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#its not relevant now but like its just sitting in my head and I gotta convey it SOMEHOW

fairyhaos · 5 months

Text

❖ let's get you to bed // kwon hoshi

requested by @phenomenalgirl9 : So its been really rainy in my city and I've been having a really huge work load cause we have a project closing soon. Can you write something with (all that and) Ramyeon + spam + kimchi + KWON HOSHI.

hoshi x gn!reader, 1.5k+ words

tags: dancer!hoshi again not rlly relevant to plot, sick fic, fluff, established relationship

warnings: food, reader is sick, pet names (baby)

notes: kinda incorporated a req into this sick fic that i wanted to write hehe. might also write another sick fic depending on if i have time,,,,

It’s a Friday. Soonyoung gets home when it’s well past 10 in the evening, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Neither is it totally out of the ordinary for you to be waiting on the couch, the TV set to a volume so low that there’s no way that you’re actually listening to it.

It’s not normal for him to be upset by that, though.

“Baby.”

You looked up at his voice, and you don’t even seem to notice the heavy disappointment in his words as you rub your eyes, voice all croaky as you smile. “Hey, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung frowns, taking off his shoes and dropping his bag by his bedroom door, before padding across the apartment and into the living room. “You’re sick.”

You nod, sniffing, before reaching over to the tissue box balanced on the arm of the couch. “I am.” A loud blow of your nose emphasises your point.

Sighing, Soonyoung shakes his head. He crosses the living room, turning on the lights and turning off the TV. You hiss at the sudden brightness, holding your head, and he walks over to poke your forehead lightly, leaning down to look you right in the eye, his face set in an unhappy pout.

“You should’ve been resting, then,” he says, pouting even more. He holds a hand over your forehead, eyes softening when you lean into his hand. “Look at you, you’re burning up again.”

Outside, the wind howls harder, and the rain batters against the windows. It’s been thunderstorming for a good two weeks now, and you’ve managed to avoid getting sick for all that time. But, just yesterday, you’d caught the dreaded illness that had been going around, leaving you bedridden and incapable of going to work for two days straight.

Soonyoung is a big believer of rest being one of the best medicines for colds, so as he tweaks your nose disapprovingly while you try to explain that you stayed up to greet him, you know that he’s disappointed in your behaviour.

“Baby,” he says sadly, “you’re really sick. Your nose is all bunged up, and you have a really bad fever. Don’t you think you should’ve stayed in bed?”

Your face falls, sad that you’ve made Soonyoung sad, and your boyfriend smooths back your hair consolingly. You know that he’s scolding you like this because he cares about your health, but you still really wanted to see him.

“Wanted to see you before the day ended,” you admit, and he coos softly, fingers brushing over the top of your head before he stands up. “I haven’t seen you all day. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he says, all gooey soft, and no matter the situation, hearing and seeing your boyfriend becoming so devastatingly soft just for you always makes you flush. “But we gotta get you back to bed, baby. Come on. Up you get. Have you had any medicine yet?”

Soonyoung straightens, standing up properly, and you look up at him for a moment before giving him your biggest, wet puppy eyes, holding your arms out wide.

“Carry me?” you ask, and Soonyoung blinks down at you for a long moment.

But almost instantly, his face is breaking into a fond smile, lips curling upwards as he leans forward again so you can wrap your arms around his neck, humming happily when he lifts you with ease, carrying you back to your room.

Perks of having a dancer boyfriend: he can carry you when you’re sick.

He settles you under your covers, stroking the hair out of your face, lips twitching upwards as you sniff loudly to try and unblock your nose.

“Cute,” he murmurs as he sits on your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and oddly, that small detail is infinitely reassuring to you. You want to laugh at how ridiculous it is that he finds you sniffling wetly to be something cute, too. but your head hurts too much to do so, and you feel really dizzy. Goodness, maybe you are really sick.

“Baby,” you mumble, and he hums to show he’s listening. “Baby, ‘m tired.”

Soonyoung laughs at that, nudging the side of his finger against your cheek affectionately. “I can imagine. Don’t go to sleep yet, though. You need to have some meds.”

He stands up, then, and a cold sense of panic washes over you, grabbing onto his hand before he can go too far.

“Don’t go,” you say to him, fingers enclosing around his cool wrist. Your own skin is crawling with an uncomfortable heat, and Soonyoung’s hand is a blessed relief. “Please, don’t go.”

Soonyoung looks pained, and he slides his hand down in your hold to intertwine your fingers. He kisses your knuckles, soft, and you almost think he’s going to stay before he releases your hand. “I need to get your medicine,” he says gently. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

You whine, disappointed, before your breath catches on a particularly nasty cough that dissolves into several more, leaving you gasping. Soonyoung’s hand is instantly on your back, rubbing circles, and his voice is quiet and concerned as he speaks again.

“See? You stay here, and I’ll get you something to ease your pain. Okay?”

Reluctantly, you nod, sinking back into the pillows as Soonyoung’s fingers brush over your forehead once more before he exits your room.

—

It takes half an hour for Soonyoung to come back.

You don’t notice, too preoccupied with how hard your head is pounding and how your tongue feels like it’s swelled up and is taking up far too much space inside your mouth. Nothing feels like it fits right.

Your nose is running really badly, too, and you don’t have any tissues in your room.

By the time Soonyoung comes back, you’re focused more on the box of tissues he has balanced on a tray, rather than the other things that are gently steaming alongside it.

He sets the tissues on the bedside table and you grab one immediately, wiping your nose and blowing loudly with an almost comical ‘honk’. Soonyoung chuckles, sitting down on your bed again and placing the tray on your knees.

“Here,” he says, drawing your attention to what else is on the tray, and you blink in surprise.

There’s a bowl of cup noodles in your lap, the steam wafting from the noodles and if your nose wasn’t so blocked, you know that is would have smelled incredible. You smile, touched, before Soonyoung leans over and turns on your bedside lamp and you gasp.

There are chunks of spam in the noodles, which is utterly delightful because he knows how much you love spam, but also…

“This is from my beloved kimchi stash,” Soonyoung informs you when you look up at him to see if you’re seeing this correctly. “The one that my mother made. Since my baby is so sick,” he says, pinching your cheek fondly, “I thought I really should give some to you.”

“Aw, thank you so much,” you say with a smile, and your voice comes out unexpectedly croaky, making Soonyoung chuckle. He pinches your cheek again, adoring.

“Go on. Eat up.”

You can’t really eat much, taking small bites of the noodles, because as much as you want to simply devour the cheap carbs and artificial flavourings, your head is still, admittedly, spinning a little too much. Soonyoung brings a glass of water to your lips just as your swallowing your fifth mouthful, gentle and attentive.

He makes you take some pills then, too, and you try and finish off your meal. But it’s late, and the meds are making you feel drowsy, so you’re only halfway through when your eyes begin to droop.

“Hey, hey, careful,” Soonyoung laughs softly, fingers tilting your head upwards when it lolls dangerously, chopsticks full of kimchi hanging limp in your fingers. “Okay. Let’s get you to sleep, baby.”

He removes the tray from your lap, making soft noises back at you when you whine at the loss of your ramyeon and kimchi.

“I’ll give it to you again tomorrow,” he promises, and you feel placated at that.

You’re horribly uncoordinated, due to your sickness and your sleepiness, and you hum appreciatively as Soonyoung takes one of the tissues and wipes down your mouth, before taking another tissue and blowing your nose for you too.

It’s a sweet gesture, albeit a little clumsy, and it has you smiling drowsily up at him.

“I love you,” you murmur as he tucks you in, his fingers tracing gentle patterns across your cheek. “Love you, Soonyoungie.”

“I love you too,” Soonyoung whispers back, and the sound of his voice is so soft. “My Y/N.”

Soonyoung is a gentle person at heart, full of precious love and the desire to love and be loved delicately. And it’s during moments like this that you can see that shining through.

Your eyes slip closed—warm, content, loved—and Soonyoung presses a feather-light kiss to your head just before you fall away to dreamland.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29

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lovelywritinglady · 11 months

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You know this been crossing my mind but this is a request but short here is the new request is short if you think about

Where tengen was fighting daki and gyutaro but he didn't know about a new demon sibling this one is far stronger and well this man fall in love with this demon

If is possible if that the demon is a another male but much more bild then daki and gyutaro

( and if possible tengen as a genderfluid)

Just in case this mysterious demon is a male reader or y/n

I'm sorry 🙏 if I'm asking much but this cross my mind so forgive me and have a goodnight/ day

This is super interesting, so I’ll do my best to make it work.💜

Another One?

Female Tengen Uzui x Male Demon Reader

Angst, Kind of Fluffy, Tengen having a crush on reader. Badass demon reader. Pretty fluffy and reader being indifferent to his siblings. I changed it up a little from the prompt.

Tengen Uzui pov

The battle was over and our wounds were too great. The entertainment district was in ruins now, but at least those pesky demons were killed. The brother took my hand and my eye, but other than that I'm just fine. Especially after Tanjiros sister, Nezuko, healed me. My husbands were releved and so was I. The boar head kid and the ugly one were pretty roughed up as well, but they were still alive. I tossed my head back against the wall with a sigh. My husband Sumio was still crying on my chest, Makio was checking my injuries, and Hino was touching my face gently. I was glad that I was still alive so I could still be with them, my sweet husbands. Just then, I started shaking as a deep chuckling voice as steps approached us. Groining, I got up despite the protests from my husbands, ready for another fight.

"Hey, no need to stand up pretty lady." The voice said.

As the footsteps got closer, my worst fear came true, another upper rank demon. He was tall and well built with large shoulders and a small waist. His hair was h/c and his eyes were a vibrant shade of green and e/c. He wasn't ugly like the other demons I just fought and I found myself surprised that a demon could even be handsome.

He then kneeled down and smirked at me. As his eyes takes across my battered body. Unfortunately, this caused a blush to grace my pale bruised skin. My mind was in a frenzy not just because of the fight, but because of the sight before me. He might have been the best looking demon I've ever seen. Hell, he even put humans to shame, except for my husbands of course.

"Get the hell away from us." Makio threatened in a protective stance.

"Woah there, I'm not here to hurt ya. I just want to talk." The demon said as his eyes never left mine.

"Who the hell are you?" I coughed

"Y/N, and those two demons you just killed were my siblings. I just came to say thank you." Y/N stated sitting down.

"Wait, why are you thanking me." I asked

'Because sweetheart, I really hated those two. Always nagging at each other. Especially Daki, gods she was a pest." Y/N groaned

"But they are your siblings, you shouldn't say that." Tanjiro yelled at him.

"Hush now kid, save your strength. They weren't much of siblings to begin with. Shouldn't love someone if they refuse to love you back." Y/N proclaimed with an 'I don't give a fuck attitude'.

"Are you gonna try and kill us?" I questioned him

"Nah, you're not really worth my time. It's a shame though, I watched you fight and I gotta say I'm impressed. Not a lot of people who fought my little brother managed to walk away alive, let alone kill him. Although, no one has ever come close to beating me either." He boasted.

"Thanks, I guess." I said

"Anytime sweet heart. Say, you want those wounds healed?" He questioned scooting closer.

"Do not touch Lady Tengen!" Hino screamed pointing his blade at him.

"Calm down handsome, I'm not gonna kill him." he yawned

"How do I know its not a trick?" I asked confidently. He then came closer, much to the protests of my husbands. Y/N then lifted his hand and tilted my chin up so he could look in my good eye.

"It's a shame that my brother had the audacity to take out of of these pretty eyes. Eyes like these should never be hurt." He cooed

His other hand then made it way to my stomach and glowing light appeared out of his hand. It was slightly painful, but that feeling was overshadowed by the way he was looking at me. My blush was even deeper now and I felt myself wanting nothing more than to feel his lips on my cut lips. His other hand was still on my chin as his eyes never left mine.

"Close your eyes." He commanded

As I closed my eyes, I could feel his blood demon art working through my body. It felt as though he was reconstructing every cell and replacing it with a stronger new one. It was a strange sensation, but one that left me wanting more.

"Now, let me see those pretty eyes of yours." He cooed

Opening my eyes, I looked around me seeing the releaved faces of my husbands and the kids. I looked down at my hand to see if it was still gone. Except, it was now back, nail polish and all. It was like magic and I felt myself for the first time in my flashy life, being fully and completly thankful to a demon. I looked up to see his towering figure doing the same to my husbands and then to the kids. A wide smile graced my face, knowing that they had recovered.

"Well, I'm off then. The sun is almost up and I really don't want to end up like my siblings." He stated smiling down at me.

"Wait-" I yelled getting up and making my way to the demon.

"Hmm what is it pretty girl? Ya sad to see me go." He asked

"Absolutely not." I lied

"Then what is it?" He cooed

"Thank you." I whispered

"What was that?" He asked bring up one of his hands to cup his left ear as he smirked.

"Oh you heard me." I sassed

"Whatever, I gotta get goin, see ya." he said as he began walking away.

"Thank you!" I exclmained rolling my eyes

"Anytime, pretty lady." He screamed back

"My name is Tengen Uzui, you oaf." I sassed putting my hand on my hip.

"See you around beautiful Tenge Uzui." He responded and in a flash he sped away from my sight.

"Lady Tengen, what just happened?" Sumio questioned with a tearstained face.

"Honey, I've got no idea." I said thinking to myself the same thing.

These last few days were nothing but chaos. I went from losing a hand and an arm, to them magically appearing back in moments. And everyone's wounds disapearing as if in thin air. I stood there as the sun peaked through the mountains questioning if I it was real. And a horror of a thought came across my mind. Was I falling in love with a demon?

Thank you so much for reading!💜And thank you to @bendymonter for requesting. Hope you enjoyed this one.

Please feel free to request, comment and reblog

Click here to see what I’ll write for and HERE for my master list.

•I do NOT own any characters except Y/N•

-L.W.L

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dykesagainstgojo · 8 months

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Been seeing talk about Orpheus and Eurydice and thinking about satosugu being like a dark version or subversion of them. Like Kenjaku forcefully bringing geto back from the dead to force gojo to look back and have a moment of weakness, of hope, even despite his better judgement and dooming him in an even more tragic way than how Orpheus was doomed (because at least it was their choice). Idk...but I feel like there could be something in thinking about the parallels and also the differences.

hello, sorry for taking so long to answer but i was kind of busy and i wanted sooo bad to sit and think properly about this wonderful concept before saying anything. (BTW THANKS FOR THIS ASK IT RUINED MY LIFE)

to get started i have to talk briefly about orpheus and establish my point of view on his act of looking back. this scene is, in some interpretations, about a lack of trust or defiance of hades' orders. i am, however, much fonder of the more popular interpretations (and the same as yours) about how he looks back not in rebellion, but in wistfulness. so thats the route im taking here. this is ironic, because even though stsg is in my brain 24/7 i've never put gojo and orpheus together, and i feel particularly dumb because whats gojo's story besides him keeping looking back again and again even though he knows he's not supposed to?

"[eurydice] now, who must die a second death / did not find fault with [orpheus], for what indeed / could he be faulted for, but his constancy?"

when it comes to the differences between those stories, what i like the most is the details of what they had to lose and gain, and how many chances they got to do so because, as you said, gojo's dooming is even more tragic than orpheus'. orpheus reward for obeying this rule was gaining eurydice back. when he looks back too soon (in most of the tellings by mistake), it's because he considers that moment the greeting of their new start, a greeting he simply couldnt wait to have in front of him. im most definitely sure that, if given another chance, orpheus wouldnt make the same error. whilst gojo, by not looking at geto, doesnt have anything to win, he only has something to avoid losing. his choice of glancing back whenever geto is there doesnt have any other meaning behind it, its just looking at him for the sake of remembering what he is grieving for. and not only that, but gojo has multiple chances to stop doing so, but he doesnt. he never goes forward. geto dies his premature death when gojo lets him go in shinjuku. then he dies the second time in jjk0, hearing something so kind that he has to ask to be cursed, he has to ask gojo to stop looking back. and now he's "back" again, to his third death, because kenjaku knew gojo would still look back. because gojo's worst fault (when it comes to geto) is his constancy. and this connects to the last point, which is the possibility of kenjaku using this against him again. my opinion is that, if gege plans to keep the coherence of gojo's arc, you're totally right and that'll surely be part of his ending. yes, the main point of his fight with sukuna (from a plot relevance perspective) is obviously weakening him before he fights kenjaku. but this, to me, is much more about laying the groundwork for a heavy and final fight, than to actually being the reason why it'll be special. gojo is a man equivalent to a deity, whose only real weakness is his heart, so if he gotta lose, it'll be through that. it'll be because no matter what he has to give up, he cant keep his eyes from going back to geto. and thats not only if he is to lose, obviously. if gojo survives, he needs closure. we need to see him freeing himself from the mourning of his lost days and make the conscious choice of keeping his head forward.

also, this is just an obs but i really hope we get to see geto at least once again, so we can have his perspective on this whole situation. as much as gojo is similar to orpheus, i can see geto being similar to eurydice. while i do think he will be furious at gojo for being captured because of him (we already saw how he thinks gojo should hate him by now), i cant help but also see him being quite understanding. in jjk0 geto gets to hear gojo expressing how important the days they were together were for him, so his view of that has changed a little now. what could geto say about gojo, but that too well he loved?

#satosugu #jjk #i thought i would calm down a little in these weeks without jujutsu kaisen #but look at me spending almost an hour typing an analysis of stsg as orpheus and eurydice lol #ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK I LOVE YOU

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moregraceful · 11 months

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1, 3, 5, 6?

I was like this will be easy if we narrow it by team but very difficult if we do it broadly...fuck around and find out 😩

Anyway for hockey:

which character do you relate to the most from your fandom?

GOD. I almost said Connor McDavid bc I too suffer the agonies but I am like, not nearly good enough at any one single thing to claim I'm like the next next one. YOU KNOW WHAT. maybe Cole Caufield, bc a) we're both short kings, b) I also get ripped up when my goals and life plans fall apart but I am Learning To Love The Journey, c) we love the homies and the homies love us, d) good size for huggin, e) my social circle is wide and affectionate enough that people get a bit 🧐 about interactions with my friends too, and f) the whole thing at the NTDP where him and Jack Hughes were BEST FRIENDS!! WHO SHARED EACH OTHER'S SUCCESSES!! LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE PRE-DRAFT PROFILE ON THEM MENTIONED THE OTHER!! AND THEN GETTING DRAFTED AND THE RELIEF ON COLE'S FACE WHEN MTL FINALLY PICKED HIM AND HOW EXCITED JACK WAS FOR HIM!! and now they're like the most underrated ship of the 2019 ntdp draft class and no one in fandom or the media ever thinks of them as a pair (except me, bc I have brain damage) but the love is still clearly there. anyway that whole situation of: childhood best friends who successes made each other what they are but the relevancy of that has faded overtime as they've grown up but there's still clearly a lot of love and affection...to drive this ask straight into a bridge, I recently found out one of my best friends in middle school died and I was thinking a lot abt how I hadn't spoken to him in over a decade (just due to like drifting apart, not a falling out or anything) but the fondness I feel for him is still so visceral....it's abt what we take with us as we grow. The love is still there, even as we fade out of each other's lives.

mainly we're both so fucking short. no way that dude is 5'7. no way

3. what is your favorite ship?

this is so hard bc as people get traded and the narrative evolves, my tastes change and I drop ships...anyway generally any Cale Makar ship makes me insane due to aforementioned brain damage (except natecale sorry to natecale nation but that's my one single notp) but rn I am sitting here so impatiently waiting for people to GET ON BOARD with Devon Toews/Cale Makar. Devon Toews is HANDSOME. AND CONFIDENT. AND HE WEARS PINK SUITS. you think he isn't blowing Cale Makar: most boring man on the planet's mind on the reg? You know how Cale never smiles anymore but sometimes he smiles around Devon??? my god. The photo of them at the Nuggies game looking like boyfriends?? kill me??? like I know the story of my fandom engagement is just me noodling from Cale Makar rarepair to Cale Makar rarepair but I stg Avs fans we GOTTA open our hearts to Devon Toews. GOTTA.

