opened your mouth to respond but he cut you off.

“I think, I-“ he punctuated his sentence with a groan of frustration.

“Jake. Please, let me in. Whatever you’re about to say I can take it. If you don’t wan-“ he interrupted you once more.

“I’m in love with you.”

You felt as if the air had been stolen from your lungs. As if he’d punched you in the gut and kissed it better.

You started to feel a lump growing, burning in the back of your throat.

Before you could let the tears form, you grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him forward to meet his lips with yours once more. Kissing him with fervor, begging his tongue to visit yours again.

He guided you to the bed with his hands on your hips, placing you down softly once he realized the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, never once breaking his lips from yours.

As your head hit the pillow, you tore away from him.

“I love you too, Jake. Always have.” You stared up at him with a gleam in your eye.

He brushed the hair from your face and responded.

“Always will.” You felt the smile on his lips as he kissed you again.

His fingertips began to trace the outline of your body, down your side to your hips.

“Let me be sweet to you. Show you how long I’ve felt this way.”

With your hand still wrapped around the back of his neck, you nodded up to him, signaling him to continue.

He smiled back at you in response. His body moving down away from you. You missed his lips already.

His face was so close to the skin of your tummy. You felt his hot breath against it as he moved.

He placed a single kiss to your hip bone before curling his fingers around the waistband of your sweat pants.

Before he did anything else, he looked up to you to ask for permission.

“May I?” A hint of smirk in his tone. He knew the answer to his question.

“Please” you whimpered back to him, the slightest buck of your hips towards him.

He slipped the pants down your legs, pulling them over your feet with the most gentle touch.

With the bottom half of your body bare, your nerves began to creep back in, clamping your legs shut.

“Relax for me.” His words were the remedy. You immediately felt the tension of your muscles relax, letting your legs fall to the side, spreading for him.

He glanced at your center, and if you weren’t staring intently you would have missed it as his eyes widened for a split second.

His soft lips kissed up the inside of your thigh. Inching slowly to where you needed him the most.

“You don’t understand…” he planted another kiss, so close, “how long I’ve dreamt of this.”

His words alone caused your hips to raise from the mattress, a strained moan breaking from you.

He could tell how bad you wanted his mouth, and he couldn’t wait to taste you either.

You felt his lips press gently against the skin above your clit.

He flattened his tongue to lick against your folds. Not yet licking them apart to taste your wet skin.

Your fingers tangled into his long brunette locks. Bunching them at the root.

Jake loved the feeling of you tugging at his hair. He dreamed of one day being able to feel that pleasure mixed with pain.

He pointed his tongue to lick through your folds. Finally feeling him against your heat. You sucked in a sharp breath and he rolled it over your clit.

He swirled his tongue around it, not exactly touching it but teasing.

You whined for him, pressing his face deeper into you.

“Please.” You breathed out.

He groaned against you, the vibrations of his gravelly voice sending a chill down your spine.

The tip of his tongue flicked over your sensitive bud, exactly where you craved him.

He flicked it over you again and again, each tightened grasp of your hand in his hair spurring him on.

He listened to your moans, dragging his middle finger down the side of your lower lips as he continued to lick against you.

You lifted your hips to meet him. The pad of his middle finger circled around your wet entrance.

He pushed the digit inside, retracting it slowly allowing you to feel every second of it.

He gave open mouthed kisses to your clit, curling his lips around you and sucking lightly.

He felt your walls clench around his finger, begging him to never leave from inside of you.

As he pulled his middle finger out, he added his ring finger next.

You felt the cold touch of the ring he was wearing press against your lower lips.

He rested his face against the inside of your thigh, extending his tongue to quickly lick against you as he pumped his fingers inside.

“Jake!” Your voice was strained. He could tell you were close. He wanted nothing more than to feel you come undone against his mouth.

“You are so beautiful.” He moaned against your wet skin.

He was gentle with you. Taking in every twitch of your thighs and every gasp of air.

He made love to you with his mouth, enjoying this just as much as you were.

You felt the rim of your entrance begin to quiver, that familiar warm feeling budding between your hips.

He looked up at you as he continued to lick you to climax.

The moment your eyes met his, you lost yourself to him.

Your body was tingling from your head to your feet. Your toes curling behind him.

You snapped your head back, pressing it harder into the pillow as you let your moans wail into the room.

He softly licked you through your orgasm. Grounding you back to earth with him.

He crept back towards you to meet your lips. Never rushing you, kissing you slowly to allow you to feel all of him against you.

“I’d taste you everyday if you’d let me.” He breathed into you between kisses.

With your mouth still on his, you tugged at his underwear, showing him you wanted them off.

He stood from the bed. Kicking his boots off, he then tugged his jeans past his hips before attending to his underwear. You caught a glimpse of the damp spot on his gray briefs from where he’d leaked with arousal onto them.

You groaned at the sight, pulling them down before he could even get his feet out of his jeans. He chuckled to himself at your needy actions.

With his bottom half now bare as well, he climbed back onto the bed with you, slotting between your legs, his knees pressing into the mattress.

His arms were stretched out straight, planted on either side of your head. He looked down at you. The necklaces he adorned swinging against his chest. The tips of his long hair tickled your cheeks.

A tight grin spread across his face.

For a second, you took him in. Realizing how gentle he was with you. Giving you pleasure first, never rushing a single second with you. Making you feel so safe.

You smiled to yourself at your own thoughts, reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear, playing with the gold hoop he wore.

“I meant it.” You whispered to him.

He tilted his head in confusion.

You swept your thumb across his cheek and traced the outline of his lips.

“I love you, Jacob.” You smiled sweetly as your eyes locked with his.

His lips crashed into yours. Subconsciously, his hips rutted against you, feeling his length slide through your folds.

You broke from the kiss to press your lips to his ear and whisper to him.

“Make love to me, Jake.”

He groaned in response to you.

Kissing you once more, he inhaled sharply against your skin.

He gripped the base of his length, guiding his tip to your entrance.

He slid deeper inside of you, his lips remaining locked with yours.

As he reached the hilt, you detached from him, unable to bottle up your moans any longer.

He pulled out slowly to glance down at where your bodies met.

Your wetness glistened up the length of his cock. He twitched at the sight, pushing back into you with force.

He watched as your body bounced against the mattress with every thrust into you.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt him begin to stretch your walls.

He leaned back into you. His head tucked into the crook of your neck as you graced his ears with your sweet moans of pleasure.

He grunted against you with every thrust.

He lowered himself to lay on his forearms, as he planted gentle kisses against your neck, breathing deep to take in your scent.

He gripped the side of your head, pressing it against his. The palm of his hand laid against you as his fingers wrapped into your hair.

As his pace quickened, his fingers curled into your hair. Short quick breaths being pushed from him against your neck.

The wave of pleasure was creeping back to you. You felt yourself clench around him.

A high pitched moan tumbled forward from him at the feeling of your walls tugging at his length.

Your hands found the smooth skin of his back, snaking your fingers up his shirt, you scraped your fingernails down his spine.

You turned your head to whisper in his ear.

“Inside, Jake. Cum inside of me, please.”

He lost it with the way you begged for him.

He concentrated on the way your wetness coated around his length, dripping out onto your lower lips.

He sat up and leaned against his heels. His palms gripping your hips tightly. He used his hold on you to drive into you harder.

Your jaw fell open, eyes clenched shut and brows furrowed as you felt the tip of his cock brush against your cervix.

He sucked his thumb between his lips before attaching it to your clit. He pressed against it, swirling the pad of his finger into you.

Your hips left the bed up towards his touch as pleasure coursed through you.

You moaned in bliss as you came undone, your walls fluttering around him.

He bent down to press his lips against you, pushing himself as far as he could inside of you.

Your tongue swiped against his, and you felt him twitch deep inside.

He gripped your hair at the root as you felt him fill you with his cum. He fucked you through it, feeling his warmth leak out onto your comforter below you.

His thrusts slowed as he planted soft kisses over your face. He hovered over you as he pulled himself out from inside you for the last time. You felt a pang of sadness in your chest, missing his fullness already.

He kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose, finally sealing with a kiss to your lips.

Jake adjusted his body to lay next to you, his chest halfway on yours, halfway on the bed. The pad of his thumb swept across your cheek bone.

He lifted his head from next to you to look directly at you, noses almost touching. You felt his chest press against yours as he breathed in and out.

“I want you to be mine.” His voice was a whisper.

You tucked your bottom lip so tight between your teeth, the corners of your mouth tipping up.

He registered your response and pressed a chaste kiss against your lips.

“All mine. My sweet girl.”

Taglist: @gretasimp @writingcold @wowkakashi @spark-my-nature

#jake kiszka #jakekiszka #jake kiszka gvf #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka one shot #jake kiszka x reader #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet fan fiction #gretavanfleet #greta van fleet #gvf smut #gvf fanfic #gvf fanfiction #jake gvf

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manynarrators · 1 month

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When I say this song has fundamentally changed how I hc the Devils Minions 70s/80s breakup to have gone down! I’ve been listening to it in repeat for days trying to figure out all my thoughts about it.

So I know as a fandom, the general thought is that Armand is the one to call it quits. Which, you know, makes sense as the person with the memory erasing powers. But if I may play devils advocate (yes, pun intended) what if it was Daniel to break up with him?

Hear me out, because I have logic, that also helps double as why I think the show making him a drug addict and not just an alcoholic is an absolutely inspired choice. It’s not even just the fun irony that Armand had the funky golden eyes. (Or the “then you wake up next to a monster” line being incredibly literal in his case!)

My first thing, is that Armand, historically, is never the primary driver resulting in major changes in his life. See: slavers, Marius, Lestat, Louis, Daniel in Dubai— so it makes sense it was Daniel back then too. If Armand had the prerequisite character development to make those choices on his own, it wouldn’t be Daniel in Dubai. Therefore, it’s logical to assume the same was true then.

But why, you might ask, would Daniel break up with Armand? Two interrelated reasons. Daniel is an addict, either with drugs or for vampire blood. It’s also really hard to get clean if you don’t change your circumstances in any way. The people are the same, the habits, the spaces… super easy to fall back into it.

Armand is both the toxic situation encouraging use, and also the drug itself. It’s enabling him, even if he does also try and take care of him. But how does he help? By giving him more blood because of its healing affects which just keeps the whole process alive. It feels good to be on it, and bad to be off, even if it is, ultimately harmful.

The breakup as Daniel attempting to get clean and turn his life around— and to do that, he can’t have Armand there.