5. who is your favorite character (and maybe why?)

I love Cale Makar and Cale Makar hates me, because I keep writing weird rarepairs about him. My Avs fandom has kind of faded with time but every once in a while I see Cale Makar photo or gif or quote about how boring he is and there's a little kaiju in my head that rips a building off its foundations.

Also every Asian guy who has ever played the game and wasn't a douche bc they are my people and I must stan my people. Robo I love you. Kailer I love you. Nick Suzuki I love you, you monotone doofus. Matt Dumba? Make him commissioner. Paul Kariya I wish you ran DoPS and I also wish your husband would get off Twitter.

6. when you first think of the fandom, what image comes to mind?

This is SUCH an interesting question. like there's definitely vibes and memories and stories that come to mind immediately, but an IMAGE...maybe the fake worlds kiss photo from the inimitable @msmargaretmurry's fic The Next Next One which haunts me in my sleep. I have like real visceral memories of sitting in the Denver airport choking back tears when I got the final installment of that fic in my inbox, that is also an image. also this photo is the first photo I ever reblogged of hockey (I was a hater for SO long, sorry about the tags) and it still hits 8 years later. the joy on everyone's faces!! it's cute!!

Thank you for the ask my friend!!

#also the other 2 images for maddy and becs if you see this is: the soulmark behind connor's ear in the soulmate fic; gutterslut dylan #like...all things in my hockey fandom just come back to maddy and becs in the end honestly. formative influences on my psyche #i am sorry i have strayed so far from your light 😞#also sorry to everyone reading this for the absolute turn my answer took in that first answer. this post is mostly jokes but cw for death #me: haha cole caulfield because we are both short. also it's abt LOVE and GROWTH and LOSS #everyone reading this: [quietly unfollows]#cage replies #laughingthelaughiest #fresno oilers.txt #thank you ko...you always keep me on my toes....

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lynnarang · 8 months

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Dawn of Romance

(This is a silly thing I wrote last year that I'm only posting now because it's relevant with buggy the clown constantly staring at me from the side of my screen)

Demon sitting on the sofa, one hand dragging fingers through the hair of the angel resting in her lap, the other idly flicking through an endless list of boring content.

"There's nothing to watch…"

Angel who stirs, not pulling away from her lover but flipping over to look at her with a wide smile.

"You know, there is one show that would give us months of enterta-"

"For the last fucking time babe, I'm not watching One Piece with you."

The angel pouted and wriggled, upset but not enough to break free of her demon's wonderful scritches.

"Why not? It's a classic, it's peak shounen!"

"I don't even know what that means… And it's 1000 episodes long! I don't even wanna think about how many hours that is…"

The demon watched as her angel's pouts grew in size and sincerity, those divine ruby eyes of hers glistening. Were those tears? Oh fuck.

"I just wanna share an important part of my childhood with you.. Its the series that got me through my formative years…"

The demon faltered, not doubting for a second that the tears were real.

"Babe its a show about a stretchy pirate…"

"A stretchy pirate and his nakama!!! And their dreams!!!"

"..What's a nakama?"

"It's like a friend."

"Then just say tha-"

"No it's not the same!!!"

Sighing, the demon begin going over to the show.. not to select it, just to hover it… Fuck that episode count was intimidating, was she about to go to Purgatory? Wait…

"Hold on a second, you watched it as a kid? You guys had anime in Heaven?!"

Practically vibrating with excitement as the video preview of the show played the opening song, the angel nodded eagerly.

"Yeah! Well, only a few select ones that got through the censor bureaus to make sure they were appropriate For Kids."

"Why does that sound so ominous…

…Wait they had to censor the.. stretchy pirate show?"

"Yeah, I keep telling you, it's more mature than it looks! Please, babe, you gotta watch it, please please please???"

"I.. Fuck, fine, we'll watch a couple episodes, but only until I get bored."

Beaming, the angel nuzzled her head back into her lover's lap, ready to recite the intro word for word.

Her demon quietly wondered if she had just made a pact far worse than any deal made with the devil… but well, the joy on her lover's face made it all worthwhile… right?

#microfiction #writing #repost from twitter #my ocs #arang schütze #sephina fairheart #one piece #i'm so sorry for posting this today buggy the clown put his shoe to my head and said he'd shoot his buggy ball at me if i didn't

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cindibriella · 9 months

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A compilation of things my friends have said, but I lost the context along the way

• What the fire truck! • I would do it even if I had to tape down my second toe

• She would be a good drug dealer- my friend talking about a teacher

• If someone’s being a bitch, you gotta be a bitch back • My sickness has leveled up

• What’s the worst that could happen, we get carbon monoxide

poisoning?

• I can spell. It’s called autocorrect. Said matter-o-factly

• It’s not racist if I’m right • I'm literally chewing coffee right now • I’m pretty sure there must be snot in my water now… • Cindi you made me choke on noodles<-friend 1| I just have that effect on people<-me • Stop beating each other with my socks! • Is that a phone, oh no it’s scissors. • You can date my enemies • My weirdness is fueled by my ability to move around

• My legs have claustrophobia! • These shoes are the love of my life • I’m not insane- I think. • My butts ringing • If it’s so bad, why am I not dead -a teacher • I only walk with my right foot • I’d rather sit with half a butt cheek than sit with a random butt cheek • Why are you looking at me like i killed your dog?! • My atoms are just slightly apart • Like people who there first language English isn’t • And I was meaning to EAT YOUR TOES • I had a vivid image sound audio • Milkshakes mess me up said one friend. Do you want to make a smoothie to counterbalance it-second friend • Acid rain is fun • Looks at you through my head • that touched the that • Are potatoes space rocks? • I’m not going to sunscreen my dog’s bald spot • What state of matter is your personality • that bagel is making me want carrots • Farts are just tiny shards of poo • I wish you could throw scissors at people • let’s make sacrificial babies • this is a very wet position-not about sex • we had two explosions just because I spanked its booty • this is a very durable baby • that was fun and now we’re wet… like really wet.-not about sex • that was really big and slippery and wet-not about sex • put it in-not about sex • it was really hard to do-not about sex • not our fault he’s forgettable- said about a balloon • Back the fuck up you soggy lampshade • Hair loss is not related to sanity • In this economy it is a castle • My only hope is nothing • Segregation rules!! • I think it’s funny to eat things that make you sound like a disgrace • I don’t like watching you guys lick that hummus • no, naw, noh, no • Don’t take my bananas, said very defensively • The reason you rented a herd of goats is always relevant

(don't question weird formatting)

#out of context quotes #I swear we are not racist

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acidmatze · 1 year

Text

Its funny (not literally but you know what i mean) that "xyz struggles with talking and mostly doesnt talk at all UNLESS its about xyz's special interest then xyz speaks very fluently and well and doesnt shut up" is a very common thing in autistic people. But for me its exactly the other way around. And i havent met another autistic person like that. As of now i feel like im the only ND person who CANT talk about heir special interest.

I just.. cant. I want to. I would LOVE to. Im always like "Oh god please talk to me about Trigun!!!!" yet im dreading that someone might actualy Do because I dont know what to say. Its not that i dont have opinions and thoughts its... i just cannot put them into... Understandable Words. There is just So Much going on whenever i think about my special interests that it becomes too overwhelming for me to translate my thoughts into anything that could be communicated in some understandable way. I wish telepathy was real so i could just beam my thoughts into someone else's head but i dont even think that would work unless they Think Like Me. Also the onslaught of information they get will probably be too overwhelming. So i desperately WANT to talk about my special interests (please talk to me about Trigun but understand that i wont be able to answer in any satisfactory way) but i CANT. I cannot communicate my thoughts in any form that can be understood by humans that are not me. If thoughts are like files on a computer my thoughts dont come in neat categories they come as a zip file you gotta unpack first and then get the entire thing at once. Well.. I dont need to unpack them cuz i know whats inside. But if i wanna communicate them i have to unzip that package and then go through every single file one by one and pick out the relevant parts. Only the relevant parts. What is important and what is not? Who knows, not me, im already despairing. So i usually just give up and dont say anything which is kinda not helping with the whole Conversation thing. Which is also why i dont do meta posts or anything... relevant. I cant give you a single coherent sentence about Trigun how am i supposed to write meta? The best i can do is like... dig out panels and point at them and yell. Maybe when a miracle happens i could get single words out that wont form any sentences whatsoever and you would have to puzzle them together. Have fun.

Fun fact! Sometimes this doesnt just happen with my special interest but with any random thing. Today i was unable to tell my Boss why i have to sit down more often than others. Has nothing to do with my special interests. Still wasnt able to start the damn sentence. Talking to me is probably a chore no one does gladly. Honestly i wish i could just... find someone whos willing to communicate with me even when i just give sentence fragments or just words and they are willing to piece them together. But lmao. As if. Even if someone WOULD say they would be willing they probably would try to talk to me once and if i actually Do Talk Like That they would go "Yeah nah this was a dumb idea lets never talk to this guy again."

#blablabla #actually autistic

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yooniesim · 1 year

Note

Not the same anon but I feel the same. I don't mind tzr once after 12h or sth but some people tzr like an hour or two after posting (and then like 3/4 more times after that in one day) and that's just pushing it. Like calm down!! The post barely simmer and theyre already trying to push it up again. Although, I don't mind if people tzr their cc posts or lots downloads etc a couple of times.

Yeah I see your point. You gotta let it sit just a lil bit for maximum impact imo. Cos I feel like the point of tzr isn't to push it to the top of the dash every hour. I see it in my head as six hours at the very least but more like ten to twelve hours practically. So that ppl getting home from whatever they got up to that day or just waking up can see it no matter what time that may be. I love it when I'm gone all day and then I come home and I see my mutual's tzr I'm like mmm yes finally some good fucking food 😘👌 especially if it's a story post or cc post I'm like yeah baby. I feel like its not usual for ppl to be tzr very often like every couple hours, I rarely see it. But I wanna emphasize, I don't think less of anyone for doing so, I personally may unfollow if its super excessive (like 6-8 times per day) but thats not an insult, it's just a personal preference. Ppl will get hurt about it though unfortunately. I unfollowed someone once for spamming some music ask game and they got so angry I broke our mutual that they made a post about it and blocked me! Which was a shock to me lol. But ya know sometimes I wind up just refollowing people later when trends like that die down a bit. I never like to see unfollowing as anything personal bc if I really didn't want to have anything to do with someone I'd block them, not unfollow. Sometimes you just need time away now and again. But honestly me unfollowing for tzr is super rare bc most people really don't tzr that much. So I was surprised to see the discourse when it doesn't even apply to 99% of simblrs imo, just ppl doing it more or less constantly. What is a tiny pet peeve for me is if someone has cc posts and they tag all the tzr with "downloads" or whatever relevant tag they use for cc so when I'm scrolling their cc tag specifically its repeats over and over again 🥲 aaaaaah. And what's funny is that I do this very thing with cc updates in my tag and have to clear it out now and again 🤣 we all have our pet peeves but it ain't serious most of the time.

#asks #anonymous #ceci speaks #nonny complaints #negative #kinda

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goldlightwriting · 6 months

Note

Funny thing about rewrites. They typically involve respecting the show they're based on. The only reason your ideas get so popular is because they involve shitting on the show itself. And a rewrite that shits on the show its based on is nothing more than a spite-filled fanfic by an egotistical narcissist.

Alright, this is gonna be the only one of these I acknowledge. I know I probably shouldn't, but whatever.

First and foremost, buddy, you gotta realize something: there's a reason why so many people try their hand at rewriting RWBY. The thing is, I honestly don't hate the show. I watched it for years and even now I occasionally poke my head back in if only to see what happens to the characters that I'm invested in. The fact is, though, that RWBY is a show filled with passion but also a tragically huge amount of wasted potential. If you enjoy the show, that's fine, but being a fan of something doesn't mean you can't recognize or acknowledge its flaws.

The show has way too many power systems in play to the point that some of them become redundant, characters have an unfortunate tendency to act extremely inconsistently when the plot demands them to, and even the whole fairytale motif that's supposed to be a huge inspiration for the show is all over the place in terms of relevance (ie Penny and her entire story is a near one-to-one translation of Pinnochio, but Velvet has literally nothing to do with the Velveteen Rabbit aside from her name and bunny ears.)

Despite what you think, I don't hate RWBY, nor do I dunk on it purely because it's popular to do (if that were the case I would have made way more than two videos on it, but I genuinely could not care less about making content for popularity.) In fact, I don't do rewrites for ANY property I hate. I'm just offering up my own opinions about stories that I think could have been better, and I offer my own ideas and interpretations because I find that to be much more constructive than simply bashing something I don't like, as you seem to be fond of doing. I'm not gonna sit here and pretend my ideas are perfect, nor am I a master-class writer, but criticism should be supplemented with feedback for improvement. Otherwise, it's not worth hearing.

Anyways, any further blind anon hate will be deleted. If you want to have an actual discussion about my work then I'm happy to oblige, but shallow attempts at online bullying do nothing but bore me.

#RWBY #anon hate #Gold Light Writing

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razorblade180 · 3 years

Text

Actor AU 3

The previous one<-

Penny:*dancing on set*

Nora:Someone seems happy.

Penny:🎶First episode I don’t have to wear props! 🎶 This is so liberating!

Nora:You read the script right?

Penny:Just let me vibe!

xxxx

Neo:*hanging off ledge*

Cinder:.....Long live queen. *pushes her off*

Ruby:Yo! Let’s add a lion king character!

Director:No!

xxxx

Ironwood,Broadcasting:.....

Everyone:.....

Ironwood:*leans it closely* You have one hour...or I poison Gotham Harbor.

Yang:Pay up Weiss! I told you he’d say it!

Weiss:Damn it!

Ruby:*laughing hysterically.

xxxx

Adam:*sips tea* Now you’re probably wondering why I’m on set for V8 when I have not scene or relevance. The answer is simple.

Neo:*hits Yang of the edge*

Blake:Yaaaaang-

*faint laughing offset*

Blake.....*snickers* You asshole, I was in the zone!

Adam:I’m just adding to the tension!

Yang:*hanging from harness* You should’ve yelled “Lionized!!!!!”

Adam:Oh that would’ve been great!

Blake:You two are the worst!

xxxx

Right after Cinder stabs Penny

Jaune:Penny!!!! H-Hold on!

Penny:J-Jaune? I don’t...I don’t feel so g-good... hehe, this...*tearing up* this really hurts...

Jaune:*crying* Don’t speak! My semblance, I’ll...I

Penny:No...don’t. No time, but....there’s still something I need you t-to do. Cinder...can’t get the power and the relics. *reaches for blade*

Jaune:W-What?! No, I....I can’t-

Penny:It’s okay Jaune. *smiles* Everything is...gonna be okay.

Jaune:*raising bl-

Director:Cut!

Jaune:Huh?

Penny:Hmm? *sits up* Oh no, did I miss a line?

Director:*points to Cinder*

They turn to see Weiss comforting the the woman with a hug while trying not to laugh at the situation.

Penny:What happened!?

Weiss:She’s crying over the scene!

Penny:What!? *runs over*

Cinder:I am so sorry I ruined take! You were doing so well. Too well! Ugh, god damnit!

Penny:Awww you know I’m fine right? Come here! *hugs her*

Weiss:Cinder fall everyone, the biggest teddy bear around. *wipping eyes*

Jaune:You’re crying too!?

Weiss:I am the second biggest teddy bear around.

xxxx

Jaune:We have to go!!!

Winter:*points at Cinder*....Sleep with one eye open.

Director:Cut! Why!?

Cinder:Hahahaha!

Winter:I couldn’t help myself.

Director:Be angry!

Bloop!

Winter:*glares* The next time I see you I swear, I’ll have your head!

Director:Less angry!

Cinder:That one actually kinda scared me. Haha geez, Winter giving chills!

Bloop!

Winter:Can I curse?

Director:We’re already at the limit before we’d have change ratings.

Winter:Dang it! I just one F bomb!

Director:We’ll put it the gag reel.

Bloop!

Jaune:We need to go!

Winter: Tsk, *points sword* You are going to pay for everything you’ve done! So watch you fucking back...

Director:Happy?

Winter:*grinning* Yeah that felt great!

xxxxx

Bomb starts sliding slowly.

Qrow:*clenches Clover’s pin*

Bomb falls off plan set

.....

Vine and Elm:.....

Harriet:Well...boom! I guess!? For the love of- *face palms*

Qrow:....Uhhh I haha, I think hahaha- hahaha! Can we maybe tilt the plan a little less!? Oh boy! I guess someone should’ve grabbed that.

Harriet:You know what, can we keep this ending!?

Robyn: Rename the whole episode haha. “Adults watch bomb slowly fall”

Vine:Okay but I like how we’re all just waiting for it to stop, and then just tips right over! The moment it started moving I knew it was going way too fast!

Elm:Mission failed everyone. We’ll get em next time.

xxxxx

Interviewer:How do you think fans will react to this finale?

Penny:Well I can’t spoil anything for obvious reasons but I hope it resonates well. It’s fun having my character be around for a finale for once, and with so many other roles she doesn’t get interact with much. It’s been really fun.

Interviewer:Oh yeah? Who’s been best to work with?

Penny:Oooo that’s tough. My cousin, Nora, she’s been fun to interact with this volume. But uhhh I think I’ll give it to Jaune. We don’t have many scenes overall together but...it’s hard explain. I feel like between my character and his, there’s this kinda mutal headspace they have for their friends. If I had to pick a person I would say Jaune would have the ability to open up Penny in a way nobody else could.

Interviewing:Interesting, well I hope you both get more interactions and that this finale debuts well.

Penny:Thank you!

xxxxx

Winter:*dragging Ironwood off*

Emerald:....Wait, I know I do illusions, but how did the Ironwood not hear or feel the wind coming from an airship several feet away? I kicked up dirt and alerted Amber in volume 3.

Director:....Do we have time to rewri- no? Okay... just don’t think about it!

xxxxx

Nora:Someone cut the signal!

Watts: *playing Galaga* Hehehe all according to plan.

Neo:Change the tab! It’s- we see it in camera! Haha!

Watts:*strokes mustache* I know. That’s how genius I am. Cracking codes and high-scores! Muhahaha!

xxxx

Ruby:Fun fact, we have two Hound costumes. One where he’s mainly doglike and the other when he’s beating up people. But I you wonder who’s playing him under all that? *takes mask off*

Cardin:Sup.

Ruby:Forever a bully, even behind the set.

Cardin:Pfft am not.

Penny:You had a laugh tossing me!

Cardin:You don’t count, you’re family!

Penny:Ah!?

xxxxxx

Yang:*holding camera* Pssst!

Ren:*sipping coffee*???

Yang:Ready for our fight in the snow?

Ren:I can’t feel my toes! I’m gonna yell at you and then walk away.

Yang:I’ll mess up so we’ll stay here longer.

Ren:Yang! We can have a real fight in the snow right now!

Yang:Heheh, kidding. Mostly.

xxxxx

Ruby:Blake have you heard of Among Us?

Blake:Wh-what?

Ruby:Among Us. You gotta do tasks without an imposter killing you. I only bring it up because we’re rebooting the power. Someone always dies in electrical.

Blake:Ruby this is real life. Besides this way more Resident Evil, but with no- Tyrant!

Hound:*busts through window*

Ruby:Wny is it always electrical!!!?

xxxxx

Ironwood:*doing shirtless pull-ups*

Ozpin:He’s getting ready for his fight scenes. Trying to look winded but a little bulkier in the moment.

Winter:*watching Ironwood*

Ozpin:*snickering* Winter is trying to get into the mindset of having to a play a character who has to go against all that. The agony of fighting someone you looked at for so long.

Winter:You can call it like it is. I’m gawking a little.

Ozpin:She’s gawking a little.

xxxxx

Hazel:*grabs Salem*

Salem:*squeezing his biceps* Its like my entire torso. You eat a bear for breakfast?

Hazel:Oh my god.

Salem:You know this isn’t the worst way to go out. I had a good run. At least you hold me, unlike Ozma! Why didn’t you hold me like this!?

Hazel:You’re so ridiculous.

xxxxx

Set crew adjusting lighting in manor. All but one stays on.

Oscar and Penny:*waltzing underneath it*

Nora:...I like how on or off camera I personally lose the dating game while another redhead wins.

Ozpin:Which pair you talking about?

Nora:Huh?

Yang and Adam:*cracking jokes*

Nora:This is nonsense! Where’s Jaune!?

Weiss:Food run with Ruby.

Nora:Aaaaaggghhh!

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

Note

as ur irl bestie i am cashing in my favor and am asking- no begging for a dilf damon fic pls <3

😑fine fineee I guess I can take a quick break from writing BNHA stuff for you🙄

CW: NSFW, Damon Albarn being an a-hole, manipulation, gaslighting, language minor stuff like that

The studio itself was pretty spacious, you couldn't lie. As much as you loathed to give this cursed group any more credit, you were hard-pressed to remember the last time you´d been called into such a professional recording booth. You were used to dingy atmospheres, crumbling walls, stained carpet, and even cramped garages at times. It felt like your years of meticulously swaying your hand back and forth on the rosin and tuning your strings until they damn near popped were slowly going down the drain, lost in spaces of screaming adolescent boys and shady market agents. The streets of London were unforgiving for a young musician like you, no room to turn to since others were exactly in the same position as you.

It was by pure coincidence that the day you had played for a local cafe for a small commission, Graham fucking Coxon was sitting in the back of the run-down joint, sipping a murky glass of Bourbon.

You didn't notice him at first, of course. You had simply let the music in your mind travel from your head down to your arms, and allowed it to move through your fingertips to your bow. The serene melody that sang through the air had turned his head to face you, the shitty drink in his hand stopped halfway to his mouth.

Your solo was only a couple of minutes, but the second you were done and packing your bags to head out, the brunette made a beeline for you, blocking your exit.

¨Uh, can I help you?¨ You cock your head and shift your violin case.

¨Yes, you can actually. Listen, I know this is gonna sound a bit straightforward, but I really liked your piece. Did you compose it yourself?¨ He sounds quiet and sounds nervous, with him barely looking you in the eyes.

¨Yeah, I did!¨ You can´t help but beam-it took you several days just to perfect a few meager lines, but in the end you were content with the piece.

¨Wow...that's serious talent right there,¨ He opens the door for you, and you nod before you head out, him trailing behind you as he leaves with you.

¨You make a good amount of money doing small jobs like this?¨ His voice is nasally and low, but with a slightly higher pitch than your typical London accent.

At this, you squint your eyes a bit and turn your head at him. It was nice of him to be interested in your work, but for someone you don't personally know, the idea of talking about your small gigs that merited little to no money was not something you were fond of.

He senses your hesitancy and immediately withdraws. ¨I´m sorry, that was probably rude of me to be so blunt about it. Actually, I don´t think I´ve properly introduced myself.¨ He stops to face you, and you do the same.

¨I´m Graham Coxon. You may or may not have heard of me, but I can assure you that I too enjoy music, as an understatement.¨ He extends a calloused hand and smiles a little bit, adjusting the blocky glasses on his face.

Graham...Coxon? Graham as in....oh, holy shit.

¨No way.¨

¨Er...unfortunately, yes way.¨ His soft voice lilts as he holds back a laugh, and you gape at him.

¨Oh my god!¨ You drop your violin case in the excitement of eagerly returning his handshake. ¨You-you're from Blur! I know you!¨

¨Was from Blur, and ´careful now, don´t wanna ruin your instrument. But listen, I´m kind of in a bind here so I´ll get to the chase. We´re working on a few chords here and there back at the studio, and I´ve been on the lookout for a while for someone who fits our tune. ´Thing is, the deadline for submitting our song is comin´ up fast, so we only have a couple weeks left.¨

You raise your eyebrows, heart pounding in your chest as you listen to his proposition.

¨So I´m thinking, you sound pretty good, it's exactly what we need to fill in our bridge. I´d love it if you came in and played a tune for us. If we like you and you´re cool with it, you could feature on our song.¨

It feels surreal. Were you hearing right? Graham Coxon from Blur asking you to play on his song? This had to be a prank.

¨Ẅait, but you've only heard me once, what if my sound doesn't match what you're actually looking for?¨ You stammer, palms clammy as you wipe them off on your trousers.

¨Well, that's what a rehearsal session is for, lovely,¨ He chuckles nervously and slides his slightly foggy glasses up his nose. ¨So, you wanna give it a go?¨

You think for a moment, biting your lower lip. There wasn't exactly anything stopping you now, was there? I mean, sure, the prospect of playing in front of one of UK's most famous bands was daunting, but this was your chance to finally be recognized!

Taking a deep breath, you pick up your fallen case and nod. ¨Alright, I´m in. When you do wanna meet up?¨

Graham visibility deflates in relief, letting out a shaky exhale. ¨Great. I'll text you the time and place, yeah? The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up, so we´ll be in contact soon.¨

You both exchange numbers, your phone tingling in your hand long after you bid farewell and drive home in a buzz.

When you finally get home to your apartment, you throw your keys onto the counter and flop down onto the mattress. What a fucking day.

So many thoughts bounce around in your addled head. You want to do well, but obviously you don't have their kind of experience in the industry. Should you play more in tune with their song, or continue with your own sound? An idea pops into your head amidst your lunch, a few hours later. Why not just do some more research on the band themselves? Then you'd know exactly what kind of music they're looking for.

The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up.

Oh yeah, who else was in the band? It's not like you didn't know who Blur was at their peak, but you paid more attention to their music rather than their faces. Truthfully, you never really basked in tabloids and newspapers purring about the next big scandal, or the top dogs of Britain´s industry when that stuff was relevant.

You abandon your pathetic sandwich and make your way to your laptop, sliding into a chair and getting down to business. After a few quick searches, you pull up a couple tabs around the name Blur.

Graham Coxon- Recovering alcoholic. Big fight with Damon Albarn.

Alex James- Cute boy turned conservative. Classic case.

Dave Rowntree- Mainly untouched. Became a successful lawyer. Good for him.

Damon Albarn- A fucking mess.

Puffing up your cheeks and putting your hands behind your head, you lean back in your chair. Good god, this man is a wreck. Headlines from decades ago swim in and out of your eyes, loud, obnoxious neon prints of Justine and Damon broken up again? Suede claps back!, or Will the Blur Brothers ever come back to each other? Find out first-hand from Coxon himself!, and worst of all, Albarn relapses again, Damon Albarn from Blur goes head-to-head with Liam and Noel-news flash, the brothers win!

You think you see something about him and a potential wife and child, and that's when you decide it's time to sleep.

After all, there's no point in getting caught up in any of their backstories.You were just there to play a solo and get out. Nosing around in their lives was more trouble than what it was worth, anyways.

Which is exactly what you kept trying to tell yourself as you walked into the modern studio two weeks later, its grey soundproof walls and white floor screaming fancy and rich to you. And fancy and rich didn't come without grit and experience, which you had none of. As if to emphasize your inexperience, you went into the wrong halls twice before you exasperatedly checked your messages with Graham and saw that no, it wasn´t room 311, it was room 113.

Finally, finally, you came across your designated room. The mahogany door was closed, and you placed a hand on the silver knob. You could faintly hear the sounds of a guitar being played from the inside, and it was curiosity above everything else that compelled you to push it open.

From behind the clear window that separated the booth from the recording area, you see them. Graham, Damon, and other men you don't recognize are all in the midst of the song, the same song Graham had texted you the PDF of for the violin notes. You sheepishly take a few steps forward and clear your throat to catch the attention of a bald man leaning back against his chair right in front of the glass. He turns around and you give a weak little wave, clutching your case in the other hand.

¨Hey, I´m here for-¨

¨-Yeah, yeah, Graham told me all about you. Go on ahead and join in, they just started.¨ He pulls a toothpick out from between his lips and gestures to the door of the divider.

You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you make your way through the second door, and the second you step inside meekly, Damon and Graham´s eyes are on you.

Graham continues to play the guitar, only lighting up his eyes and giving you an encouraging nod when you step in, and the other two men on bass and saxophone also give a quick smile in greeting. And Damon…well.

Damon barely acknowledges you.

He continues to sing and stare straight ahead at the wall in front of him as if there's an interesting scene being played out on the grey paint.

You´re unsure of whether to catch his attention and give a proper greeting, but you decide not to as it would interfere with the song. So instead, you quickly grab a nearby chair and stand and set up your rosin and papers.

Your timing is perfect; the bridge is about to come up. Just to be certain, you look up from your poised position and catch the eyes of most everyone except for Damon´s. They all give you a quick thumbs up or an expectant look for your confirmation of playing.

And then, it comes. Damon stops singing, and your cue to sweep your bow across the horse hairs of your strings comes.

Melodious, whole, fulfilling, it was. Graham´s guitar chords harmonized with the tones of your violin, and music that you´ve never dreamed of creating was made by your hands exceptionally.

Everyone was in awe of your raw talent, from the way their gazes were rapt onto your bow, moving back and forth,staying still in some highs and whittling away at the lows. You even thought you saw the producer from inside the booth turn his head towards you from the corner of your eye, but you couldn´ be sure.

Everyone except Damon Albarn.

The song ended a minute later with the signal of a fading out bass, and then there was silence.

¨Right on with that tune.. ´Thought we'd be fucked ova´ if we didn't find someone to take that melody.¨ The bassist with long shaggy hair grinned and you returned one back.

¨Yeah, I was kind of hesitant when Graham ´ere told us he found one to take this position on, but I'm pleased.¨ The saxophone player scratched his chin and hummed his agreement. You felt relief.

Until he spoke.

¨Is this your first time playing?¨

You look incredulously over at him, looking straight on at his face. Sandy hair, lines on his cheeks, slight scruff around his chin, he looked older than his online pictures.

¨Uhh, no?¨ You laugh a little, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice. ¨If I was, I doubt Graham would think I´m good enough to play with you guys.¨

¨I don't think Graham is the only one who needs to think that.¨ Everyone shifts uncomfortably, looking nervously from Damon to you, and Graham tugs his collar as if the temperature had gone up.

But nonetheless, you don't back down.

¨Oh yeah? How so?¨

¨You played the G-string too high,¨ He deadpans, looking utterly bored amidst oceanic hues.

¨What?¨ You flip your music pages a couple of times until you find the page where you played that part. ¨No I didn´t, I was right on tune-do you even know how to play the violin?¨

¨No,¨ he smirks, and with your blood boiling steadily you open your mouth to argue, but thankfully Graham butts in.

¨Damon, don´t be a prick, she played fine. Unlike you, who fucked up on the 5th verse.¨

The man in question lazily stretches his arms above his head, causing his white tee to rise a few inches over his belly button. You can´t help but glance at the skin-it's smooth, cleanly chiseled with part of his v-line showing, a happy trail rising from the juncture.

¨Oi, sweetheart, eyes up here.¨

You snap your gaze back to his smug face, cheeks burning.

¨I didn´t-¨

¨Sure you didn´t. Just like how I didn't mess up on the 5th verse, and how you didn't ruin the song with your shitty violin, yeah?¨ He simpers, and you almost rise out of your seat to snarl at him before Graham jumps in between you two, scolding a very inappropriately-grinning Damon.

You get up out of your chair and huff, shoving your belongings back into your bag as everyone else packs up, the men bickering and playfully throwing shit at each other.

The producer even congratulates you on your successful first day, and everyone cheers and pounds you on your back, your hair falling in your face and gracefully hiding your 120k watt smile.

Damon shoulders right past you, knocking your case right out of your hands. You grapple with it for a second before it hits the ground, and when it does you whip around and shoot him an icy glare.

He's not even looking at you, he's already out the door.

It's quiet for a moment.

¨Well, there he goes again being a dickhead. Classic Damon, you got.¨ The saxophone player points to the leaving blond and grins sheepishly at you.

¨What's his problem?¨ You ask in disgust, shaking your head as you join the rest of the boys leaving.

¨Uh, well...¨ Graham scratches the back of his head and avoids looking at you. ¨He's always been kind of like that, y´know, so don't take it too personally, but between just us four, his wife´s been on his arse for a bit about um...some...domestic affairs.¨ He finishes lamely, and the other two men guffaw at your raised eyebrow.

You don't have a chance to press further as to ask what domestic affairs, exactly because a loud clap of thunder shakes you all to your cores as you step outside.

¨Aw, come on!¨ You stamp your foot and hold out your hand for confirmation of the raindrops about to drop on you all. ¨I didn't know it was gonna rain today,¨ you grumble.

Graham squints up at the sky and wipes some droplets off his blurred glasses, covering his head with his jacket hood as he begins walking to the parking garage. ¨I´ll see you lot in about a week, yeah? Just keep practicing, good rehearsal we had today!¨ He waves his hand and dashes off.

¨Good job on your first day, Y/N. Fancy the weather on your walk back for us!¨ The sax and bass player bid farewell and also do a sprint to their respective cars, splashing through the puddles and sending muddy water on your pants.

¨Urgh!¨ You raise your hands to try and protect your bottoms but to no avail- London's sewage strikes again.

Sighing in defeat, you walk through the rain towards your car, succumbing to the grimy walk. Unfortunately you didn't think to use the parking garage due to high nerves when you first came in.

You walk for about 5 minutes, the rain drenching your hair and clothes and chilling you to your bones.

Could this day get any more annoying?

Oh, but you should´ve known that it could.

Because right at that moment, a black limo swerves right next to you on the sidewalk, sending a massive wave of gutter water right your way.

You swear loudly and jump back, barely managing to avoid the remnants of the sewage tsunami crossing your feet.

Looking up wildly at the offensive vehicle, you make a fist and flip the window off, your lip curled up into a snarl.

The obsidian glass rolls down.

¨Well that's not very nice, is it? Nasty weather we got going on right now, careful it doesn't get on your clothes.¨

Oh.

¨It's you,¨ you monotone, less than pleased to see his salacious grin at your predicament-which was being soaked to your undergarments in brown muddy water, your hair clinging to your face and your violin case lugging down towards the ground, its weight proving mutiny against you today of all days.

¨In the flesh,¨ Damon beams, and you scowl at his cheery attitude.

¨You almost drowned me, asshole,¨ You turn your nose up in scorn, and he chuckles in his baritone voice.

¨Nah, cant´ve love, I can't drive,¨ he clicks his tongue and jerks his thumb to the seat in front of him, where you assume his chauffeur is.

¨Oh, so it was under your orders that your poor driver practically waterboarded me?¨ ¨Well, yeah, I mean what else do you expect me to do when I see a pretty lady walking so harmlessly in the rain?¨ Your voice catches in your throat for a second from his words and the way his glacial eyes twinkle for a moment, but then he erupts in dry chuckles at your demeanor and you throttle your hesitancy at speaking.

¨Shut up, you're absolutely vile, y´know that?¨ ¨So I´ve been told, but to be honest sweetheart, I´d rather hear that in bed, where I´m used to hearing it. Now are you going to get in or shall I talk about my sexual prowess with you the rest of the afternoon?¨ He opens his door from the inside and mockingly winks at you.

You feign a gag, but still decide to jump in the spacious limo when a flash of lightning lights up the sky.

He scoots back to give you space to sit and adjust your violin case on the seats in front of you, but just as you´re about to close the door, he leans in right next to you and reaches behind you to pull it shut himself.

You´re caught still as he draws close, you´re extended hand frozen in midair as his arm against your back flexes and stiffens with it pulling the door. You can feel his breath against your neck as he exhales, can feel some of his hair tickling against your ear and cheek. You hold your breath, not daring to move lest you accidentally brush up against his proximity.

The loud slam of the door causes you to jump, and he laughs a little at that, signaling his driver to go.

You don't quite face him, your gaze down in your lap as his entire body is facing you, still stuck in its position when he was closing the car door.

¨Not nervous, are you?¨ He murmurs in your ear, and you can´t help it when your whole body shivers at feeling the rumble in his gravelly voice.

¨N-no, I´m not. Do you have to be so close?¨ You stammer, barely giving him a sideways glance which eggs him on, much to your displeasure.

¨Not really. But if you´re not nervous, then it shouldn't be a problem, right?¨ He says quietly and leans around to catch your eye.

Before you can lose your nerve and jump out of the car, you snap at him. ¨You just don´t quit, do you?¨

He finally relents and the side of his pink lips lift lazily as he stretches his knees out and practically manspreads across the expanse of three seats. ¨Nope. Not that you really were against it though, ´could feel your heart pounding a mile a minute sweetheart. Trust me, I´m used to making girls nervous, I would know.¨

You sneer at him. ¨Don´t call me sweetheart, and yeah, I was nervous about getting some disease-ridden prick like you getting close to me. God knows how many STD´s you've contracted from bedding some poor groupies.¨

¨Only one way to find out, right love?¨ He leans his head up to the car ceiling and lets his tousled golden hair flop back, his jawline accentuated by the cream-colored seats contrasting with his tan skin.

You catch yourself staring, and shake your head quickly.

¨You must´ve been more hopped up on heroine than I thought if you think I´d ever fuck a self-absorbed, narcissitic bastard like you.¨

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, but once they do your eyes widen and you clap a hand over your mouth in horror.

Damon lifts his head and slowly turns to face you, his mouth set in a thin line.

¨A self-absorbed, narcissistic bastard whose limo you're riding in, need I remind you, so I can´t be all that bad. ´Can't say I haven't heard any of that before love, but most girls who say that end up in my bed anyways.¨

You open your mouth to argue but he cuts you off.

¨Although, ´hopped up on heroin´ is a new one. Just exactly how much research have you done about me so far?¨

Your rebuttal dies in your throat. You were caught.

Your ears burn and your face flushes as you bite your lip in embarrassment. Maybe you went too far, and on top of that you let it slip that you knew about him beforehand.

But you refuse to kowtow in humiliation to this idiot, so you think quickly.

¨I doubt you´ve got your head that far up your ass to disregard how half the world was tuning into your personal life when Blur was big, Damon.¨

He looks unimpressed with your excuse, but before he can open his mouth to question you further, you hurry up with another save.

¨Also, where are we going? You never asked me where my car was.¨

Bingo His eyes brighten and he shouts at the driver, harping on about him being a brain-dead idiot for driving in circles the past 10 minutes.

What a save.

*******************

The moment you step into the booth next week, a drumstick is lobbed at you from seemingly nowhere. You yelp and hold your case up, blocking the weapon as it bounces off your makeshift shield. You bring the case down and shoot a glare towards the only man you know capable of acting so childishly at his grown age.