If Daniel were the one to break up with him, it could also help explain why Armand’s emotions about him during the interview are both… characterized by the fond looks and attempts to soften some of the things Louis does (eg. the Parkinson’s moment) but also some more upset moments. This is someone who left him.

Armand, about Louis says he asked for his memories to be removed, what if it’s the same case here? Daniel asks for it, because he thinks it will be easier to get and stay clean if he can’t remember the addiction in the first place (it doesn’t work as well as he might hope).

Cut to Daniel being turned as falling off the wagon. Not only has he relapsed, but he, in some way, metaphorically overdoses. Vampirism does kill the person it’s given to, fifty years clean and he dies from it in the end.

Also, listen to the song and tell me it doesn’t work! Like there’s so many lines that are perfect, and if anyone wants, I would totally make another post just going through the song with a fine tooth comb as seen through a “Devils Minion breakup as getting clean” analytical lens. (I would be lying if I said I wasn’t working on a DM breakup playlist).

I am certain there’s more thoughts I am forgetting here, but tldr: Devils Minion as getting clean, and Daniel asks for Armand to erase his memories.

#devils minion #armandiel #armandaniel #daniel molloy #the vampire armand #armand #armand/daniel #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire #tw: drugs #mute the sound|out of character #Spotify

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valiantstarlights · 1 year

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[Urban Fantasy Spy AU] Try to Hide Your Hand

Agent Hob Gadling and Tech Officer Dream Endless go on a mission together to extract Agent Ethel Cripps from Fawney Rig.

This is a @dreamlingforukraine fic commission for @seiya-starsniper. ✨️ Thank you for your generosity and your patience 🙇‍♀️ Sorry I went kinda crazy with this. But I had a lot of fun worldbuilding, so 😂

The title is from the song, "You Know My Name" by Chris Cornell, which is the theme song for the James Bond (Craig) film, Casino Royale.

CW: Dark themes because the Burgesses and their goons are the scum of the earth. There will be murder and noncon pet play, but the noncon is only on Burgess and Co.'s part. Dream and Hob are communicating with each other all the time and everything is consensual between the two of them. I promise there's gonna be fluffy fluff in the end. 🙏

Hob sits with his legs spread open, Dream kneeling between them, his dark head of hair resting against the junction of Hob's pelvis and thigh, and he hates it.

To be clear, he doesn't hate Dream. Not right now, anyway.

No, it's the situation they're in that he hates in particular right now.

Agent Ethel Cripps, The Agency's undercover spy assigned to monitor and report on the Burgesses, reached out to Head Office less than a month ago and said she wanted out. She has requested that she be extracted ASAP.

'I'm pregnant,' she said in her encrypted voice mail. She sounded so near to tears that it moved Hob's heart when he first heard her message. 'I want to get out of here.'

According to her file, Agent Cripps has demon blood. It's weak enough that she doesn't have the same strengths and weaknesses as her ancestors, but she still retained the classic half-demon appearance. Her file included a photo of her: a young blonde woman with delicate curving white horns complementing her short bob. She had been smiling in her picture.

Hob hasn't gone on to a mission with her yet since she's only been with The Agency for less than a century, but he heard that she was good at her job, feeding The Agency rare but important information about the Burgesses' human and creature trafficking schedules, resulting in many successful rescue operations.

Thus, her case was deemed urgent and important enough for The Agency to send in two of their best to extract her: a field agent to be the face and the muscle, and a tech officer to make sure the three of them get in and out safely without setting off any alarms, potentially leave listening bugs behind or retrieve important documents, and arrange for transportation, accommodations, and other essential minutiae.

Unfortunately, the two people assigned to take on the mission are Hob Gadling and Dream Endless, and everyone who has been in The Agency for more than a couple of years know that the two of them do not exactly get along.

More unfortunately, they have to pose as a human master and their half-other pet, because it's the standard within the Burgess family. Roderick has his own pet, and so does his remaining son. And so does everyone who is anyone within their ranks.

All half-other pets have either been trafficked from somewhere or were born in captivity. They're effectively modern day slaves.

Hob (a full human with an immortality mutation) has been working for The Agency for around 600 years now. But he remembers the day that certain bombshell was dropped on him and Dream.

Dream (a half-eldritch being along with his siblings, and who has been working for The Agency for longer than Hob has been alive) had sat so still on his side of the table that he could have been mistaken for a statue.

Hob had immediately protested. Slavery of all kinds repulses him, and though he dislikes Dream's guts, he would not have him act as someone lesser than him. Having had to go undercover as a slaver in the 1700s had been his worst mission, and he would rather not repeat the experience.

Death, Dream's older sister and their direct superior, listened to his tirade patiently, before telling him that other avenues have been considered; of course they have. But going undercover as a human master and his half-other pet is the one avenue that guarantees the highest chance of success.

All they had to do is show up at one of the Burgesses' casinos, have Hob win enough rounds with Dream as his 'companion,' commit enough violence where cameras are located, and they would soon be invited to Fawney Rig. Once there, Hob will be invited to play against the captains and the lieutenants. He'll have to win until they get into the same game as Agent Cripps and her human master.

Agent Cripps had not disclosed just who her human master is, which leads The Agency to believe that it might be either Roderick or Randall Burgess. Hob is going to have to win a bazillion games.