But he´s already scrolling through his phone, looking for a measure to start from.

¨You´re late.¨

¨Hardly,¨ you mutter, glancing at the clock on the wall. Two minutes past shouldn´t be an excuse for having a drumstick pick out your eye.

¨Good to see you again, Y/N,¨ Graham pipes up softly, sending you an apologetic glance from Damon to you and you stick out your tongue in faux annoyance.

The other two members of your group greet you as well, and you all begin practice. Notes begin harmonizing together, voice and sound coinciding to make music you´ve swayed your hips and nodded your head to on blue nights.

It´s a hot day, humidity clinging to your skin akin to the perspiration hanging off your forehead, and halfway through the song you decide to take off your sweater. You´re wearing a white tank top underneath, nothing too revealing save for the slight dip in the V-neck, but you couldn't care less about modesty at the moment when your fingers were literally slipping in their grasp on your sweat-slicked bow.

During a quick break in your part of the song, you slip off your sweater and fan yourself out. It feels good, but you feel a pair of eyes staring at you. Following the laser gaze, you turn your head to face Damon, but he´s nose-deep in the lyrics sheet, warbling about a broken love or friendship.

Huh, must´ve been imagining it.

Your solo comes up, and you prepare yourself for tackling the notes to your best ability, keeping up with Graham´s rapid guitar pace. Sweat continues to build on everyone´s vicinity when the rapid movement of arms waving around their own instrument causes more body heat to suffocate you all.

Miraculously, the song finishes, and you collapse in your seat like the rest of the men, panting and wiping slick off your foreheads. You reach for a bottle of water on the floor and unscrew the lid, grimacing at its lukewarm temperature but drinking it nonetheless.

For the second time, you have an unnerving feeling of being watched. This time, you whip your head to the side and catch him staring straight at you.

Damon´s face is flushed, his hair tousled, his rose colored glasses steamed up from the muggy aura in the room. His denim jacket is hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his torso covered with a sheer wife beater that accentuates his chiseled dad-body.

But he just stares you down, saying nothing. You frown at him a little bit and shift your body away from him, feeling vulnerable to his laser-gaze. His eyes darken, but Graham speaks, cutting him off from whatever he was about to say.

¨That was pretty good, you lot. Greg, Taz, hold off on the third beat of the fourth measure. We´ve gotta crescendo slightly-¨

¨Y/N, do you have a job?¨

Damon's voice cuts off Graham, and everyone falters as they look at him and then you in surprise.

¨I don´t know what you mean,¨ you respond coolly, knowing that whatever he was about to say wasn't good.

¨I mean, do you have a job? Because as far as I know, most people who work don't dress like whores at their job.¨

His eyes travel from your face down to your slight cleavage, and you sputter in rage as the rest of the boys shift uncomfortably.

¨Damon, for god's sake what´re you on about?¨ Graham asks wearily, taking his glasses off and rubbing his shiny neck.

¨I could ask you the same thing, actually. Because as far as I know, you've fucked enough women in your lifetime that one would think you could keep it in your pants for five minutes without acting like a twelve-year-old. Oh, but unless that´s too professional for you? I guess you´re not as serious about your work environment as you claim.¨ you laugh, and the sax player, Greg, snorts into his water bottle.

Damon sneers, ¨How could I forget, you actually have done your research about my life and sexual endeavors, what a cute little fangirl you are. If you wanted an autograph, you could've just asked, sweetheart.¨

¨Go fuck yourself,¨ you snap. ¨You´re all wearing wife-beaters anyways, what's the difference?¨

Damon starts again but Graham claps his hands loudly, startling you all.

¨Enough, both of you! What's gotten into you? Need I remind you that our song is due in less than two weeks? We need to finish this shit and get on with it. Stop acting like children.¨

You mumble under your breath and Damon shoots a dark look to his childhood friend, but the brunette doesn't back down, and continues to give advice on how to improve their song. You don´t look at Damon the rest of the session out of pure spite, but that doesn't stop him from shamelessly staring straight at you, right until it's time to leave.

The second Graham checks his watch and exclaims that it's a quarter past twelve already, you´re already bolting out of your seat and shoving your violin in its case, eager to get out of the disgustingly hot room.

Fortunately, this time you had the right idea to park in the garage like everyone else to avoid any other unwanted encounters, but unfortunately while it was nice to not be waterboarded on your walk, it wasn´t enough to stop said unwanted encounters from occurring.

Take right now, for instance.

As you stumble to your car in the blistering weather, your energy depletes faster and faster, causing you to be light headed. Practice was already tough enough in the sweltering heat, but after Damon's little scene you don't have any energy to even walk.

You crash blindly into your car, the metal of the doors burning your skin as you make contact with the handle. You hiss and jerk back, swaying slightly as your head fogs up. You can barely see, you feel like your clothes weigh a ton on you, so you slide down the vehicle and sit up against the tires, throwing your head back against the car and groaning. The idea of unlocking your doors and sitting in the seat where no doubt several temperatures higher will be settling on the dashboard and in the front row is nauseating.

Weather-2

You-0

You don't know the building well enough to know where a vending machine is, and even if you shot Graham a text, you don't have enough energy to wander around and scout for it.

And lo and behold, from a distance, a figure approaches. You squint as it draws nearer, and let out a laugh as the features come into familiarity.

The heat must be getting to you worse than you thought, because you´re certain you´re hallucinating Damon Albarn of all fucking people swaggering towards you, one hand holding his denim jacket over his shoulder, and a shit-eating grin on his face as he comes to stand in front of you.

All you can do is pant like a dog, looking up at him with unimpressed eyes.

¨Oi, G-String. ´Brought you some water.¨ he holds out a hand, and you choose to ignore the offensive nickname, insead noticing the large bottle in it, cold condensation covering its expanse.

Your eyes widen and you lick your lips unconsciously, holding your hands out for it.

Damon watches your tongue poke out and loses focus before snapping back to reality and moving his arm above your head. You pout and try to reach for it again, but he laughs and holds it even higher.

You glare and turn your head away from him, suddenly remembering how he embarrassed you earlier.

¨Go away. I don't want it anymore. You´re an asshole.¨ you mumble, perspiration hanging off your lip as you lick the salty beads away once again.

Damon´s eyes never leave your mouth as he listens to you and watches the pink appendage make its appearance again, and his mouth hangs open slightly unbeknownst to you for a second. You cross your arms and glare at the empty parking lot, silently willing him to go away.

He snaps back into focus yet again and shakes his head at you. ¨Oh come on love, I´m just teasing. You look like you´re about to die anyways, might as well make this your last meal-er, drink I mean.¨

¨I´m not taking anything from a complete dickhead who enjoys harassing women about their clothes. You know, for such a womanizer, you act pretty clueless about how comments like that would make a girl feel. No one else but you had an issue with it, or rather, had the audacity to point it out.¨ You cough at the last word, your dry throat and heavy head making it harder to talk.

He sighs and crouches down, balancing on the balls of his feet. He pops open the cap and gently turns your chin towards his face, much to your surprise. You´re genuinely too weak to protest, but when you look at his concerned face, eyebrows scrunched up and accentuating the lines on his forehead, you don't think you'd want to turn away even if you could.

He coaxes your agap mouth even more open by dragging a rough thumb down over your lips, and you obediently open your mouth, mesmerized by his eyes. His movements are soft and slow, as if you were a fidgety rabbit about to run off at the slightest touch. He scoots closer, right over in front of you as you simply gaze up at him, allowing him to pour cool water down your throat, quenching your bone-dry palate.

For a couple of seconds, water floods your mouth but all you can do is stare up at him. The light rays are reflecting off his back, casting a yellow glow around his silhouette and he almost looks like an angel. His hair is mussed as if he'd spent the day running his hands through the golden locks, and the scruff on his face peeks through soft-looking skin.

¨Swallow, or I'll really waterboard you this time,¨ he says lowly, chuckling a bit as he catches you staring so adamantly right in his face. You jerk back to consciousness and swallow hastily, accidentally choking on the gulp in your rush.

He laughs even more and lets go of your chin much to your disappointment as he adjusts himself to sit next to you, not seeming to mind the scorching car metal. The absence of his hand on your face leaves a cold, empty feeling in your heart despite the heated blush on your cheeks

¨You´ll burn yourself,¨ you mumble, lolling your head over to look at him.

But he looks straight ahead and shrugs casually. ¨Not any more than you.¨ You both sit in silence for a few minutes, occasionally sipping from the bottle he passes towards you and watching cars go by.

¨You didn't answer my question. Why do you harp on me in the studio? You act like a normal human being here.¨

Damon looks thoughtfully at a white sedan passing by, then speaks.

¨As I´m sure Graham has blabbed to you already, I´ve been having some...trouble with the missus, let's say.¨

You say nothing and raise a questioning eyebrow.

¨For the shitty attitude,¨ he mutters and swipes the bottle from your hand, taking a large swig himself.

¨And, like you said earlier, I am an asshole. Of course I´ll enjoy harassing pretty women over their revealing clothes,¨ he smirks and gives you a once over.

There it was again, pretty woman.

You scowl and get up to leave, but what he says stops you in your tracks.

¨Taz was lookin´ at you,¨ he says quietly, suddenly very interested in the now-empty bottle. ¨´Didn't like it, but I couldn't say anything to him. Graham likes him too much.¨

Huh. Maybe the pair of eyes you felt back in the room didn't only belong to Damon.

He cracks a small smile and looks up at you, his face adorably innocent and wide as he sheepishly admits, ¨I´m used to butting heads with blokes like him for women.¨

You jerk back up to your feet, brushing off any insinuation he was giving and pat his knee awkwardly, ignoring the fire now igniting once again in your chest.

¨Thanks for the water, I needed it. You might wanna move if you don't want to get run over by my car.¨ You reach down and pick up your case as Damon clambers to his feet.

He looks amused as you fumble for your keys, nervously turning the lock and sitting in the hot car, obviously eager to get away from his intimidating gaze.

¨I´ll see you next week, yeah?¨ You laugh breathlessly and roll your window down to call out to him.

He says nothing, but merely cocks his head at you, his eyes now obscured by the rose-colored glasses he puts over his eyes. He waves a little and watches as you drive away a little too fast.

But as it turns out, you don't see him next week.

******

It was just your luck that one of the cutest guys from your work asked you out on the very same week you had practice with the boys. You contemplated moving the date to another time, but...you deserved to have some fun time off too, right? It's not like it would make too much of a difference in your skill, anyways, you´ve gotten all the strings down and such.

So, you decide to go on this date. It goes well, the dude was cute, dorky, lacked a little pizzazz but nothing a bottle of fancy red wine and a night of movies couldn´t coax out of him. It honestly wasn't anything too big, you exchanged numbers and made plans to meet up again soon. After parting ways, you threw yourself back into the regular regime of practicing your violin and meticulously listening to the booth recording every night, just so you could perfect your part to a T.

The day came where you had to go back to practice, and you were ready, veins pumping with determination to make these last few sessions the best you´ve played yet. You texted Graham that you´d be there soon, and he gave you a thumbs up in return. When you finally arrived in front of the room, you were 10 minutes late. The boys were already playing, by the sound of the percussion booming outside the door. You grimace and take a deep breath, turning the handle in and hurrying inside the booth.

No one really spared a glance at you, so you assumed you were okay in terms of punctuality. You opened your case and started strumming your strings, counting the measures and beats until it was your turn. Damon´s voice rang out, melodious and airy as ever, dropping octaves and floating on soprano tones. Your bow moved across his words, accenting his tones and adding emphasis to his sorrowful song. And then, after a couple of minutes, it was done.

¨Alright you lot, pretty good for today. ´Specially you, Y/N, you caught up pretty quick, I expected you to slack behind but I'm actually impressed.¨ Graham flashed you a nervous grin and you beamed back at him in return.

¨Yeah, speaking of, why were you gone last week? I expected someone who makes below the poverty line would actually want to work for their money,¨ Damon chuckles a little meanly.

You feel your smile drop a smidge.

¨Well actually Damon, not that it's any of your business, but I went on a date.¨ You smirk at him, enjoying the way his mouth opens slightly and moves silently.

But he regroups quickly and glares at you. ¨None of my business? The deadline is only a few days away, and you´re whoring yourself out and going on dates? I guess you´re not as professional as Graham thought.¨

Everyone shifts uncomfortably, and blood rushes to your face, anger clouding your mind. Why was he being like this? He was fine the last time you saw him, you actually thought maybe he was going to change the way he addressed you.

Graham speaks up. ¨Damon. You´re overreacting man, I gave her the okay, and she played fine today. No harm done, seriously, there's no need for that kind of language towards her.¨

¨Actually, there absolutely is a need. If I knew you were going to invite a prostitute as our sub-in then I would´ve never agreed to have her here. Didn´t know you were so low on money Y/N, I would´ve spared you a couple pounds.¨ He sneers.

¨Damon!¨

You laugh bitterly and rise to your feet. ¨Oh that's rich, coming from the man who fucked half the continent just because he couldn't get over one girl. No wonder every real woman in your life including your wife wants to leave, nothing is ever good enough for you. Except heroin maybe.¨

The words leave your mouth before you can take them back, and there's a pin drop silence as if a bomb had been dropped. In a way, it kind of did.

Damo glares at you. Everyone is holding your breath, including you.

¨Get out.¨

¨Hey,-¨ Taz tries to gently interject but Damon throws the mic at him.

¨I said get the fuck out. You´re not practicing with us anymore, you can pack your shit and leave.¨

Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, and you choke out a small ¨Fine.¨

You hear Graham berating him behind you as you fly through the door, telling him that they need you, it's too late to change people, but the words jumble in your ears as the door slams shut. You don't hear what Damon says, if he even says anything, and you aren't interested in his comebacks right now.

It's only when you leave the car, tears streaming down your face in rage and embarrassment that you groan to yourself, your hands reaching an empty seat with one foot out the door-

You forgot your violin case.

************

It's nighttime.

The crickets chirp as you creep silently through the parking garage, the soft thud of your shoes echoing a lot louder than you wanted in the empty lot. The studio itself wasn't closed, but you were sure Damon must have informed the manager there not to let an ex-musician like you back in there.

Wearing a black hoodie and black pants was a smart move- you blended in with the shadows well. The doors weren't locked, and you hiss out a small ¨yesss¨ as you slip inside the mostly dark building. Needless to say, you were proud of yourself for navigating through the windings pitch-black hallways to your old booth.

Testing the handle lightly, you sigh out in relief when that too gives way. Unfortunately though, the second the door shuts behind you, you immediately stumble forward and fall.

The room is dark, darker than the other hallways so you can barely see your hands. The only source of light you´re granted is the dim red bulb on top of the booth door. And speaking of, that's exactly where you need to go...which proves to be harder when you keep bumping into random shit and cursing when you feel potential bruises forming on your shins.

Miraculously you stagger through the next door towards where you last sat, and blindly feel around the floor and chairs for your violin case. You feel nothing there, but panic starts settling in your heart when you can't find it.

¨Looking for something?¨

You scream and lurch backwards, knocking your head into some kind of stand. Groaning, you rub your head and hold a hand on your racing heart as you squint into the dim red room, placing the voice to the person.

¨D-Damon?¨

¨In the flesh sweetheart. ´Knew you'd come back for this, s´just my luck I came back to get it tonight so I could give it to you personally in case you wanted to be stubborn. But this is even better than I could´ve hoped.¨

You make out his silhouette in the obsidian abyss in front of you. He's sitting with knees spread on a chair, a few feet in front of you as he leans his head back on the wall. Your precious violin case is being held hostage in his arms, and it's the absolute love you have for the brittle instrument that propels you to your feet and moves you to get the hell out instead of interrogating him.

¨What, so you were just here the whole time listening to me falling around like an idiot?” You laugh incredulously, and you see the area of his shoulders move up and down.

¨Was pretty funny to watch, honestly. You sound cute when you curse.¨ He stands up to his fullest height now, the red light bouncing off his back, giving him a sort of demonic halo.

You knew it was actually time to leave when you felt those stupid butterflies in your stomach rise up again.

¨Right, well, I´ll be on my way then. Good luck with your song and whatever, I´ll just take the case...¨ You trail off as your extended hand is left in midair, no violin case reaching it.

He cocks his head at you. ¨Why are you in such a rush to leave?¨

You can´t help the scoff that escapes you.

¨Are you serious? You were such an absolute dickhead to me this afternoon, you said all sorts of horrible things to me, and you even fired me for Christ's sake! I want nothing to do with you, so could you please give me my case back so I can go?¨

He's silent for a moment before answering. ¨Are you done yet?¨

It isn´t just the light that's making you see red now.

¨Fuck you, honestly.¨ You whirl around and stomp towards where you guess the door is, ignoring the clatter behind you and bingo you locate the handle, but as soon as you turn it-

A hand reaches from behind you and pulls the ajar door shut.

¨Don´t go. I´m sorry.¨

You´re absolutely still as you feel him towering over you, his arm dangerously close to your midriff as his hand remains on the knob.

His voice is low, and you can feel him breathe against your neck, mere inches away. You can´t help the involuntary shiver that passes through you, and he feels it too, inhaling deeply when he gets close to your ear.

¨You smell so good.¨

¨Leave me alone, Damon,¨ you whisper, your voice catching in your throat from the overwhelming onslaught of emotions passing through you.

He breaths in and slowly lets his hand rest on your side.

¨I can't do that. You know why. You have to have known by now.¨

You tremble in his touch, yet allow his hands to wander down to your hip, the other coming around in a sort of hug to pull you closer to him.

¨We can´t.¨

¨Sure we can.¨

You can feel his erection bumping against your ass.

¨You´re not worth this.¨

¨I´ll make myself worth it.¨

And as soon as he latches onto the back of your neck, you´re like putty in his hands, a moaning mess as he sucks galaxy-colored hickies on your skin. You can feel yourself grow wetter as he shoves his hands up your shirt and teasingly pulls down the bridge of your bra, letting the weight of your tits fill up his hands appreciatively. He starts rolling your hardened buds in between his skilled calloused fingers, and you whine and throw your head back when you feel him rut against your ass, panting raggedly in your ear.

You rub your thighs together, desperate for some form of friction as he squeezes your tits, and then letting one hand ghost across the expanse of your stomach, down to brush against the rim of your panties. Damon chuckles meanly in your ear when you buck against the stilled hand over your mound.

¨You want this?¨ He lightly nips your ear. He smells like old spice and sandalwood.

You nod desperately, frustrated with him not giving you his thick fingers already.

But it's not enough for him. ¨No no, pretty girl, use your words now. I´ve barely touched you yet and you´re already moaning like a wanton little slut for me? And here I was thinking you weren't that easy.¨

You stop jerking your hips and blood rushes to your face at his insulting words. You try to move out of his grip, huffing and regretting the whole thing but he outright laughs now and spins you around, tugging you forward until your chest is slotted against his. You pout at him and look away, but he's quick to grasp your chin and pull you in for a rough yet sensual kiss.

Pushing you backwards against the wall, he deepens the lip-lock, tracing his tongue over your lips, nipping at the soft flesh and darkening his eyes when you whimper and look up at him.

He knows what he´s fucking doing when he again drops his hand under your pants and over your panties, his other palm wound up firmly through your hair. He pulls your head back and lets you breathe for a second from his kiss of death before he speaks again.

¨I didn't hear an answer, slut. Do you want this?¨ He leans forward until his nose brushes against your neck, flicking his tongue out to taste your saccharine flesh.