"If it's the games you are worried about," Dream said, speaking to him for the first time since they entered the room, "you need not worry. I can count cards, and have quite the skill for card games. We will, of course, have to devise a reliable method of nonverbal signals between the two of us so we can communicate with each other without saying a word; but it shouldn't be too difficult."

"Yeah," Hob spat at him. "Because that's the thing I'm most worried about."

Dream had frowned at him and said, quite stupidly, in Hob's opinion, "What else are you worried about, then?"

Hob had scoffed in disbelief, stood up, excused himself, and headed straight to The Agency's training salles to let out some steam. He imagined he was punching Roderick and Randall Burgess's faces, all the while cursing the day Dream was dropped on his head as a baby because that is the only reasonable explanation why he can be so fucking stupid.

He must have been at it for an hour when he realized that Dream was in the same room as him. He wondered how long the man had been standing there.

"What do you want?" he snapped. He didn't mean to. He's just so, so mad. At Lord Time and Lady Night. Who must have dropped Dream as a child for a minimum of fifty times. "You here to tell me the mission is important? Because yeah, I know."

"I'm here to remind you of your duty to The Agency," Dream told him. "I was under the impression that you didn't need any reminding, and yet, here we are."

Hob snorted and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. "Yeah, right." Like Dream would stoop so low as to take time out of his day to find where Hob is just to insult him. "What's the real reason you're here?"

Dream fidgeted minutely. Anyone else wouldn't have noticed, but Hob did. "I have agreed to go on this mission," he said, "and I would like for you to be my partner."

For a moment, it was so silent in the salles that a pin drop would have sounded like a gunshot.

"You fucking what?" Hob demanded. "Why the fuck would you agree? And why in god's name do you want me to be your partner?"

'You hate my guts,' he didn't say. 'You'd rather go down ten flights of stairs than share an elevator ride with me.'

Dream let out a laborious sigh, like Hob is being the stupid one here. "The mission will require my partner to be indifferent and occasionally cruel to me. I had thought that it would be an easy task for you."

Hob was actually getting a headache from this. "You thought it would be easy-- Dream. You know that kind of play has to be consensual, right? And maybe that's not how Burgess and his goons do it, but it's how it's done, normally. Please tell me you know that."

Dream pursed his lips, no doubt offended by Hob's perceived slight to his intelligence. Whatever. Hob was already so fucking tired. "Would you rather another tech officer accompany you on this mission, then?"

Hob immediately thought of Eleanor, but just as quickly dismissed it. He and Eleanor dated a while back in the 1500s, but she was married now, and going on this mission would be weird for them both. But he's not going to tell Dream all of that, so instead he asked a question of his own. "What about you? Wouldn't you rather go on this mission with another field agent you actually get along with?"

Specifically, Hob was thinking of Corinthian (who is a vampire? Hob isn't sure), who oozes sex appeal every second of his life, and was Dream's favorite field agent for always returning tech in repairable conditions, even if he has to lose an occasional eye for it.

Or heck, maybe even Shaxberd, that stuck-up, mousy-looking simp (who is definitely a were-sewer rat). Hob didn't think he'd do a good job playing as Dream's human master believably, though.

"No," Dream said to his shoes. "You are...adequately competent in what you do, and data shows that the two of us working on this mission together would result in a higher chance of success. It is why my sister called for us in the first place."

Hob mouthed 'adequately competent' to himself and incredulously shook his head. "That might be the nicest thing you ever said to me in 600 years, and I still feel insulted."

"Good," Dream quipped. "You should be grateful I didn't give you any more praise than that, else your head become too big to fit through The Agency's doors."

Christ. Hob could already see how many headache pills he's going to have to take if he goes on this mission with Dream.

Not that he has already decided to go.

"Fine," Hob said, and turned his back on Dream to face the training dummy again. Time to wallop Dream's parents for child abuse once more. "I'll think about it."

"Think quickly," Dream said, and also turned to leave. "That is, if you can manage to do so without hurting yourself."

Just to spite him, Hob immediately called Death and agreed to be Dream's partner as soon as Dream left the salles.

And now, a couple of weeks later, in the dungeon below Fawney Rig, Dream is on his knees between Hob's legs, wearing only a black diaphanous robe and bejewelled chains, both functional and decorative, breathing on Hob's (still) clothed dick (thank god), while Hob plays with Roderick and Randall Burgess, along with five of their most trusted advisors. Two have already lost, and they have gone up to their rooms to lick their wounds and perhaps take their anger out on their pets.

Everyone had laughed when Randall shared that thought, and Hob did too, even if he felt sick to his stomach while doing so.

Hob takes a deep breath as subtly as he can. Roderick Burgess is sitting on his immediate right, and he supposes it means that he's sitting in a place of honor, regardless of how dubious that honor is. Next to Roderick is his son Randall, next to Randall is an empty seat where one of the advisors who lost had been sitting, and next to the empty chair is the machine that serves as the croupier.

Hob is surprised the croupier is not a sentient being, but he supposes that even advisors cannot be trusted not to cheat. The game, really, is how best to cheat without seeming to, and so far, Hob thinks he's winning.

Because Hob, personally? He's not that good at cards.

But Dream? Dream is a goddamn shark, and it is only thanks to him that Hob even got this far.