You tremble against his firm body when he pushes his pelvis against you, letting you feel how hard he is for you.

It doesn't matter anymore. Maybe he was right, maybe you were just an easy slut putting up a facade for him, but when his clothes erection grinds up against your pussy you can't care less.

¨Y-yes, yes, ´want you, please,¨ you pant, frantically gripping the back of his cropped hair as his head descends to mark your neck again.

¨What a good girl,¨ he whispers, finally allowing his digits to oh-so-slowly trace over your mound, pressing down harder when you jerk against him. He finds your wet clit and flicks it a few times, snickering when you gasp and moan. Your body writhes in place but he holds you literally between a rock-or, wall- and a hard place, preventing you from scampering off.

He drums his fingers against your folds, paying no attention to the way you grip his head tighter against you, silently begging him to go further.

But he relents eventually and retires from just pushing and prodding your folds, allowing his slicked fingers to slowly dive into your drooling hole. You whimper and bite back a string of curses when you feel him fill you completely, scraping against your walls for that one special spot.

His mouth moves off your neck and he rises to face you, a stupid smug grin on his wet lips, his eyelids lowered and trained on you. You flush at his lustful expression and gently push his head away, not wanting to accept his victory yet.

¨My fingers are literally fucking you right now, and you still won´t let me look at you? What, too embarrassed you couldn't continue being a stone-cold bitch for long?¨

You open your mouth to snap back but right at that moment he curls his fingers and grazes your G-spot, simultaneously grounding his wet palm against your clit.

With a loud gasp and the sluttiest moan you´ve ever made, you cum hard, your mouth open in a silent scream and your tongue hanging out like a bitch in heat as you do so. You fall forward against him.

You don't even need to look up to know that he has a shit-eating grin on his face.

¨What was that sweetheart? Sorry, ´couldn't hear you over those slutty moans. I think even the pornstars I´ve been with would give you a standing ovation if they heard what you just sounded like.¨

Your words are slurred as you curse nonsense at him, yet you´re still gripping his forearms to keep a hold on yourself. Your ears are ringing and you see spots as you come down from your climax, and surprisingly enough, Damon holds you close and doesn't let you slip down to the ground as you expected to when your knees start to give out.

Instead, he lifts you up quite easily and carries you over to a table in the corner of the room. You don´t know how he even navigates his way through the dimly lit room, but you suppose after almost half a lifetime in studios he knows his way around.

You offer no resistance as he sets you down gently and begins to lift your shirt off of your body. You manage to lift your arms weakly up in the air for easier access to stripping, but when he starts to kneel down to take your pants off you stop his hands at your knees and look at him with scrunched eyebrows.

He stops and looks up at you. His eyes aren't so darkened anymore, they´re wide and imploring, probably noticing your hesitation.

¨Damon, I...¨ You trail off as he maintains eye contact with you and slowly lowers his pursed lips to your calf, lightly pecking his way up to your knees and ensuring that you´re watching his every move.

Your breathing increases again as his pink appendage darts out, his saliva cooling on your exposed thighs. He sucks on the plush skin and turns his head upwards to face you.

You want to run your hands through his hair.

¨You have a wife,¨ You breathe.

¨Not for tonight I don´t.¨

Your voice gets caught in your throat at that. He positions his hands at the side of your knees, fingers curling around the hem of your pants in a second attempt.

¨Let me make you feel good, love.¨

His answer is in the form of your hand reaching for his collar and pulling him up into a standing position until he towers over your seated form, once again breath stolen in a heated kiss.

Damon fumbles with his zipper as you shove your pants off, fully ready for him now, your dampened panties solid evidence of your need for him.

He pulls his cock out and it bounces out, slapping up against his stomach.

You do a double take. The tabloids were right. He was absolutely huge.

It was disgusting almost, it was insulting really. How the fuck could he be that big? You lose count of how many inches he is when you start to get light headed, realizing with a jolt that he plans to put that monster inside you.

And fuck, why did it have to be so pretty too? Normally you wouldn´t use the word pretty to describe a dick, but fuck, that´s the only appropriate word that came to mind as you admired the white flesh as it mixed in with a dull pink flush turning into an angry shade of red as your eyes progressed up to his tip...which was soaked with precum, mind you.

He was neatly shaven everywhere, including his plush balls. No wonder he got to fuck half the continent.

Damon notices your gawking and smiles lazily, taking a fist around his prick and stroking lethargically up and down.

¨You gonna just stare at it all day or are you going to spread those cute legs for me?¨

Spoken like a true middle aged fuck-boyman.

You look up at him beseechingly, thoroughly intimidated by his length. He merely scoffs, winking at you when he wrenches your tightly closed knees apart.

It's almost like he falls into a trance when he presses his now-naked torso against your chest, when he slots himself between your legs and drags his tip through your sloppy folds and up onto your clit. His mouth falls open slightly and he moans when your juices coat his dick, making it slippery and easy to push the first few inches ever so slightly into your spasming cavern.

He can't help but want more, need more as he practically smothers his weight onto you, forcing you to lie back on the table and letting your legs dangle off the edge. He hunches over you and thrusts minutely into your pulsing folds, groaning when you whine and lace your fingers around his neck and tangle your legs around his back, dragging him impossibly close into you.

For a moment it´s just the sound of you two panting and moaning like inexperienced teenagers, and a zing of pride zips up your spine at the realization that Damon Albarn, one of the world's most renowned playboy is whining and humping against your pussy, reduced to nothing at your hands.

He takes your hands from around his neck and grips your wrists, forcing them above your head on the table. He leans down and kisses you, hard. You give him back the same energy when your hips move up and down along his length, pushing your inviting hole towards his eager and jumping dick.

¨Pretty little girl,¨ he murmurs against your lips, and you nip his bottom lip playfully in retaliation. He slowly starts to sink himself into you, and you practically purr at the feeling of his veiny member dragging against your sensitive walls until he stops.

You look at him questioningly, and blanch when you see the mischievous glint in his cobalt eyes.

¨I want you to count for me.¨

¨Count…?¨ You shake your head in confusion and he pulls out, making you groan in annoyance.

¨I want you to count every inch I put inside you. Unless your slutty mouth can't even do that? I'd be surprised if you couldn´t, you usually have so much shit to say.¨ His voice is low yet teasing, and a shiver passes through you when the rumble of his chest vibrates against your nipples.

¨F-fine, I´ll count.¨

He hums in approval and regroups, guiding his length into your awaiting pussy once again.

It´s almsot torture how slow he goes, and your toes curl at how vivid the sensation is at this pace.

You almost forget to do what he asks until he ducks his head down and teeths your bud.

¨Ah, fuck! One!¨ You yelp, writhing to get away from his lecherous gaze and hold on your poor tit.

He tuts and licks the swollen area until the pain subsides a bit, and then he continues to push.

¨T-two,¨ you moan and let your head fall back. It's unfair how tightly he´s holding your reins-you want him to plow you down, not take his sweet time in this punishment.

¨Damon, can´t you go any faster? Please, I want y-¨

¨-I didn't take you for a masochist, Y/N, but I´m happy to play around with these cute tits if you want to bitch more.¨

Your scowl is cut off when he suddenly shoves two more inches into you, and you mewl loudly at being filled so much.

¨Three! Four! Fuck, oh god, please,¨ you babble nonsense as he curses above you, his form shaking in an effort not to push all the way in.

¨Doing so good sweetheart, you´re almost halfway,¨ he smirks and you gape at him in disbelief.

Halfway?

Five, six, seven, eight, and nine go painfully slow, and by the time he´s fully sheathed inside you, plush balls pressed against your ass, you´re an incoherent, drooling mess.

Your hair is in your face, your cheeks are flushed, and your body bounces up and down as he begins to rock inside you, finally giving you what you want.

His name is chanted like an obscene prayer from your mouth as he grunts and shakes the table. Your legs are wobbly and unable to do anything except press him tighter against you to the point where he can barely move back. The skin of his stomach slaps against yours, his balls slap against the crevice of your ass, and your pussy practically sloshes with every stroke in and out.

He fists your hair with one hand and pulls your neck up to meet his searching lips, his other hand holds your wrists fast against the table. You want to touch him, you want to explore your body as he has conquered yours but he doesn't let you feel anything else apart from the rapid thrusts inside your battered body.

Damon switches positions and lifts the back of your knees up and pushes them forwards until they meet your chest. He lets his body weight rest on the back of your thighs as he pulls out and pushes back impossibly close inside you, closer than he did in missionary.

You sob with need as he plunges into you and reaches a higher spot than before, his tip grazing your cervix. He pounds into you, and you thrust your hips up to fuck back into him, calling out his name as if he were your god.

It´s a good thing the rooms are soundproof.

You feel your second climax comes when he paves way through your tight walls and batters your uterus. It doesn´t hurt so much as feel intense, and your choked moans become panting gasps when he brings a hand down to swirl his thumb over your aching clit.

¨You´re not going to meet with that prick from your work again, yeah? Say it. Say it if you want me to let you cum.¨ He could have been speaking an alien language for all you knew. Your poor addled brain didn't pick up anything except for the word ¨cum¨, and you were a goner.

¨Yes, yes, anything you say, anything you want, just please let me-¨

And oh he does.

It comes over you like a tidal wave, your mind going blank, your eyes seeing white as your legs shake from your earth-shattering orgasm. You feel like you´re going down a rollercoaster, and you never want to stop dropping.

Distantly, you hear him groan and say your name. You can feel pulsing in your filled walls, with what you assume is his ropes of cum. It feels like when you came, it practically squeezed all his cum out with your clenching.

He lets out a shaky breath and falls forward, his nose inches from yours, his breath puffing in your face.

Your eyes are glazed over, but you´ve never seen anything more clearly before.

Maybe Damon Albarn really was worth it.

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

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hansoulo · 3 years

Text

you’re just a bottomless pit

part one of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NSFW - explicit language, allusions to violence, discussions of mild harassment, mentions of being royalty, kissing, choking, light non-descriptive smut, slight elements of dubcon, boba’s a big dick gotta be what you have amirite

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: this is empire strikes back boba when he was just fucking around and finding out so i took a lot of liberties with canon don’t @ me. i offer u this picture as a helpful visual aid. merry christmas xx

༓ series masterlist ༓

Darth Vader was to be a house guest, and you promptly dunked your head underneath your bathwater.

The perfumed pool burbled for a few seconds while you groaned, listless and in the throes of dramatics, but your attendant only clucked in sympathy. Mila was long accustomed to your disdain for the Imperials who had come to occupy more and more of the palace. So, it seemed, was everyone except the Imperials.

After a long moment you emerged from below the water, droplets of it clinging to your face and trailing into your mouth. “Another Lord?” you asked incredulously, groaning even louder when the servant nodded.

You swam the two short strokes it took to go from one end of the small pool to the other, then floated bare on your back and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. “Is he the one with all the strange…” motioning towards your mouth, you made a vague gesture. “Apparatus?”

“I believe so, your Highness.”

Humming noncommittally, you let your gaze trail off for a moment and stood rightside up again before returning to the bath’s edge. Its intricate tiles were cluttered with bottles, little glass tinctures and oils and soaps that all wrapped themselves around the room in a heady, heavy incense. You inhaled deeply and sighed. Lord Vader with the strange apparatus.

You couldn’t remember a time before your father, the sovereign ruler of Quas Killam, was a puppet for the permanently stationed General and a yes-man for Emperor Palpatine. Then again, you supposed it wasn’t really his fault his planet just happened to be Mid-Rim and full of exactly what the Empire needed. Being a yes-man was probably the only thing keeping his planet intact during the civil war that was supposedly raging right now.

But it was hard to feel sympathy for a man who dressed you up like a paper doll and never let your mother talk.

A soapy sponge was brought up against your back, smelling of lavender. Closing your eyes, you let Mila’s motherly hands scrub at your shoulders and arms until the skin tingled in a pleasant burn.

You picked at the tile grouts with a polished fingernail, head swimming with rows and rows of grey uniforms and white shelled armor. “Wonder why they’re here this time,” you said, speaking softly to no one in particular.

“Princess, if I may...” the older woman began.

“You may.”

“I believe they’re building another weapons factory to supply the Empire, in the north fields. Lord Vader was invited to oversee its induction.”

You kicked your legs lazily in the water, half-asleep and lulled into slowness by the refresher’s warm steam. “And I suppose he’s bringing along an entourage?” you asked, already knowing the answer. They always did, those Imperial sorts. It was just a question of how many and for how long they decided to stay, having taken any real power from your family royalty years ago after they’d discovered the trinium mines your planet was known for.

Your title had rotted of its relevance, made even lesser by the fact that you were the youngest daughter of seven. Your infant brother was being groomed for ventriloquism and you, you were being groomed for obsoletion.

Mila’s hands, roughened by years of laundry and lye soap, rubbed warm oils into your skin. “There was talk of a bounty hunter, your Highness.”

Your eyes shot open.

A bounty hunter?

⫸ ——— ——————————————————————————— ⫷

You saw him a few weeks later, in the flurry of transport arrivals and mindless, droning ceremony. It was only a flash of his helmet, but it was enough to keep your imagination spinning for days.

Whispers from entreating servants and talk from stormtroopers that couldn’t keep their mouths shut had informed you of his reputation, his station, and his name. Boba Fett.

A particularly loose-lipped security droid regaled you with rumors of his being hired by Lord Vader, hunting a man named Han out in the Outer Rim. Quas Killam was on their way, apparently, good for information and heavy on the underworld dealings you’d always been shielded from. Truthfully, you didn’t much care. You knew no one got close to the Empire without blood on their hands. Whether they be kings or bounty hunters.

When you actually talked to the man, having been caught trying to eavesdrop on the chamber meeting he happened to be exiting the moment you leaned your ear against the door, any delusions of decorum were shattered the moment he opened his mouth. “Out of the way.”

You bristled, gathering up your skirts in a huff as you stepped away. Rude.

He was taller than you thought he’d be. Taller and broader than he looked before back on the cargo bay, a mere smudge in your peripheral vision. Now that he was alone save for you in the cavernous hallway, his words echoed on the marble tile. So much for espionage.

“My father’s in that meeting,” you replied shortly, putting on airs and doing your best to look like your mother, regal and cold.

Boba only stood there, thumbing the notches of his blaster until he caught the thin sparkle of the diadem crowning your head. A scoff, dismissive. “Then out of the way, princess.”

It wasn’t the title that bothered you. After all, it’s not like he was wrong. It was the way he said it. It was… it was patronizing! Condescending. Absolute inappropriate to a person of your station.

And, if you were being honest with yourself, more than a little attractive.

You shifted your weight onto one hip, scowling. “Don’t call me that.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, static-y and made even rougher by his helmet. “What? Princess.”

Stars, you heard that word a million times a day for a million different reasons. His saying it shouldn’t have felt so warm in your mouth.

Before you could volley back a reply, something equally biting and smarmy, the double doors he stood in front of began to groan open again.

“Better scram, little one.” Boba jerked his head towards the sound of your father’s advancing footsteps. “Daddy’s coming.”

⫸ ——— ——————————————————————————— ⫷

You often dreamed about what it’d be like to leave. Your title. Your station. All the bloody bores that came along with it.

But you had never even been outside the palace grounds. Probably never would, unless your father found someone willing to marry a low-ranking princess and hoisted you over their shoulder, a piece for a game you were never taught and never allowed to play. You’d already resigned yourself to that fact and half-way convinced yourself you were okay with it. But prisons were still prisons. Even if they were made of silk.

On the eve of Lord Vader's departure, everyone in the palace was preoccupied. Your father was most likely schmoozing some Imperial officer. Your mother, in bed with yet another headache. Your governess spent the day preening over your younger brother and your handmaiden was nowhere to be seen. You had a sneaking suspicion she was with one of the guards in a dark hallway.

So you slipped out behind a servant’s entrance and looked for a place to breathe.

Hardly anyone knew about this part of the palace gardens. It was sequestered behind so many winding footpaths and barely-oiled gates that the security droids never bothered patrolling past the main entrance, making it simple to duck underneath the overgrown hedges. The air was quiet; heavy-scented with all the flowers that had been planted and forgotten, left to grow wild across the footpaths and be crushed underneath your feet.

You used to come here quite often, when you were younger and it was easier to slip away. There were long spaces in your memory made of cotton, with hazy sun-soaked afternoons and the fountain that somehow still spouted out streams of cold water from the hands of a statue, some relic of an ancient ruler who had long since died. It was only a small courtyard, made smaller by the thick surrounding hedges and large chunks of cobblestone, but it felt like a whole galaxy to you.

A few minutes passed, then an hour. Two hours. A long, slow, summer stretch of day that just confirmed the fact of your irrelevance. It was filled in only by the mindless reading of your holopad and a few short naps. But better out here alone than stuck back inside, surrounded by those insufferable stormtroopers.

Maybe you spoke too soon, because a few seconds later you were toe-to-toe with Boba Fett, your back pressed to the garden wall. Stars, you didn’t even hear him walk in.

You’d think by now you would have learned to be more careful. Listening and being listened in on.

The helmet tilted up and then down, examining your sour expression. Rolling your eyes, you slumped against the ivy-covered brick, still smarting from your encounter with him a few days prior. “Why are you here?” A haughty, affected wave of your hand. “Were you sent here to fetch me?”

The man straightened out, stepping back from you with a broadening of his already broad shoulders. Chips in his armor reflected tiny bits of sunlight, little silver speckles on green armor that looked even greener surrounded by wild flora. He hunted people for a living, so the fact that you were made quick work of didn’t really bother you. Still, it was a bit disappointing. Having to go back to the palace was the last thing you wanted.

“The king was concerned for your safety.”

Oh for Maker’s sake. “You mean he was concerned for his reputation.”

“I was told to find you-”

“-and bring me back so I could sit in a parlor and be supervised like a child.”

“Princess,” he sighed.

There was that word again.

A heavy swallow bobbed the lump in your throat, your chest flushed and littering the space between your bodies in a low buzz. You narrowed your eyes, not trusting your own head for something more articulate, and spit the question out. “What?”

He motioned towards the footpath, one hand resting on his belt. “Let’s go.”

You only crossed your arms with a raise of an eyebrow, mind floating an acknowledgement that you were very much acting like a child who needed to be supervised.

“I don’t make a habit of tracking down spoiled royalty.”

No one had ever called you spoiled before.

It was sort of refreshing.

The man cut an imposing figure, you’d give him that. With the helmet and blaster and… armor and such. You weren’t even entirely sure you remembered to put on real shoes before coming out here, still slippered and in stocking feet. What a pair you must’ve made. Incongruous.

You cocked your head and leant against the wall with the fabric of your dress swishing out around your ankles. Caught by warm, humid winds, its layers separated themselves into thin sails before falling down together again. Rhetorical questions were blooming alongside flowers. “Are spoiled royalty below your paygrade, then?”

A tip of his helmet said yes, yes they are.

You supposed as such, with the sort of reputation he had. Skilled bounty hunter. Feared mercenary. Expensive and coveted.

A lap dog.

Maybe there was more in common between you than you thought.

Another breeze whistled past, but the man in front of you was silent. “Well,” you finally spoke, brushing away the imaginary dirt on your dress. “I don’t make a habit of following around strange men, so we’re in a bit of a bind.”

There was an edge in his voice when you moved to walk away, a gloved grip snaking up and resting a deadweight on the back of your neck. You pushed up against him. Lothcat and mouse. You were both, but he was too. “I’m not telling you again, Princess.”

If he called you that again you were sure something would happen. What that something was you had no idea, but the epithet, mocking as it was, felt too good soaking in your sternum for it not to be a catalyst.

A breathy smirk left your lips when your hips canted downward and the gauzed fabric of your dress caught on his cuisse plate. “If I didn’t know any better,” you whispered, reaching to flatten your palms across his chest, “I’d say you almost enjoyed chasing me.”

The hand on your nape tightened and his leather fingerprints dug unspoken threats into your skin that simmered, burning up and down your spine. You faked a pout. “Shame you already caught me, isn’t it?”

The grip surrounding you loosened just slightly, letting your back slide down the garden wall whose ivy-covered stone dragged at your bodice back. A small voice chirped up in the back of your head, chiding you for dirtying the delicate fabric before you willed it away, done with listening.

Boba almost growled. “Don’t push your luck.”

“My, my,” you clucked, shaking your head. Your fingers trailed towards the edges of his helmet and traced stripes where his brow bone would be. They were gold. For vengeance. “Aren’t we feeling insolent today?”

The man underneath the beskar scoffed, the palm that was at the back of your neck now wrapping itself around your outstretched wrist and pulling your hand away. You let out a quiet whine of protest, both at the loss of contact and just to see what it might do to him to hear it. When he stiffened, leaning away with every muscle seeming to tense and release and tense again, you were unreasonably pleased. There was still red blood underneath all that red paint.

Boba’s voice was clipped when he finally replied; the vowels came through strained and raspy. “I could say the same for you.”

Yes, he probably could, couldn’t he?

Then again, maybe your two wrongs could cancel out into being right and not at all compromising.

It’s not like you really did anything erroneous. Well, besides the running away part. But that was par for the course for you. All that was new was… him. And his hands. And his being alone with you. Which could possibly be construed as something wrong and compromising but how wrong could it be, really, if neither of you did anything?

Of course, this all hinged on neither of you doing anything. Compromising.

“Take the helmet off and I’ll go with you,” you offered, knowing how juvenile you sounded. You just wanted to see if he’d hear you. If he’d listen.

He did.

Boot spurs clinked as he stalked towards you, closer than he was before. It was invasive; almost chest to chest with no room for breathing as you were pushed up against the wall again, and you were met with the revelation that whatever you were toying with was probably a really, really bad idea.

Static filled your ears from the husk of his vocoder. “You know I can take you back whether you want to or not.” The roof of your mouth went dry and you remembered how Boba’s palm spanned the entire back of your neck, cradled delicately by leather fingers. He could crush your throat in one hand. Squeeze until you went limp. You wouldn’t be able to stop him. “I don’t need your permission.”

Your thumbs reached up to the lock mechanisms on either side of his head anyway. “I know.”

Fire felt good when you were close enough to be warmed by it. Whether or not you’d be burned was left to be seen.

The helmet lifted with a soft click.

Truth be told, you’re surprised he let you do it.

You dangled the helm almost carelessly by your hip, curling your fingers around the lip of it whilst your other hand stayed hovering near his face. He looked a bit older than you imagined, mid-thirties maybe, scarred and stern-looking. Handsome.

You should’ve stopped while you were ahead but all you wanted—stupid, stubborn, and yearning for a plaything—was to feel the black curls cropped close to his ears. Which probably counted as compromising.

Without the modulator Boba’s voice was deeper, the rumbling kind of richness that was used to giving orders and used to having them followed. It bore down on you as a concrete weight. “I’m not a kind man, princess.”

He forgot that you were used to giving orders too.

The coarse material of his collar chafed your palm as you held it, gripping a lifeline, and tilted your mouth up to his ear. The softness of your voice disguised your intention. It sounded innocent when you whispered it. Gentle, even. “I never said I wanted you to be.”

His lips bruised you and tasted like salt.

It was all tongue, teeth, barely cloaked violence, pressed until your throat felt raw and your heartbeat dropped below the ground to join whatever was left of your dignity. When your knees buckled, a gloved hand settled large between your shoulder blades.

You didn’t think your first kiss would be like this.

Hypothetically it would have been clinical, fumbling and awkward in your own inexperience. Out in front of a crowd somewhere after you met the eyes of a stranger at the altar. Or maybe in secret, like it was now, with a tryst of boyhood and a peck on the cheek.

Boba Fett was a stranger, but he wasn’t a boy. And this wasn’t a peck on the cheek.

You didn’t realize he had lifted you up by your hips until you were placed back down again, his having crossed the few steps from the wall to the nearby fountain with arms firmly wrapped around your middle and not so much as a strain of his hips. His strength should have scared you. It did scare you, a little, but the same hands that had gripped the blaster still at his side were deceptively gentle around your waist. You let yourself be brought down by his bended knees.

“Easy there,” Boba said, still crouching on the ground beside you as you slowly lay back on the lip of the waterwork, white noise burbling from the quiet fixtures. The flat, curved slab surrounding the shallow pool was wide enough that you needn’t worry about balancing, speckled gray stone warmed from weather and soon by skin. There was one moment where Boba allowed you to catch your breath and then it was gone, knocked out of your lungs in another assiduous touch.

“Poor thing,” he mocked, sardonic even as he cooed gently into your open mouth. Your back arched in an unwitting presentation and blood pounded a drumbeat in your ears. All you could see was Boba; his face and his shoulders and his arms braced beside your head, leaning over your horizontal form. Like you were prey. Maybe you were. “What would your father say if he saw you like this?”

He wouldn’t be able to say anything. Would stand there, mouth agape and his eyes doing that strange bulging thing it always did when you did anything besides sew embroidery squares. Fainting wasn’t out of the question. It would be ridiculously fun to watch.

You huffed, chasing Boba’s mouth with your own when he shifted above you. The midday sun hung high, edging the bounty hunter’s tanned face in white. You could see your own eyes in the reflection of his pupils, could smell his warm skin. His canines scraped your collarbones. Everything was fast, blurry, and burning.

Stars above.

The whole situation was ridiculous. Twenty minutes ago you’d never been kissed on the mouth and now you were letting a killer-for-hire grope you like you were a back-alley harlot.

It wouldn’t end well. You’d curse after he left and hate yourself for letting him stay, because his staying would be brief and shallow and cruel, but right now, lying on the edge of a fountain with sunshine on your neck and a low voice in your ear, staying was the only thing you wanted him to do.

What an egregious lapse in judgement.

What a beautiful, electrifying lapse in judgement.

“You’re so—” a slurred pitchiness invaded your vocal chords, coating everything in bitter syrup. Your jaw was starting to numb from unforgiving lips. “—so rude,” you choked out, mind struggling to find footing amid its own dizziness. You felt like an overheating droid, full of bad code and faulty wiring that made your words and your actions discordant because even as you insulted the man, your hands were curling around his shoulders to pull him closer. “Always so rude, so… so mean to me. Makes me want—” you panted, voice breaking off into a whine when a calloused palm slid across the back of your thigh, “...want…”

His accent curled the consonants into a dance. “Want what, Princess?”

Expectant in their heaviness but teasing a smile in their lined corners, Boba’s eyes were the color of charred umber. Squirming in his arms, you nosed your face into the junction of his collarbones. “Want you,” you finally mumbled, admitting it in one long, pathetic exhale.

His promise had sharp teeth.

“You can have me.”

#boba fett x reader #boba fett/reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett oneshot #boba fett imagine

491 notes · View notes

straighttohellbuddy · 3 years

Photo

how the light gets in {Corpse Husband}

2. you’ve gone way too fast for way too long.

Summary: Supernatural Creatures AU. Them/Them Reader. After the success of your first stream, you find yourself wanting to get back to your YouTube roots, and what better way to do that than with a cover by one of the bands who holds a special place in your heart? And maybe you’re using it to distract yourself from thinking about how coming back to YouTube means coming back to the things - the people - you’d left behind.

Maybe it’s selfish, but Corpse kind of wishes you hadn’t come back to YouTube; honestly, if anyone else had taken the world by storm, he wouldn’t complain half as much, except it’s you and he’s still mostly convinced that you might be an angel like him... Except better. Because of course you would be a better angel, you’re talented and driven and personable and essentially everything an angel should be, and - bar the talented bit, Corpse at least knows some of his worth - you’re everything he’s pretty sure he’s not. Except it seems like everyone loves you, and he doesn’t exactly have a good enough reason to be bothered by you the way he is, so he has to act like he isn’t. Which is a lot easier said than done, when you barely say a word to him and it feels like all of his suspicions are confirmed.

A/N: 8471 words. Reader in the fic is stated to be 24. THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH SUPERNATURAL THE TV SERIES. me, trying to walk the line between 3rd person omniscient narrator and trying to make the narration feel like its somewhat coming from the POV character?? it’s more likely than you think! as always, i really appreciate feedback.

{ m a s t e r l i s t }

Taglist: @nanasort @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian @theboywhocriedlupin @taikalinna @jaychirps @bingusmode @divine-artemis @realmejay @lovemelikepercy @balla-deer @miniritzcrackers @loraleiix @ppopty @easygoingtheatre @insanedeathwish @siriuslystupid @losvertown @janiathecat @wineandionysus @moonlightsimp @allylyew @chokingonflxwers @sicnesa @xxniksxx @mishisamess @preciousskye @yashinosakura @meleekabenjamin @whatamievendoinghere01 @lxurxn-02 @liljennyx3 @the-fusionist @benjaminka @lilysdaydreams @a-lonely-bic @letsloveimagines @melmachh @tama-chan-suneater @shio-yuki @fairywriter-oracle @easygoingtheatre @pixelbxtch @dreammoutlouddd @abysshaven @mediocrearistophanes @tsukishimawh0re @inkbyajm @jordiee95 @honkcorpse @kaiihaan @takenbyheartstrings @mrtony-stank1 @dangeroustreebread @xibrokensunriseix @corpseglider @artsyally @ellsbells2143 @machine-gun-casie @marvelsmurphy @bigmac-papi @danielle143 @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @starstruckllamapuppy @youretheonlyonewhomakesme @fee-btheweeb @parkerpeanuts @fanfictionenthusiast @evans-dejong @pancakebinnie @minbunbun @sabrinarahaman @thefangirl05 @jades-bullshit @fo-love @roses-and-grasses @thirstyfangirl @lovelysmp @325575 @wrongcielo @lukathecrime @lunariasilver @delicrieux @rebloogggs @kookiesandtae7 @mizxkii @effielumiere @happyyyandcrazyyy @teenageguitarist @prettylittlealiengirl @aroyalharknessblr @kylie-writes-stuff @annshit @haunteddeputymugpersona

taglist is always open! message me if you’d like to be added xx

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The day after your song drops, it’s on Spotify’s Top 50 Viral playlist, it’s charting on iTunes, it’s splattered across the internet, according to your manager, who sees fit to text you, congratulating you on what she assumed to be a masterful marketing tactic; releasing the song and immediately streaming alongside huge YouTube creators who have a wide and diverse fanbase, all plugging your music. She thinks it was a carefully calculated move, which makes you feel all kinds of scummy, like you were using your new friends. Thankfully, when you fire a somewhat defensive response about how you had no ulterior motive, that all you wanted to do was have fun and make friends, your tone apparently reads loud and clear, as you receive an apology a few moments later. Backtracking, she simply mentions that, even unintentionally, you had great timing, and she’s glad you had a good time, which is better, and you try not to dwell on your initial assumption. Years of your life had been spent worrying that the people you were close to just thought you were using them for views or fame; her words did little to quell that worry, so instead you tried to distract yourself, or at the very least, focus on the good that yesterday had brought about.

The best, of course, was Sykkuno, the hellhound who’d endeared himself to you almost immediately. Something about him makes you feel safe, though perhaps it’s that you’re unused to someone feeling so familiar; you like to think you’re a good judge of character, so for now, you’re trusting in your instincts, trusting in Sykkuno. The next best thing was a tie, between friends and freedom. Yesterday you’d been doing what you wanted to do, not what you thought you should be doing, not what was on brand, or carefully scripted; you were messy, stumbled over your words, and you laughed and deceived your friends as was the aim of the game, it was so freeing to be unfiltered. People kept saying it was nice to see you smile, to hear you laugh again. Huh. Part of you really doesn’t like that you know exactly what they mean, and more importantly, why people are saying that at all. But things are different now, are freer now; your brand was built on you, it’s nice to get back to that.

By mid-morning, you’d been sprawled out on your sofa for almost an hour, glad to be alone, to not have to worry about being seen, as you’ve phased your tail back into reality, and have it holding up your phone as you scroll through Twitter with one hand and fidget idly with the other. More and more you’re seeing supportive comments from people gushing about the few bars you’d sung of 5 Seconds of Summer’s Youngblood on stream yesterday. First your chat had loved it, now it seems the general consensus was that people would love for you to cover more than a few bars. While you tried not to listen too much to what other people wanted, you couldn’t help but admit that it was something you definitely wanted too.

When you text your manager, new idea already taking hold of your focus, your earlier unsavoury text conversation seemingly forgotten, your manager reminds you that you should be working on your new album, putting together the tracklist for your EP. Ugh.

It’s not that you didn’t have ideas, quite the opposite; you’re exploding with ideas, brimming, overflowing with them, for songs you wants to write and feelings you can’t express any other way, but the songs and collaborations you’ve already completed, their mp4 files sitting neatly on your desktop, you wanted to save them for the full album, like it was some sort of penance for getting to collaborate, getting to become friends with people you looked up to, people who inspired you. To you, their contribution was worthy of your full album.

Well, that was part of the reason, the other part was that the songs you had designated for the album had a different vibe to your EP songs; albumtouralbumtour and imposter syndrome had both been written in lockdown, about very specific concerns you were having at the time. The EP was shaping up to capture a very specific moment in time, while the album was so much more than that. You couldn’t put read at five am on the EP, the collaboration you’d done with Troye, a lyrical-lament with a dissonant, upbeat melody, an apology for when you’re the one who cuts off contact with someone you’re close to and don’t know how to say why, and don’t know how to come back; yes, the fact that you and Ethan are talking again means that the song is technically relevant to this period of time, but it’s three years of regret and indirect apology compressed into in three minutes. It’s going on the album.

But being stuck at home all day for months had made you all nostalgic for your roots, for when you’d started uploading all the way back in 2012, at 16, with no idea what a few videos would lead to. You missed covering songs you loved, the songs other people had written and that you had still connected with, the songs that made you want to write your own. Yes, you loved your own content, obviously, but from idea to video publishing, you knew a low-effort cover would take you maximum a day and a half if you were particularly inspired, which you clearly were. By now, you’d been doing this for so long that you knew the legality of it all like the back of your hand, and were in a stable enough place to be more than happy to pay royalties to the band you’d co-headlined alongside for your first international tour.

“What if I call the boys and ask them?” You decided to just call your manager directly, tail curled securely around your phone where you’d put her on speaker, pottering around your kitchen trying to find something to eat. Alison, on the other end of the line, sighed deeply, having been fielding these sorts of calls from you about once a fortnight since lockdown had started.

“Have you finished moment before impact yet?” She countered, and you wrinkle your nose; its as if she can hear the expression through the phone with the way she continues on, not giving you a moment to cut in, “listen, I won’t tell you what to do, but you need to make a decision about your EP tracklist soon, okay? The label’s breathing down my neck, you know you have more than enough songs for it.”

“Alison, the vibes -”

“The vibes, Y/N, I know,” she sighed deeply, but you could hear the faintest smile in her voice.

“I promise I’m working on my own stuff; I think moment before impact is gonna be a collab, but I’m not sure who with yet, but if it makes you happy, once I record this 5SOS thing, I’ll work on a demo of moment for the EP,” you concede, and you hear her hum in approval, “I promise I have all the songs in my head, I just gotta make sense of which ones are the right ones for now, you know?”

“I really don’t,” you could hear her actually smiling now, so you let yourself relax for a moment, hands braced on your kitchen counter as you looked to your phone, “but I suppose that’s why you’re the musical one and I’m the manager.”

“My favourite manager,” you told her sweetly, and her answering laugh is more of a snort.

"Call the band, maybe they can work something out for you regarding royalties, if you plan to monetise it," she suggested, and you hummed, "keep me updated, okay? Make sure you're still working on your own stuff though."

"Alison you're a national treasure," you tell her feelingly; you don't even have to see her to know she's rolling her eyes.

But you take her advice, sending 'what if I covered Youngblood and posted it to YT? I'll pay you royalties' to the mostly dormant WhatsApp group you have with 5 Seconds of Summer, despite it being about six in the morning in Australia. Callum sends back a thumbs up almost immediately. Its all the confirmation you need to get started.

As you’re hunting through your house for a pick, turning over cushions, looking through junk drawers, you hear your phone go off, and you take a moment to check, surprised by what you see. A message from Sean. Huh.

[I see you’ve finally decided to join us in the gaming community, took you long enough 😊 If you ever wanna play something, just gimme a yell, you know Id be glad to have ya on my team.]

Considering the fact that it had been three years since you and Sean had properly been in contact, you find the message both surprising, and strangely heartwarming. There were a few people you’d purposefully fallen out of contact with, plagued by your own fears and self doubts. The people who you’d seen in person almost daily were the ones who you’d felt the absence of the most, but Sean, just by his close association with those people, along with a few other international friends, had been regretfully left behind also. Here and now, you can feel just how much you’ve missed him, how guilty you feel for giving in to your own anxieties and the negativity spewed by others.

But you know you can’t dwell on the past, on your mistakes, all you can do is be grateful for the opportunity to reconnect, and take it.

[ID: A tweet and reply conversation between @yourtwitter and @goldeny/n, followed by a single tweet by @ZeRoyalViking, and a tweet and reply conversation between @yourtwitter, and @5SOS.

@yourtwitter: someone yell at me for doing another cover instead of my original stuff. quarantine got me feeling 17 again. might do the cinnamon challenge next. or finally do that Roast Yourself trend 4 years too late. | @golden_y/n: BRUH YOU BEST NOT BE PULLING OUR LEGS | @golden_y/n: I would empty my bank account to see you roast yourself. | @yourtwitter: Please Don't Do That YouTube Is Free | @golden_y/n: 😳💀💖

@ZeRoyalViking: stream today with some familiar and not so familiar faces!!

@yourtwitter posted an image of Griffin McElroy from the My Brother My Brother & Me TV show. Griffin is a Caucasian man wearing glasses and a blue checked shirt. He is visible from the chest up and is sitting behind a desk with one arm in front of him, with his thumb out, as if counting. The image’s subtitles have been edited, now reading ‘My friends are very much into the following: Bullying me on TikTok.’ | @yourtwitter: @luke5SOS is just mad im gonna sing his song better than him. he doesn’t use twitter anymore so i have the upper hand here. | @5SOS replies with a gif of Jason Momoa, who is incredibly muscular, with dark hair down to his shoulders, a black tank top, and sunglasses on, holding a microphone, standing in a confrontational manner, captioned ‘No, no, no. By all means, speak your mind. You got a problem with my boy?’ | @yourtwitter: HE WENT LIVE UNPROMPTED TO TELL PEOPLE ABOUT HOW I WROTE NOTIMETOSLEEP IN THREE DAYS WITH NO ACTUAL SLEEP, OPENED FOR THEM IN ARIZONA, AND IMMEDIATELY PASSED OUT FOR 16 HOURS AFTER WALKING OFF STAGE | @5SOS: we just miss you tho... and it is kind of funny. | @yourtwitter: the minute im allowed to safely leave lockdown im coming to australia to german supplex the lot of you. ❤️

End ID.]