On the other side of the croupier sits an elegant old East Asian woman named Mrs. Chu, to her right is an empty chair where another advisor who lost had been sitting, next to that is a large bruiser of a man named Mr. Melendez, next to him is a walrus-looking guy named Mr. Wallace, and on his right is Hob, who had been going by Mr. Rupert Gadlen for the past couple of weeks.

And of course, all the pets are either on their knees on the floor, or on their master's lap. Dream had signalled to Hob that he'd rather be kneeling on the floor, and Hob signalled an 'okay' back, even as he made a lewd comment to get Dream to drop on his knees.

The group had laughed warmly at him, thinking that he really is one of them. Hob had immediately signalled his apology to Dream right after he sat down.

Also, it turns out, Agent Cripps is posing as the pet of Roderick Burgess himself. So that's fun. She's sitting on his lap with her back towards them, and Hob doesn't know how they're going to signal each other what the plan is, but Dream signalled him to leave it up to him, and so Hob did.

He trusts Dream.

They might dislike each other for a multitude of reasons going back 600 years, but he trusts him when it comes down to it. And he has trusted Dream to win all his games for the past couple of weeks, so he'll trust him this final night.

And then they'll finally be able to go back home and put this entire mess of a mission behind them.

Hob almost shot an entire room full of Fawney Rig security personnel the moment one of the guards clapped a power suppressing shackle around Dream's neck, and he's been gritting his teeth for what seems like two entire weeks straight, thinking about Dream shivering and cold and being treated poorly since this mission has started, so yeah. He's so fucking ready to complete this mission.

Preferably by shooting everyone in sight as a parting gift and burning Fawney Rig to the ground.

But he will not shoot until Dream signals him to.

And Dream has been feeding him information about the other people in the room via Morse Code to his leg during lulls in the game, so Hob knows who the biggest threats are, who is doing poorly financially and can't afford to be reckless and lose, and in what order he should shoot when Dream gives the signal.

Hob replies to Dream with a pat on the head for 'I understand,' a gentle tug on Dream's ear for 'Repeat,' and a firm squeeze on his shoulder for 'Continue?'

The 'continue' sign is mostly for the games. Hob would caress Dream's cheek and press Morse Code on his skin telling him the cards on his hand as well as the cards in the middle of the table, and Dream would squeeze his ankle once for 'yes,' and twice for 'no.'

And then there's an entire separate system on just how much money Hob should bet and how he should come off as: cocky or unsure, neutral or reckless.

Hob may be a little in love with Dream's brain as he had Hob learn all these signals before the mission. Just his brain though. Because Dream as a teacher has a lot of room for improvement. Like, an entire ballroom's worth of room.

Hob places the blame, once again, at Lord and Lady Endless's feet.

"Mr. Gadlen?"

Hob's gaze snaps to Mr. Wallace, the walrus-looking guy to his left, as the man waits for his response.

A quick glance around the table shows that no one has folded yet.

'Yes,' Dream signs. 'Raise.'

"Raise," Hob says obediently, and slides a couple more stacks of chips to the middle of the table after Dream taps out how much he should raise.

"You're pretty ballsy for a newcomer," Randall Burgess says, and pinches his pet's nipple, making them cry out in pain.

His pet is a twenty-something brown-skinned man wearing the same kind of robes as Dream, but in green. He looks miserable and drugged out of his mind, arms chained behind him, his balance on Randall's lap precarious.

Hob bares his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "Well, you know what they say: no guts, no glory."

"Indeed," Roderick Burgess says to Hob's right. For now, he seems content in ignoring Agent Cripps on his lap, and Hob hates that he's thankful for even that small mercy. "I built this family's fearsome reputation with my own two hands from the ground up, and doing so got me covered in guts."

The remaining advisors chuckles at that, and so Hob does as well.

"That sure would explain your vigor, sir," Hob dares to say. He knows beforehand that Roderick favored boldness and praise from his underlings, and Hob has met a lot of people like him in his previous missions to know just how to play him. Because Roderick might be old for a human, but Hob is many times his elder.

Roderick stares him down for a moment before laughing. Right on cue, his advisors laugh along. "I think you would do well within my ranks, Mr. Gadlen," Roderick says. "Lord knows I need more bold and competent people around me."

Hob has heard the rumors about Roderick killing his other son a couple of years prior for being 'too weak.' He doesn't wonder if it's true. He knows it is.

"I'm flattered," Hob says. "Truly, I am. But I hope you still think well of me after I steal everyone's money tonight."

This time, there were no laugh cues, because everyone genuinely laughed at his audacity.

"Oh, yeah, I like him," Randall tells his father. "I think he'd do well managing the casino in Vegas or our chop shops in Leipzig. Whip the guys into shape and possibly bring in new customers."

Roderick hums and studies Hob over Agent Cripps's shoulder. "What say you, Mr. Gadlen? Joining the Burgess family is one of the best decisions you will ever make in your life, and we don't often ask people to join."

"Why invite me, then, if you don't mind me asking?" Hob asks. "I only wanted to win some cash a couple of weeks ago, and now here I am."

"Talent," Roderick says simply. "I've learned to recognize it over the years, and you have it in spades. And other than that, we can see that your morals align with ours, and that is a rarer thing nowadays. Tell me, have you ever killed a man?"

"Yeah," Hob says. He puts a hand on Dream's shoulder, just as Dream puts one hand around his ankle. Hob ready to ask, and Dream ready to give the signal, if need be. "Brief boxing stint in my twenties. A couple of thugs tried to rob me on my way home. Showed them what they were looking for."

Randall, to Hob's disgust, had dragged his pet to sit over his crotch area and was grinding against the man's ass. "How did you kill them?" he asks breathlessly.

Hob looks straight into Randall's eyes as he says his next words. "One of them got his head bashed against a wall. The other's head I cut off using the door of a closet that someone had thrown away."

Randall moans and continues dry humping his pet. Hob does not look away or make a face, but he makes a note to make the fucker's death slow and painful. Have him bleed for hours, maybe.

"Creative," Mrs. Chu says. Her dress made her look like a glittering red insect. "And have you ever went to jail?"

Hob smiles at her. "No, ma'am. And I never sent anyone to jail either. Why let them live for years when you can take their lives away yourself? I'm not one to deprive myself of the thrill of killing."

"Good," Roderick says approvingly. "Very good. I think you're exactly what we're looking for, Mr. Gadlen." Then, unexpectedly, "All in favor of him joining us?"

As it turns out, not everyone was on board. Mr. Melendez, the bruiser type, sitting on Mr. Wallace's left and partially covered by the man's bulk, and who has mostly been keeping silent this whole time, is very much against Hob joining the Burgess family right this second.

He threw his cards on the table, slammed his fist against the table's surface, and made the chips rattle and neatly stacked chip columns fall.

Roderick looks impassively at the man, visibly angered by his previously perfectly arranged chips now a disorganized mess in front of him. "Is there a problem, Federico?"

"A problem?" Federico Melendez repeats. "The problem, Mr. Burgess, is you letting a whelp join the family out of the blue when I had to wait for years to be given an invitation. And have I not proven myself to be better than him? Am I to be replaced?"

"I remember your initiation," Randall sneers at him. "The fact that you took too long to finish only means that you are, deep down, just another weak-willed piece of trash."

This is new information, evidenced by how Dream frantically taps, 'Initiation?' against Hob's thigh.

'IDK,' Hob taps quickly. Hopefully Dream knows what that means.

"Why you snivelling brat--"

"Enough," Roderick says, and looks to Hob. "Mr. Gadlen. Kill this man and you will be considered for our initiation."

As Mr. Melendez rages at Roderick's words this time, Hob squeezes Dream's shoulder. 'Continue?'

Dream hesitates, then squeezes Hob's ankle once. 'Yes.'

Hob smiles grimly, but gamely stands up. "Sure," he says. "I don't know what initiation you're all talking about, but I'm always down to fight someone to the death." To Mr. Melendez, whose first name Hob just learned a minute ago, he says, "Sorry, man, but you heard the boss."

Hob makes quick work of it, and was nauseated to see that, upon turning away from the bloody pulp that had been Mr. Melendez, he is greeted with the sight of everyone at the table in various states of undress, all of them in compromising positions with their pets.

Thankfully, Dream is left to sit and wait for him. If anyone had tried to touch him, Hob knows he'd start shooting every sick bastard in the room regardless of Dream's lack of command.

"Excellent job, Mr. Gadlen," Roderick says from his seat, which has been pushed back to allow Agent Cripps to service him. Hob's trigger finger twitches, but he does not look away. "And what artistry. We've never seen a man so beautifully murdered."

"Never," Mr. Wallace agrees. His pet, an androgynous smoke being, is facing Hob enough that he can see their dark misty tears falling down their face.

"Now he has to go through the initiation, Father," Randall begs. His own pet is bent over, head low on the ground but fists clenched.

"Please, Roderick," Mrs. Chu says. "He will make a good replacement for Federico." Hob cannot see her pet, which he had noticed earlier was some type of dragonoid being, but that's probably for the better.

Mr. Melendez's pet, meanwhile, is currently cowering in the corner of the room. They look to be an anemone-like creature, and had curled in on themselves every time Hob landed a hit on their now deceased owner, implying that Mr. Melendez had been physically hurting them when he was still alive.

Hob bites the insides of his cheek to keep from screaming.

Soon, he tells himself. Soon, I'll rid the world of their slavers.

"Everyone in agreement?" Roderick asks the room at large.

A chorus of 'aye's were heard, and Roderick inclines his head like a benevolent god. "Then we shall commence the initiation."

"What about the game?" Hob asks as he sits back on his chair. What? He's really looking forward to stealing everyone's money (with Dream's help), and using it to fund the therapy bills of every half-other currently in Fawney Rig.

"We can continue after," Roderick assures him. "Now. The initiation."

Hob waits. He could feel Dream put his hands back on him again, ready to signal him. He places his own hand on Dream's shoulder.

"It's nothing nefarious," Roderick says, which just makes Hob certain that it absolutely is. "You need only to fornicate with your pet in front of us, orgasm, and you will be considered as one of us."

Hob stops breathing.

He's pretty sure Dream has stopped breathing as well.

But everyone was looking at him, and not at Dream at the moment, and he has to focus. "What's the catch?" he asks, feeling his heart beating against his throat. He cannot. He will not take Dream against his will.

"No catch," Mrs. Chu tells him. "But we do want a show."

"It's been a while since we've seen a good show," Mr. Wallace agrees. "Not since Randall, I believe?"