Corpse’s whole ‘not thinking about you’ plan goes down a lot smoother when you’re not actively stealing his friends- what kind of Angel goes around stealing another person - another Angel’s, no less - friends?! Except, right, he doesn't actually have proof that you're an angel, just a hunch he’s apparently committed to... and, okay, you don't know you're stealing them... Sykkuno and Rae are allowed to have more than one friend. Obviously.

"Honestly, I'm still kind of riding the high from yesterday's stream," Sykkuno’s all kinds of elated in the voice chat, and Rae's quick to chime in, matching his tone, his energy, as she agrees.

"I cannot believe Y/N played with us! I’m sorry you missed it, Corpse, I think you'd love them," Rae is adamant, to which Corpse, from behind the safety of his monitor, makes a face.

"What makes you say that?” Even as he says it, as he tries to keep the negativity from his voice, his nose wrinkles, the expression shifting his eyepatch just a little.

“I don’t know, just something about...” Rae’s voice turns thoughtful as she considers, though Sykkuno takes the chance to pipe up, voice brimming with his trademark sincerity.

“You guys have weirdly similar vibes, like kind of a similar energy?” He tries to explain before a faintly embarrassed laugh escaping him, even with Rae humming in agreement, “not the exact same, obviously, but like, I don’t know, I think you’d really like them.” The problem with having Sykkuno for a friend is that he’s almost always trying to be genuinely kind or helpful. The problem is that Corpse can tell he believes what he’s saying.

An angelic ability that often goes overlooked, even by angels themselves, is the innate ability to tell whether or not someone’s lying. It’s like a faint buzzing, low grade tinnitus, at the sound of a lie, something that can actually be pretty effectively ignored and forgotten, but right now, the lack of buzzing with Sykkuno’s words is frankly irritating. Not that Corpse can say that, he has no real reason to be jealous of your fast forming friendships with his friends, well, not any reason he can admit to on stream.

"You know what,” Sean muses, finally joining the conversation, “It’s been a while since I properly spoke to them, but I totally get what you mean,” fucking great; of course he agrees, “did anyone invite them to play; would love to have them here if they’re up for it.”

"I think they're working on a thing today, but I can message and ask?" It’s Sykkuno who speaks up, the barest hesitation in his voice, and to that Rae makes a proud little noise in the back of her throat.

"You met yesterday on the stream that I organised, and suddenly you're all best buddies? Gonna be honest, I’m a little jealous,” she admits, to which Sykkuno huffs a soft laugh, uncertain of what to say, though Rae’s tone is fond and she continues on, “seriously though, good for you, dude, finally getting the recognition you deserve -"

And on the one hand, yes, Corpse would agree that Sykkuno deserved infinitely more recognition and praise than he currently received, but on the other, the speed at which you two had aparently become close - a day! It had been a day! - sets Corpse’s teeth on edge. It was all he could do to keep quiet as the others chimed in, all their sentiments mirroring Rae’s.

All this frustration and resentment was almost definitely unhealthy, he was more than aware, but something about you had fixed in his mind; if it had been anyone else, anyone less talented or personable or productive, he could have probably handled it, but you...

All he gets is two games worth of peace before Sykkuno announces that he’s gotten a reply. Aparently you’re in the middle of recording a cover. Something about knowing that fills Corpse with discomfort, with envy, like he should be working on his music instead of being here.

"But they say they're gonna take a break in an hour or say, so they might join us for a few games," Sykkuno’s tone betrayed his bright smile, and suddenly the voice chat was flooded with excitement from almost all in attendance.

"Wait, really? Just like that, we'll be playing with Y/N?" Leslie sounds disbelievingly hopeful, but thankfully it’s only a few moments until the next game beings. While none of the others had picked up on Corpse’s silence, his chat seemed confused. Purposefully ignoring their questions and comments on the matter, he instead gives a few comments on the game, trying to come off lighter than he was feeling.

He’s not quite sure what he’s going to do if you join the stream, he’d never actually considered that he might one day talk to you, have to confront the person whose very existence got under his skin, who might very well be the only other person like him on this side of the world. Unsurprisingly, his head’s not in the game.

"Did you get enough sleep last night?” Rae feels the need to ask when whatever response he’d given in a meeting had just come out as an incoherent mumble. Of course he straight up laughs at her question, which is answer enough, and she clicks her tongue disapprovingly, “you’re impossible.”

“Have you drunk any water today -?”

“Sykkuno you’re dead,” Sean interrupts Sykkuno, who had broken one of the main rules of the game simply to question Corpse about his health; he’s far too caring for his own good, but moments like this make for good entertainment, “dead people can’t talk,” Corpse is grateful for all of five seconds before Sean turns on him, reiterating Sykkuno’s question like a traitor; “Corpse, have you drunk water today?” In lieu of a proper response, Corpse groans, playing at being annoyed.

“I say we vote him out because if he is the imposter, we win, and if he isn’t, he has time to go drink a glass of water,” Rae proposes matter-of-factly, which just leaves Corpse spluttering with disbelief.

“That’s fucking stupid; I’m not the imposter, you’re basically throwing the game -” but the votes are already popping up, and unfortunately, for the first time all stream, everyone seems to be in agreement.

“Drink water, Corpse,” Rae, clearly the leader of this mutiny, orders, as Corpse watches his character get flung into lava, and very begrudgingly heeds her words. He takes his sweet time drinking a full glass of water and refilling it to take back with him, intermittently glaring from his kitchen at his computer, despite the game still going on; he’s got several tasks left, if they don’t catch the imposters, they’re doomed, and honestly he doesn’t care. Once the game ends, with the crewmates’ loss, as he’d suspected, they all find themselves back in the lobby. Maybe they’re waiting for him. They can wait longer.

As he settles himself back into his office chair, he pulls on his headphones in time to hear -

“- earlier than I thought because of a whole thing on TikTok and then Twitter, and then my manager texted me telling me-” It’s like he’s turned twenty again at the sound of your voice; you, bright, earnest, rambling to probably Sykkuno or Sean or Rae, probably not even aware of him, but he’s never been more aware of you. Not that he’d ever admit it to anyone, but your second EP, hyperfocus, had been in heavy rotation on his Spotify since he’d discovered it, since he’d listened to the crack in your voice, the exhaustion with which you spoke on i’m going through some stuff when Lofi had just been taking off as a genre. He’s... conflicted, going through an internal crisis while you keep talking, blissfully unaware, “- anyways, I think she’s just worried that I’ll end up threatening to German Supplex Harry Styles, or the late, great, Prince, and I’ll end up cancelled.”

“Y/N,” your name sounds equal parts amused and concerned as Sykkuno says it, with the air of someone who’s been privy to you and your antics far longer than just one day. The response you give is just as bright and cheery as your rambling had been, assuring him that you wouldn’t threaten to German Supplex Prince.

“You sure about that?” Sean was obviously grinning, judging by his fond tone, “sounds like something you’d try -”

“I’ve changed, Jack- Sean- fuck,” your muttered swear undercuts your attempt at earnestness after you correct yourself, clearly not used to calling him by his actual name. To that, Sean gives a fond chuckle, before going right back to ribbing you.

“I’m pretty sure there’s still video evidence of you trying to square up with Mark in person,” Sean points out, to which you grow huffy and defensive, playing up your frustration.

“Well, that was for a completely reasonable reason!”

“Which was?”

“I thought it would be funny,” tone flipping completely, the words come out so sincere and bright it’s almost tooth rotting; if he didn’t know any better, Corpse would probably find himself being endeared by it, “and it was! Plus,” though here you give pause, and something about the tone of the conversation shifts as you chew on the words you’d almost said without thinking, “it was funny,” you said, softer this time. Sean, sensing the shift, does his best to pick the mood back up, reminding you that both you and Mark lost the competition you’d been taking part in anyways, and asking if you really had changed.

Before you had time to answer, however, Rae spots Corpse’s avatar moving ever so slightly, and immediately jumps on him.

“Corpse! Did you drink water?” She asks. He unmutes so they can all hear his deep, beleaguered sigh. “I can and will bully you into taking care of yourself,” her heart’s in the right place, and it is mostly a bit, so he can’t be too put out by the fact that she cares.

“I can’t believe you all voted me out because of it,” he chooses to respond instead, and Rae’s cackle echoes through the voice call.

“She also was the imposter, so...” Ze trailed off, a little sheepishly, to which Corpse rolled his eyes, not that anyone can see. Of course she was. But he’s not even given a moments before -

“You must be Corpse!” The moment the words leave your lips, every single goddamn nerve in Corpse’s body feels like it’s alight; everything overwhelming, unfamiliar,. white-hot, he’s suddenly desperately trying to keep his various abilities in check, since he really doesn’t want to short out his whole system, end the stream early, and probably cause his building to go into a blackout, just because of whatever this is. The whole world has changed with four words; better and worse and more more than anything. It’s... it’s a confirmation of some kind, and he tries to hold onto that vindictive feeling in his chest. You are familiar, you are something he recognises like no-one else he’s ever met before; you are like him. Is it better or worse now he knows it’s the truth?

“Must I be?” He manages to respond, keeping his voice as level as he’s able, shooting for vaguely amused and trying not to let any of the past few seconds sudden overwhelming panic and triumph bleed into his voice. But the moment you hear him, there’s a sharp gasp; that same something, understanding, recognition he’d felt, you feel it too.

“Y/N, you okay?” Ze had asked, and you made a vaguely muffled noise of unconvincing confirmation. Out of sheer, idle curiosity, Corpse opened a new tab and searched up your YouTube channel where you were streaming.

“Maybe we should have warned ya’,” Sean offers with a light laugh, before lowering his voice, immitating and announcer as best as he could, “warning! Corpse is about to speak!” Which at the very least got Corpse to laugh, though he refused to give anything away as your stream loaded, and the banter continued in his ears.

“Har har,” you muttered sarcastically into the voice chat, right as the stream finished loading, and - you. Well dressed, face in your hands, heels of your palms pressed against your closed eyes; honestly, he doesn’t exactly have any prominent initial thoughts about you, watching you scrunch your face up in your hands, dealing with the same thing he had to, though your face was live to thousands. Beside you, the text chat for your stream was going almost too fast to read, but he managed to follow a few threads of thought here and there.

[an eye thing! they’ve got an eye thing!] [someone @ y/n_creature_spec on twt!!] [who has an eye thing??] [lmao love that they were so shocked hearing corpse that it set off their eye thing] [hello!! vampire here!! we have eye things!!] [u cant be a vampire it’s the middle of the day] [THERE ARE COUNTRIES OTHER THAN AMERICA YOU KNOW] [i am willing to put MONEY on the idea of them being fae of some kind.] [^^yeah they just didnt want us to see their eyes sparkling like an anime character.] [that feels like smthn corpse could bring out in people]

And then you’re blinking back to reality, bringing him from his thoughts as for one terrifying moment, it’s as if his gaze locks with yours. Expression so bright and inviting, despite the way your eyes were watering just a little, you hold eye contact with your camera for a moment before looking at your screen, mumbling something about an eyelash in your eye; Corpse lets out a shaky breath. Chat seems unconvinced, but at least the other streams take you on your word. For a few more moments, he quietly watches you, watches the way your eyes roam your screen as you order your thoughts, and for all that he’s thought of you, he’s never properly looked at you. It’s taken him until now to acknowledge that there was definitely a reason for your success beyond just your talent; certainly you could have become successful from your music alone, but your career certainly wasn’t hindered by the fact that you’re actually quite- suddenly, Corpse is overcome by the sense that he’s intruding, exiting out of the window immediately, even going so far as to push back from his desk, fingers spread wide, braced against the edge, trying not to think too hard about... any of it. If he thought too hard about what it meant to have another angel in LA, he would drive himself mad.

“Well, Corpse, it’s good to meet ya, been told great things,” to him and him alone it’s so clear you’re trying so hard to play it cool, though Corpse couldn’t fault you for that, doing the exact same thing; again, when you speak to him, it’s like his whole being is hit with a rush of warmth; it’s less overwhelming this time, somehow scalding but bearable now.

“I see Sykkuno’s been spreading lies about me,” Corpse fires off instinctually, to which Sykkuno splutters protests at the implication, despite your bright laughter, and Sean’s shout to the contrary.

“Don’t be mean, Corpse, Sykkuno would never lie about you,” Sean is adamant, and Corpse can tell he’s being honest, just as the tell-tale ringing in his ears knows the next words from Sean’s mouth are utter lies; “me on the other hand? Y/N whatever you do, do not listen to Corpse’s music, it’s just the worst.” Before the implication, the reality of what he’s saying sinks in, for just a moment, Corpse feels a rush of affection for Sean, so clearly and earnestly plugging his music, right before your voice re-joins the chat and Corpse remembers exactly who Sean is plugging his music to.

“Fuck you, J- Sean, I do what I want,” while you played along, amused and light, Corpse himself was at a loss for words. You ask him - him specifically, he knows, he knows with absolute certainty you’re asking him - if he’s a musician, and everyone else chimes in before he can even think about finding his voice.

“Don’t search him on Spotify! Don’t do it!” Sean, on the verge of laughter, seems delighted by the turn this conversation has taken as the sound of aggressive typing fills the chat from your end. What the fuck. What the fuck?! No matter his thoughts and opinions about you and your possible supernatural origins, you were still Y/N, literal Grammy winner and Golden Child from the Golden Age of YouTube, playing along as Sean used the world’s worst reverse psychology on you to get you to listen to his music. Oh fuck, this is not how today was meant to go.

“I don’t wanna hold up the game, I’ll listen as I play,” you tell them, almost painfully polite, though Ze agrees to start the next game. If Corpse’s mind wasn’t in the game before, there’s no way in hell it was now.

Three minutes into the first round and he’s failing miserably at card swipe when he chances a look at his chat; people were spamming lyrics from Miss YOU! and Cat Girls Are Ruining My Life! which was sweet but nerve wracking, since he’s pretty sure it means you’ve already listened to one and moved on to the next. If you’re an angel, and you know he’s an angel, what in the hell would you think of his music? Honestly, even if you weren’t an angel, you’re still you, and his music was... well...

When the first meeting is called, and it’s discovered that you’ve been murdered, there’s a strange sense of relief that comes with it, even as he’s being accused of your murder. He’s got a solid alibi, so they end up voting out Sean, and the game continues. Despite the brief reprieve from your possible judgement, his heart still feels as though it’s skittering erratically around his ribcage.

Rae comes along when he’s doing Simon Says, and shoots his little avatar. The moment he becomes a ghost, he lets out a long breath, giving himself a moment to relax, to collect his thoughts, catching back up with some questions with chat he hadn’t quite realised he’d been holding, and chances a look at his chat again.

“Of course I’m tense,” he finds himself musing quietly to his chat while the remaining players were arguing over the top of each other in a meeting, “pretty sure most of hyperfocus has been in my Spotify wrapped every year since it was released,” for a few moments, it doesn’t even occur to him what he’s said, or that he’s said it out loud, but when it hits him- oh, oh no, it feels like too much to admit, and he has no idea what to say next, how to backtrack, how to at least pretend like he doesn’t think about you or your music any more than any other person would. However much he may resent certain aspects of it, he still knows he has a reputation to uphold, and panic and denial have never been a part of his reputation.

So he keeps his mouth shut, bites down on the half-hearted excuses and explanations that keep springing to mind, keep pressing against his teeth. He does his tasks quietly, thanks the people donating, and pretend it never happened until the round ends, heart in his throat. He knows, the same way a human survivor in a zombie apocalypse movie knows, that he’s just putting off the inevitable, and that someone’s definitely already clipped it and is probably uploading it to Twitter or Tumblr faster than he could protest.

“Y/N I’m so sorry!” Sean’s the first one to talk when they’re back in the lobby, which leads to your laughter filling the voice chat, telling him it’s okay.

“I didn’t even care, honestly I was just vibing,” the smile in your voice is almost enough to distract from the strained edge to your words, something not quite right, but so faint Corpse isn’t sure if it was really there, and he’s not quite sure anyone else heard it either. Except -

“Y/N?” Sykkuno says your name like it means something that no-one but you and him can decipher, something concerned, almost a question, checking in without being too obvious.

“Yeah?” There’s that strained tone, just a little more audible this time, before you process who’s talking, how he’d said your name, and - “yeah,” firmer, calmer, a reassurance.

“Vibing?” And he says it like that was his question all along, like the two of you hadn’t had a full conversation in three words. When the others started asking about what you thought of the music, it’s clear none of them have picked up on the hint of strangeness that had been in your tone, and you deliberate before answering.

“Am I- is it- it’s weird if I quote it, isn’t it -?”

“Jacksepdicy how I whip that!” Sean practically yells into his microphone, cutting you off and somehow making the line sounding even more Irish than he himself did naturally, which startles a laugh from Corpse, “it’s my name in a song, I think about it daily,” he announces, voice oozing pride, and despite the situation and headspace he found himself in, Corpse feels his heart grow warm knowing that even a line like that had brought Sean joy.

“I thought,” you pause for a moment, presumably to double check which song you were about to reference, “I thought Miss YOU was a whole mood,” you admit, the faintest smile in your voice, and something tightens in Corpse’s chest at that.

“You not gonna quote it?” Rae teased.

“Too nervous to follow Sean,” you fired back.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there one day, Y/N,” Sean laughs fondly, and you all joke around, playing up the bit, while Corpse’s mind is stuck on the fact that you never once addressed him when talking about his music. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, it meant he didn’t have to deal with the sudden, fiery sensation your voice brought with it, so not bothered, persay, if anything he’s glad to know you liked it... But it’s weird that he knows so acutely -

“Hey,” and you don’t even say his name, but there’s that feeling again. Each time it grows less intense, like he’s been inoculated, and no instead of his nerves being ablaze, it’s as if he’s suddenly sitting beside a bonfire, each and every time you speak to him. The others voice their confusion at your sudden vaguness, but Corpse answers without even thinking, because of course he knows.

“Yeah?”

A few moments pass, while the others carry on amongst themselves for the moment. The two of you sit in this one moment together, neither quite sure how to feel about it.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” you point out, though there was only the barest him of the earlier strangeness in your voice, now overpowered by something that made it almost sound like you were pleased. At this, however, even more confusion arises when the others figure out that Corpse had ‘guessed’ correctly, that you’d been talking to him. But he can’t really hear them, or, well, he finds himself tuning them out, swallowing hard before he pushes to talk.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy the moment?” He asked, trying to ignore the weirdness of it all, keeping his tone light.

“I’m just surprised; it’s your music after all.”

“You like hearing my voice?” Despite the surprisingly cocky way with which he speaks, he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, wincing internally. Of all the people he could have said that to...

“I never said that,” and though your own tone matched his, something teasing, something that could almost be misconstrued as flirty in the right circumstances, he’d heard the faint thread of discomfort, feeling it all too much himself. But your words, and thankfully your tone, was overshadowed by both Sykkuno and Sean jumping in to assure Corpse that they enjoyed hearing his voice.

“If you and Y/N ever collaborated, you know it’d break the internet, right?” Rae interjects, all kinds of smug and knowing, followed by a chorus of approving voices all broke out in unison as the rest of the lobby considered the possibility.

“Rae, you know our Twitter mentions are going to be going off for the next month now, don’t you?” You groaned.

“Maybe it’s a sign!” Rae exclaimed, delighted, before her tone turns teasing and fond, “and besides, aren’t your mentions always going off?”

[ID: The first four posts on Y/N’s Tumblr dashboard.

blueheart-anon hearing y/n and sean interact again after like 3 years unlocked memories like im a fucking sleeper agent. having war flashbacks to 2017′s ‘y/n is septiplier’s kid’ phase. how do i lock the memories up again im going to die of embarrassment why were we like that [tagged: #y/n #y/n y/l/n #jacksepticeye #sean mcloughlin #i WILL NOT add the ship tag i mentioned #blue talks] [7 notes] [▶️🗩↪️🖤]

fangloriousbastard ↪️fangloriousbastard fangloriousbastard Rae: Y/N & Corpse Collab When? Y/N: 🔪 - fangloriousbastard Y/N IMMEDIATELY MURDERING RAE AND THEN CORPSE I- - fangloriousbastard Y/N MUTTERING THE JACKSEPDICY LYRIC WHILE MURDERING HIM WTF IS HAPPENING?? - fangloriousbastard SYKKUNO NO BBY IM SO WORRIED - fangloriousbastard Y/N IM BEGGING U TO STOP SAYING CORPSE LYRICS BEFORE U KILL UR FRIENDS - fangloriousbastard WAIT WHAT Y/N AND SYKKUNO BOTH VOTING FOR THEMSELVES INSTEAD OF EACH OTHER - fangloriousbastard “ride or die guess im gonna die” y/N PLEASE U MET HIM YESTERDAY - fangloriousbastard y/n’s still listening to corpse’s music we love to see it - fangloriousbastard WAIT NO ZE KILLED SYKKUNO IN FRONT OF THEM AND THEY WON OMG SO MUCH IS HAPPENING DID THESE MOTHERFUCKERS QUOTE AN ACTUAL THE OFFICE MEME AT EACH OTHER - fangloriousbastard Y/N: YOU KILLED MY BOY Ze: you’ve known him A Day! Y/N: you don’t have all the facts Ze: which are? Y/N: I love him. Y/N: Not in a weird, shippy way tho, but like, come on, man, look at him! Sykkuno’s avatar: 🌱 👁👄👁 Sykkuno irl: 🥰 - fangloriousbastard ahem anyways corpse & y/n collab when? - y/n 🔪❤️ - fangloriousbastard 👁👄👁 - fangloriousbastard aren’t you supposed to be streaming?? [tagged: #HEWWO??? #among us lb #why do i only remember they’re following me when i post outrageously stupid content #btw y/n if u kill sean again i’ll cry] [43 notes] [▶️🗩↪️❤️]

fyahproof-y/n ↪️ selkiey/n selkiey/n y/n’s explicit ‘i love him but not in a weird shippy way’ is the LOUDEST fandom vague i’ve ever heard in my life [286 notes] [▶️🗩↪️❤️]

crpshsbnd ↪️ 221b-theres-a-bee crpshsbnd hope corpse is feeling okay he’s been kinda quiet this stream - 221b-theres-a-bee if someone suggested i make music with a grammy award winning artist i might be kind of quiet too - crpshsbnd asjdskldfjkdsf u right, still, hope that’s the reason. [tagged: #how do i always forget they won a grammy #actually i know why i keep forgetting #because every time i remember they won a grammy i remember the video where they jousted corndogs with joe sugg #and the winner had to deepthroat theirs for the camera #and y/n won but felt like an asshole for making joe deepthroat his corndog alone #and they ended up almost throwing up because they went too far with it #so hot #so talented #so very stupid sometimes] [3 notes] [▶️🗩↪️🖤]

Twitter is kind of a hellscape, Corpse decides, scrolling through his notifications as the stream’s winding down, seeing about a thousand different people tagging both you and him, asking for a collab, or seeing fit to show you both every single time one of you had mentioned the other in stream. Or had simply interacted. He’s not quite sure how to feel about hearing you mutter ‘make it rain, leave her wet, like a snowflake’. Unsurprisingly, a considerable few people had thought to clip the interaction where he’d apparently instinctively known you were talking to him, which he thoroughly regrets. There’s enough speculation about him online already, he doesn’t need people cluing into the fact that he might not be entirely human as well.

So now, he’s sitting idle in the lobby of the game as everyone’s thanking each other, discussing when they might get together to stream again; he’s quiet, disconnected from it all even though he knows he’s still live, he can’t help but stare at his phone, frown at your Twitter profile. You’re not following each other. A lot of his friends follow you, are mutuals with you, but you and he are not following each other, and he’s not sure if he’d like to change that. But it would make sense, right? It’s what’s expected.

Your pinned tweet is the single you released yesterday, which he still hasn’t listened to. The cover is cute; you’re - fuck. He refreshes the page. In the few moments since he’d clicked on your profile and now, you’d tweeted, thanking everyone for joining the stream, while you’re still in his ear, alongside everyone else, distinctly not addressing him. Maybe he should DM you, be upfront, ask about what you are, if his suspicions are true.

He hits the back button and goes back to scrolling through his mentions.

“Hey.” Your voice, soft and earnest despite that warmth that crackles through him; he’s half distracted, hand moving instinctively to push-to-talk, and -

“Yeah?” God fucking damn it. Not again. He’s really gotta stop answering on instinct just because he knows you’re talking to him. He hates that he knows.

“Good to meet you, Corpse,” and there was a strange sincerity in your voice, and he responds in kind, but his heart’s not in it. There’s too much on his mind, too conflicted in his heart to tell the truth; his own words makes his ears ring. He can’t even lie to himself.

So he says his goodbyes, waits for the lobby to clear out and chatters away to his stream about when he might be on next. Upon ending the stream, he immediately opens the latest email from his producer, his latest project glaring back at him from the screen.

Yes, his various ailments have his body aching, but the interactions he’s had with you are giving him a headache when he thinks too hard about them, and he feels woefully unproductive. Never Satisfied stares back at him, so close to being finished, mocking him. Scowling harder, he listens to what he has so far, making tweaks and notes, glad for the distraction, glad that his producer had as chaotic of a sleep schedule as he did. This was the home stretch; one more all-nighter and it would finally be done.

He texts Heartful that he’s getting to work.

It’s four in the morning when he finally stops for a break, his good eye starting to itch from staring at a screen for so long. With a yawn, he leans forward, out of his chair, groaning as he straightens up to a mostly standing position. Hands braced against the edge of his desk, he lets out a resigned sigh and wills his wings into existence. The weight of them curled up tight against his back, as was customary for them to be when non-corporeal, has him leaning a little further forward. Another yawn and he lets them uncurl, lets them stretch out behind him, knocking over an empty microphone stand as they went. He’d get that later. A grateful groan escapes him, it’s been far too long since he’d even had a half-assed stretch like this, wings helping to stretch all the aching muscles in his back that were simply impossible to stretch otherwise, no matter how much he’d twist. Even so, his studio wasn’t big enough to properly stretch them, and he really didn’t feel like laying on his living room floor right now; he’s kind of concerned he’d just fall asleep there. Instead, he kicks his chair to the side and hits shuffle on one of his Spotify playlists, doing what he can for himself in the limited space, and finally going to forage through his cupboards for something resembling a meal. Maybe drink water, Rae’s damn voice in his head.

At least with his wings around he didn’t need to bother turning on any lights; he’s gotta find joy in the little things.

Today, or well, the past twenty-four hours, was a series of cruel jokes, he decides, all leading to the moment he curls up his wings and sits back down at his desk. The moment he puts his headphones back on, he’s greeted by your voice, and he almost jumps a foot in the air, concerned that you’d called him.

"- who I became, dreading when the music stops, what if I just fade away?” In the split second he’s realised that it was just a song, just your voice, crooning, gentle and sad against a soft beat and the sound of rain, as i’m going through some stuff playing in his ears, it’s too late. Already his aura had gone off, and his computer cuts out, as his monitor cuts to darkness, so suddenly all he can see is his own, exhausted reflection in the monitor, backlit by his own wings... Not exactly flattering.

Thankfully, it was only his computer that was affected, as he can still hear his refrigerator humming in the other room, so he wedges himself beneath his desk to reset the breaker for the power board that his whole system was connected to, grumbling to himself the whole time.

If he was being honest, however, he was glad he didn’t have to hear more than a few seconds of your song. For a long time it had been one of his favourites, though at this point he’d rather die than admit that. Yes, it’s a good song, but it’s the last thing he needs to hear right now. If he listened to you voice half the fears he still tried to ignore, well right now it may kill him, and he was so close to being finished with Never Satisfied. So close.

Instead, he gives himself the moment in which his system is rebooting to scroll through Twitter and Instagram on his phone, checking his mentions for good fanart to appreciate, only to stumble across one of your stan accounts tagging both you and him in a clip that he hadn’t seen earlier. He’s not sure what possesses him to click it.

“Don’t follow me baby, swear I’m going to hell,” Corpse’s own words leave your lips as you’re focused on the game, on being imposter, leading Sykkuno into electrical to fix lights, and something about it sounds wrong and he can’t quite put his finger on it. He’d heard other lines of his leave your mouth, clips from the stream he’d been tagged in, and it always manages to surprise him. When you sing his songs, even just a little bit, something in the back of his mind, something that had appreciated you as an artist all this time, it’s grateful, it’s excited, it’s overwhelmed. He wouldn’t deny that part of himself, he couldn’t, it didn’t feel right, but upon hearing this line, that grateful part was overshadowed by a visceral bitterness.

The line had been a moment of self deprecation, the only Angel he knew of who, granted it was by some of his own choices, was almost certainly going to Hell, if you believe in that sort of thing of course. But you? Every single part of you seemed to be the exact antithesis to him; you’re what an Angel should be, and him? Well, the line said it all really. It’s just... it feels like you’re mocking him at every turn now that he knows, or well, strongly suspects. With evidence. Which you’re probably not; if you’re an Angel, you wouldn’t go out of your way to mock another angel, so now he’s all in his head, frustrated at himself for being frustrated at you for just... liking his song?

He really should message you about earlier, clear things up, get out of his own mind and stop jumping to conclusions. Finding another angel was big, no matter his personal reservations, he should try and take this opportunity, right? Except that you hadn’t reached out to him either.

Damn it; he knows he needs to stop thinking about you and focus on his own shit. He turns off his phone and gently tosses it to the floor, out of sight out of mind.

Maybe he’ll feel better when he finishes his song, feel more productive, feel... complete for just a few moments. Maybe he’d stop comparing himself to you. Maybe.

[ID: Two tweets, one from @sp00kybihh, and one from @yourtwitter, followed by a retweet and reply conversation between @ashton5sos, @yourtwitter, and @y/nirwin.

@sp00kybihh: why did y/n’s smile every time corpse just knew they were talking to him without them having to say anythign make me feel things?? u no we love day 1 ride-or-die y/nkunno, but corpse & y/n just seem to get each other wtf 🥺🥺

@yourtwitter: australians are asleep post forbidden youngblood cover

(Thumbnail of Y/N sitting in front of the camera, dressed casually, visible from the chest up. There is a black microphone on a stand in front of them that they’re holding. Their mouth is open, as if halfway through singing, their eyes are closed, their background is a simple, white wall. Above Y/N, in black, VCR font, is the word ‘youngblood’. There is a large play button in blue and white in the middle of the thumbnail, to indicate that it is a link to a video.

Link: youngblood - 5 seconds of summer | y/n y/l/n cover i miss my boys. i miss people. thank you 5sos for being cool about me covering this <3</i> twitter: @yourtwitter 🔗youtube.com)

@ashton5sos retweeted the link and commented: Y/N you said it was gonna be low effort, this is killer! All it’s missing is some drums. Reminds me, I’m still sad we never got to record that thing we wrote in New York. | @yourtwitter: ASHTON IT IS 8AM I HAVE HAD NO SLEEP AND WAS NOT EXPECTING SUCH A QUICK RESPONSE I WOULD DIE FOR YOU | @yourtwitter: also lmfao i forgot about that ny thing that was good, from what i remember. do u still have that recording of us?? i may or may not have forgotten everything about that night apart from it being a blast #bringbacknewyork | @ashton5sos: Calum has it but also its 2am and he’s asleep, which you should also do. You know the boys are gonna love this... #bringbacknewyork | @y/nirwin: thank u both i have decided to pass away effective immediately #bringbacknewyork

End ID.]

#corpse #corpse husband #corpse husband imagine #corpse imagine #corpse x reader #corpse husband x reader #sykkuno #jacksepticeye #valkyrae #how the light gets in #shut ur pretty mouth #cyltlanp

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gignikinszz · 3 years

Note

anakin is on the train and this dipshit infront of him has been humming christmas songs everyday on his morning work commute for the past week and it’s the middle of fucking august so he’s ready to confront this motherfucker for his crimes against humanity and his eardrums then boom obi wan meet cute

anon. im obsessed 💍💍💍💍 ficlet under the cut xx

i took a few liberties with this, but i hope u still like it :)) modern au, annoyances to lovers but only from anakin's pov, 1.3k. mentions of christmas music and horrible hours of the morning beware

It was 5:15. Five-fifteen in the goddamn morning. It was six in the goddamn morning, and it was the middle of August. The seventeenth of August, to be exact.

The third week, to the day, of Anakin’s personal hell.

Some context: Anakin was on the train, just trying to get to his job at a local bakery, still trying to wake up. He’d been late that morning and hadn’t had time for coffee, and was therefore grumpy. Grumpier than usual. So fucking grumpy.

And that same motherfucker from the past three weeks was singing. Again.

Now, Anakin wasn’t a cold-hearted monster, okay? He wasn’t against singing, not at all. Not even at 5:15 in the goddamn morning on a Thursday. Not even on the train. No, what he was against, morally and spiritually and on all levels (including physical), was the fact that the stranger was singing Christmas music. In August.

Today, it was Jingle Bells, though really, the song should’ve been named Jingle Hell. Overly jaunty, reminiscent of fifth-grade showcases, jarring and horrid, even when sung with a voice as nice as Christmas Music Man’s. A disgusting display of Christmas cheer, absolutely murdering Anakin’s poor eardrums, making him wish for the fiftieth time in the past twenty-one days that his stupid dog and stupider cat hadn’t totally destroyed his earbuds fighting over them, and that he wasn’t too busy (lazy) to go get new ones.

God, he was going to lose it. If he heard one more annoying-ass sing, he was going to—

… you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special…

Last Christmas. The stranger, who always, for some sick and twisted reason, sat directly behind Anakin, was singing Last Christmas.

“Yo, dipshit, can you, like shut the fu—ck.” Anakin choked as he finally got a glimpse of the stranger. “Not up. Um. You can keep singing. Bye.”

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit. He was hot. Oh, fuck. Oh, god. He was so fucking hot and Anakin had just called him a dipshit. And spazzed out. And, worse, told him he could keep singing his awful Christmas music. He’d told the most attractive asshole motherfucker he’d ever seen that he could keep singing Last Christmas. At 5:15 in the goddamn morning. In the middle of August.

Oh, fucking shit.

Anakin spent the rest of that (thankfully not-very-long, after his outburst) train ride in silence, rethinking his life, wondering how someone so hot could be committing such heinous crimes against humanity. It didn’t make sense, at first. The man had looked nice. Or just hot. Anakin didn’t know. He’d been wearing a sweater vest with nothing underneath, showing off his very muscular arms, and he’d had very soft-looking hair. How could someone who dressed like a slutty 80-year-old have such poor taste in music? Have such little respect for Anakin, and Anakin’s eardrums, and the world at large?

It didn’t make sense, but when Anakin talked to Ahsoka, who was opening with him that day, she told him it did.

“You know,” she said, “if he’s really that hot, there’s gotta be something wrong with him. So the universe is fair and shit.”

And Anakin had to agree. There truly was something wrong with the man. Deeply, deeply wrong. Disturbed, even. Not that it made it fair that Anakin still had to suffer every morning. Or that his eardrums felt like they might die.

The next morning, he resolved to put a stop to it, good looks aside. For the sake of both his sanity, and for the world. Well, the world of the train at 5:15 in the morning. It was important to him, okay?

So he steeled himself the next morning. Got up early so he could get coffee and fix his hair, because presentation was important in these sorts of confrontations. Not for any other reason. Anakin also wore his nice work shirt, the one without too many stains, for the impending argument, of course. He would’ve looked his best while telling any asshole to stop fucking singing Christmas songs on the train at ass-o’clock every morning, whether or not they were hot.

Okay, maybe it had something to do with the fact that the guy was hot. Whatever. Sue Anakin for wanting to make a better second impression.

When he got to the train, he felt all wound-up, just waiting for the inevitable. For Holly Jolly Christmas or All I Want for Christmas is You or Chestnuts Roasting on the Open Fire of Anakin’s Burning Hatred for Christmas Songs. Or whatever that last one was called. His knee was bouncing, fingers tapping, heart pounding in anticipation. For the inevitable confrontation, of course.

It began five minutes after Anakin sat down. 5:18 in the morning.

Fucking Spooky Scary Skeletons.

An insult to Anakin’s pride, to his honor, to his family, to the month of August, to Halloween, and to the world at large, that’s what the man behind him was singing. An insult of the highest order, and Anakin had only had one cup of coffee.

So he did something wild, something insane, something totally out of character for him.

He waited.

He waited until the train made its next stop, the one before his, and he moved quickly to sit across the aisle from the man.

“Hey,” he said before he could chicken out. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Hot Asshole turned to look at him slowly. “What do you mean?” He asked, all posh and British and refined, and wow, Anakin was beginning to understand the appeal of those love-hate, enemies-to-lovers, 100k slow burn type relationships. That was hot. Despite, or perhaps even more so because of, the man’s infuriating little eyebrow thing, it was really hot.

“Your stupid music,” Anakin heard himself saying, refusing to back down despite the sight in front of him. “Sir, are you aware that it’s August?”

The man smiled. Pretty, Anakin’s mind supplied. Shut up, he snapped back.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, folding his hands over one knee, crossing it over the other.

Anakin blinked, slowly, trying to let his brain catch up. “Well, you’re. It’s. That’s a Halloween song,” he said, feeling dumber by the second.

“And?” The man was still smiling, all innocent, and Anakin was suddenly unsure if it was nerves or annoyance making his face flush.

“And, um—well—whoever you are, you’re singing Halloween music. It’s August.”

“I’m Obi-Wan,” the man said unhelpfully. “And I don’t see what the issue is. Spooky Scary Skeletons is about bones. The human body. Personally, I think bodies are relevant year-round, don’t you?”

No, it was definitely annoyance.

“That’s about spooky, scary skeletons. It’s a fucking Halloween song. And even if it was applicable, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been singing fucking Christmas music every day for the past three weeks.” Anakin gave the man his best glare, but it didn’t seem to phase him. On the contrary, he just smiled a little brighter.

“It’s just what’s been stuck in my head,” he said, sounding innocent. “I don’t know what you want me to do about it.”

“I—just—I—I want you to go out with me!” Okay, so Anakin didn’t mean to say that. In the slightest. And Obi-Wan was looking at him weirdly, and also, that wasn’t even a good solution to what Obi-Wan was asking, so Anakin opened his mouth to backtrack, but before he could—

“Okay.” Obi-Wan shrugged, smiling slightly. Anakin’s heart did a funny little somersault. “Is this your stop?”

And shit—it was, and Anakin hadn’t even gotten past the initial asking. No time to ask for horrible, hot, annoyingly heart-pounding Christmas Asshole’s number.

But that was fine. After all, Anakin was probably going to have to tell him to sing an appropriate song the next day, as well.

#i am AMAZED by how fast i wrote this lmfao this prompt hit me like a train (pun intended ;))#fuck the word soumersalt all my homies hate the word soumerastualt #star wars #star wars fanfic #obikin #obikin fanfic #obikin fanfiction #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi x anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x obi wan kenobi

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