Randall laughs. "Yeah. Alex was so pathetic I had to take his pet from him." He shakes his pet's shoulder roughly. "Isn't that right, Paul?"

His pet, Paul, starts crying, and on the ground below him where his tears fell, flowers start to bloom.

Jesus Christ. Hob really is looking forward to killing every single one of them.

"Well, Mr. Gadlen?" Roderick says. "Will you give us a show?"

Hob is sure they'll kill him if he says no. He doesn't need Dream squeezing his ankle once for 'yes' to know that. But still.

'Continue?' he asks Dream.

A harder single squeeze, and he can almost hear the accompanying thought that goes with it. 'Yes, you bloody idiot!'

"Yeah, alright," Hob says. He sure fucking hope Dream knows what he's doing. "Up you get, baby."

Unbeknownst to Hob, Dream had secretly been communicating with Agent Cripps throughout the night. Ethel's long forked tail had been tapping Morse Code against Dream's foot under the table the entire time, and most of the information she gave him he had relayed to Hob.

Dream glances at Ethel now, and sees the fiery determination in her eyes. As Hob lifts him up on the table, Ethel gives him the tiniest of nods, and Dream immediately pinches Hob's arm hard.

The signal to wreak havoc.

A split second later, Dream has dived under the table as both Ethel and Hob draw their guns and kill the most important members of the Burgess family.

It barely lasted a minute.

"Thank you," Ethel says, as the three of them stand in front of the towering inferno that used to be Fawney Rig.

As soon as the last body hit the ground, Ethel had told the androgynous smoke being to teleport Hob into the remaining advisors' rooms, and Hob had done his duty and helped free those two advisors' pets as well.

And when every innocent party is safely outside, Mrs. Chu's half-dragon pet had set the mansion ablaze.

"Don't mention it," Hob tells her. Dream was a little off to the side, making phone calls to rescue personnel, while a group of a dozen or more half-other beings watch as Fawney Rig burns. Most of them were crying and holding on to each other. Hob was glad he managed to get a bunch of blankets so they could wrap themselves in it.

"No, seriously, thank you," Ethel insists. "I felt like I was going insane back there, and I hated every second that I exposed the two of you to their vile world."

"You can say that again," Hob mutters. "Christ. So Randall killed his own brother?"

Ethel looks around and steps closer to Hob. "No," she says in a low voice. "He made Paul do it. He used to be Alex's companion, but...well... It's one thing to dote on a pet and another to love them."

From within the group of half-others, Hob could see Paul with tear streaks on his face and flowers at his feet, holding onto Mrs. Chu's half-dragonoid who, Hob can see now, has a large acid burn on one side of his face.

Now, Hob never goes back to saying old curse words, but he feels like this is an appropriate time for one. "God's fucking wounds."

At this point, Dream joins them. For some reason, he steps closer to Hob than he normally would. When Hob steps back, Dream steps even closer, and gives Hob the stink-eye while doing it.

Hob doesn't know what the fuck his problem is, but he's too tired to think right now. Let Dream be weird. All he wants is to get back to headquarters and maybe eat some fries and drink a chocolate milkshake.

"Thank you for the rescue, Mr. Endless," Ethel tells Dream. For some reason, she has stepped back from Hob.

Great. Two half-others being weird.

"You are welcome," Dream says. Then, in a more gentle voice, "Will you be keeping the baby?"

"Oh, yes," Ethel says, determined. "I really want to have a baby, but I was told decades ago by The Agency doctors that I would have a hard time getting pregnant. Now that it happened, though..." She laughs, and it only sounds a little bit broken. "My child will know exactly what their father was, but I will teach them to be better. I might have hated everything I witnessed while being the elder Burgess's pet, but I'm proud of myself for managing to survive."

"Are you kidding?" Hob says incredulously. "Agent Cripps, you're a fucking badass. I was in there for six hours tops and I want to drink a gallon of brain bleach. And you lasted for years? Comic book superheroes have nothing on you. You're an actual goddess. I present thee pregnant people food at the foot of your temple."

"Stop flirting with a pregnant woman," Dream snipes beside him as Ethel laughs. It sounded lighter than her previous laugh, though, which had been Hob's goal all along.

"He wouldn't," Ethel tells Dream, her eyes twinkling. "Not when he has you."

"We're not together," Hob says, at the same time Dream says, "He does not have me."

Ethel just smiles at them. "Alright," she says, just as they spot The Agency's helicopters in the distance. "If you say so."

As soon as they drop Ethel and the rest of the half-others who had been kept as pets at Fawney Rig in Medical, Hob and Dream, without a single word, walk together towards Death's office.

Her half-phantasm secretary told them she was in, but that she is currently taking a conference call and would therefore be unavailable for at least another half hour. The secretary then told them that she was going to grab a quick midnight lunch from the cafeteria, and if they want, they could wait.

They nodded tiredly at her as she phased through a wall, and immediately slump on the long couch outside Death's office.

Or, to be more accurate, Dream goes to get a couple of hot bottled tea drinks from a nearby vending machine, bonks Hob's head with one of the bottles to make him take it, and drops gracefully beside him.

Hob, on the other hand, just straight up sits down, exhausted, and slouches like a drunk starfish, his head resting on the wall behind the couch.

As soon as he felt the warm bottle hit him gently on the forehead, he automatically grabs it, then turns his head a little to look at Dream sitting beside him.

He looks tired as well. It had been a draining, two-week long mission, and Hob doesn't think he looks any better himself.

"Do you need aftercare or something?" he asks, because they still may not like each other, but Hob has always been a caring person. And if Dream doesn't like it, then he can suck his dick. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Why, are you offering?" Dream asks. It's a testament to how tired he was that his words don't hold the usual sting in them.

Hob grins, unable to stop the fond feelings blooming in his gut and equally unable to stop the fondness from showing on his face. Fawney Rig must have truly driven him nuts. Did he really just think that Dream looks so cute when he's being bitchy?

"Maybe," he says, and Dream catches him with a smile on his face. Dammit. "Why, you wanna cuddle?"

Jesus, Gadling. Get a grip and stop running your mouth.

Dream wheezes. He sounds like a dying goat. "Perhaps," he says. His eyes are twinkling. Hob knows he shouldn't find his laugh endearing, but he does. He probably needs to go to Medical to get his head checked out. Dream gestures to Hob's lap. "May I?"

Hob knows, intellectually, that this is a very dangerous game of chicken they're playing. If they don't stop, Hob is gonna wake up one day with Dream Endless on his bed, lovely in his half-asleep state, Hob with two cups of coffee in his hands (and maybe even an entire breakfast tray heaped with food), and both of them will be wearing wedding rings.

"Sure, go ahead," Hob says, trying to look inviting and possibly only succeeding in looking like a beached jellyfish. "That is, if you're capable of not falling off on your ass."

"You will find," Dream says, as he stands up more elegantly than Hob will ever do in his life, "that I am capable of a great many things." He then plops down unceremoniously on Hob's lap and immediately cuddles up to him.

Despite his words, Hob's arms automatically hold Dream in place to prevent him from falling off. He knows he still smells like blood and gunpowder from earlier, but Dream doesn't seem to mind. "Don't fall asleep on me," he warns Dream.

"Zzzzz," Dream says, like a goddamn bee.

Hob barks out a laugh at that. He's so ridiculous, honestly. Why doesn't he know that? It has literally been centuries since they started working together. He feels like he should know that.

"I hate you," Hob tells him, but his tone is enamored and, strangely enough, having Dream on his lap like this is serving to be a great aftercare for him as well.

"You love me," Dream mumbles, already sounding half-asleep. His knees must be hurting from kneeling most of the night. Hob starts rubbing them gently, but scoffs at Dream's words.

His other hand cards gently through Dream's hair, the motion lulling them both to a deeper, more relaxed state. They're going to have to wake up before Death's secretary comes back, and then debrief with Death. But having Dream in his lap, warm and pliant, feels so good that Hob finds himself closing his eyes as well. "You wish."

'I do,' Dream thinks, before he falls asleep completely, feeling safer than he's ever felt in eons.

Death finds the two of them curled up together on the couch thirty minutes later, and discreetly takes a picture of the two before gently waking them up.

It's regrettable that they have to debrief when they are obviously exhausted, but the earlier it's done, the clearer their memory is.

Dream and Hob peaceably goes into her office and gives their report, but she does not fail to notice how Hob has yet to let go of Dream's hand upon waking. And more than that, Dream is holding Hob's hand with both of his in his own lap. Both of them seem unaware of this new development between them.

Death hides her smile behind her teacup as she sips some calming tea and allows them to continue giving their report.

Bonus:

"Agent Gadling! Do not-- oh, for goodness's sake. If you are incapacitated and captured, I will not hesitate to bench you for a century."

"A century, huh?" Hob's unfairly seductive voice says through the comms. Dream hates it. He always have. And now that Hob knows why he does, he's exploiting Dream's weakness. "You gonna tie me up in bed, too?"

A couple of other tech officers giggle at that. Dream sends a scathing glare towards them, and they quickly scurry away.

"I will tie you next to an anthill."

"Yikes," Hob says cheerfully and ducks behind a wall. "Still not sorry, though. I know you've been wanting to have a petrified pseudodragon egg, so I got you two."

Dream does not swoon. Because that would be undignified.

"You risked capture to get me a couple of petrified pseudodragon eggs," he says in his sternest voice. Not the sexy stern voice that Hob likes, but the I'm-gonna-beat-your-ass-and-send-your-soul-straight-to-Hell voice. He shakes his head. His boyfriend is just so fucking stupid sometimes. "You are aware I cannot simply sit on them to get them to hatch?"

A hail of gunfire interrupts Hob's laughter. Dream watches on the screen, heart in his throat, how Hob evades his pursuers, runs down a garbage-strewn alley, and hitches a ride on a passing delivery truck.

He lets out a breath he doesn't know he's been holding. "I hate you," Dream tells him, so he knows. He must always be reminded.

Hob, through the hidden camera pinned on his lapel, shows Dream the two jet black pseudodragon eggs he got from the villain of the week's evil lair. One of them is pure black, and the other has a line of white running down the middle of its shell. "You love me."

#urban fantasy spy AU #this is a 6k words fic (!!!)#which is definitely more than the required 2k words #dreamling #the sandman #my writing #dreamlingforukraine #good job my thumbs #the rest of my fingers also contributed so 👏👏👏#i'm very normal about this AU obviously 😂

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