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request? could you write something with Damon having major sexual tension with a backing member of gorillaz (like a violinist or something) it’s vagueeee but still

SUMMARY: A warm smell surrounded you that’s familiarity made something bloom in your chest. It wasn’t a far cry to admit Damon was attractive. Any star was. Something scratched at your chest, toyed with you. It taunted you to bring the fabric close and be consumed by it. But Damon’s eyes were fixated on your every move; the wrong one would be catastrophic.

PAIRING: Damon Albarn x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.6K

WARNINGS: I tried to combine a handful of requests, so if it's a little choppy...don't worry about it....fluff, cursing, lack of coherent plot because I a little bit gave up half way through, nothing crazy, etc.

A/N: Hello! I love this concept so much. It was meant to be an enemies to lovers, but my little fluff-filled heart couldn't do it. Please, please enjoy! (If you can't tell, I live for this gif lol)

“Loop it.”

The harmonies felt better. But after going through every note in your range, Damon still refused to settle. Sleep clung to your voice and became prominent when you tried to push through.

“Let’s do it again…” Damon pressed the signaling button for his voice to echo. You could see through the glass fatigue ruled him and fueled his obsession. “Try the C major–” He hesitated to commit to the note, but not when he had called your hotel room in the middle of the night. “—No. Try doing–

“I’m taking a break.”

The headphones disconnected before Damon could reprimand you. If you had to be inconvenienced, so would he. Silence followed you as you moved through his home. Damon’s eyes tracked your familiarity in his home. There was something, a feeling he couldn’t decipher about the authority you found in it.

You were no longer a guest, but you weren’t a friend. Despite knowing each other for years, you never quite graduated from the acquaintance level. Yet, there you were, sipping from the mug Damon had made himself as if you were his other half.

Your position normalized it. The industry, which you barely claimed space in, normalized things like this. There was plenty of musical history to account for late-night sessions or jams, but this felt intentional. Different.

“Where are the others?” You teased him knowingly. You were well aware of the rumored soft spot he had for you, but it was hard to believe what he expected of you.

“Still sleeping.” Damon was restless, focusing on the wasted time on hot water and honey. “They’ll catch up.” He attempted to reason with your glare. “We need to get back.”

You had gotten further than usual, half a mug’s worth, before he complained. There wasn’t enough caffeine in the tea to keep you up, but the warmth helped. So did the fact that there was a fresh stock of the brand you gravitated towards. He was expecting you.

“Just a minute longer.” You hummed, neck stretching to the left and right until it popped. “Sure you don’t want any?” Damon declined, settling with a yawn. “You’ll have to sleep at some point.”

“I will…” He sniffed with agitation. You annoyed him and crawled under his skin just to settle there. “...once we’re done.”

“We are done.” A breath of amused laughter flitted through your nose. “You’ll have to drag me back in there.” Damon looked at you as if actually entertaining the thought. Throwing him a coy gaze, you added, “I’d love to see you try.”

“I thought about it.” He cracked a smile, finally. Damon was uncharacteristically quiet during the session, suppressing his usual cheekiness.

Your expression softened, matching his, “I know.”

“Maybe I’ll scrap the song.” He finally caved, his anxieties surfacing. “B-sides or something.” His movements became his own, demeanor present again, “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a mess.” You cleared your mug, the remaining tea cold and forgotten. “That what you want to hear?” You hummed for an answer. “Or that it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard?”

“Depends.” His smile remained present. “Does my ego need inflating?”

“God, no.”

Your breath of laughter was divine. Damon would listen to it on a loop if he could. These moments made it worthwhile. They were fleeting but brought a much-needed lightness to the night. Made the purpose of your presence just a little sweeter.

—

You’d come in with little layers, to begin with. Stumbling out of bed meant whatever was on your back would have to suffice for the day ahead. Yet, that hadn’t accounted for the switch of the air conditioning to accommodate the countless pieces of equipment used.

At night, things were different. You related to the solitude, the quietness making it easier to think. Yet, the buzz of a busy studio gave a unique rush to every meeting that helped immerse you in a world of collaboration.

“He kept you all night?” Jamie’s tone was teasing with the rhetorical question. It was obvious in how you looked—casually put together and gaze set on the goal of finishing—that you’d seen the sunrise.

You offered a simple smile, making it seem like you hadn’t minded. In reality, you hadn’t truly minded, but part of you resisted the game of cat and mouse.

“You’re allowed to say no.” Another breath of laughter. Jamie had a knack for using his humor for others' comfort, which you appreciated. Especially if it came to poking fun at Damon. “He does know what that means.”

“Keeps me occupied.” The excuse was rehearsed but not inaccurate, as you shrugged. “The extra cash doesn’t hurt.”

“God knows he’s got plenty to spare.”

Jamie looked at Damon. He was engrossed with his lyrics, scratching out words for others and shuffling the cue cards in different orders until they made sense for the singers who would soon spill in. A cigarette hung from his lips, the ash snowing down onto his work.

Damon mumbled against the butt to himself, taking a drag just to push it out through his nose. Something was appealing to the vice. Especially as you thought to reach out with your two fingers to capture your lips around the cigarette just to feel the heat of his lips.

“C’mere for a minute.”

There was a lag before you realized Damon had called out to you. There wasn’t a need for you yet; he would have to make something up soon to explain why you had to detach yourself from Jamie.

“The melodies sound good.” You crouched beside him, the compliment surprising not only him but yourself. “I heard you earlier…” You attempted to backtrack before the heat reached the tips of your ears. “...It’s shaping up nicely.”

“The lyrics are..." His sentence trailed off, morphing as he blew a raspberry. He couldn't quite shake the frustration of his unfinished song.

Goosebumps littered your skin as you reached across him for the marker in his hand. He knew you were cold since he avoided looking at how the swell of your breast peaked, looking for heat.

“Grammar’s a bit off.” You mumbled, adjusting the order of a few things. It was like a puzzle; the song's lyrics could be bent however you wanted but could only settle comfortably with a proper flow. “...Let's see how that sounds.”

You hummed the melody that had become your earworm. Damon matched it with the lyrics. The flow had changed with the slight adjustment as if mocking how it had taken days for him even to approach it.

“Yeah, that’s good…” Damon whispered to himself, to you. There was no reason to be surprised at your skill, but there was something that tickled him. “Good, let’s get the others.” He could feel the start of his rambling in his chest. “I mean, when everyone gets here…you can show them.”

“Somethings off with you…” Your eyebrows cinched together with premature amusement. “You don’t like it?”

Damon was hard-headed, never soft-spoken about his work and how he envisioned it. But he struggled to form his words the way he wanted with you.

“He’s upset that he didn’t come up with it himself. ” Jamie joined right as Damon went to thank you. “Now leave the girl alone; I don’t know how she’s not sick of you yet.”

—

As others filtered in, producing and recording, the smoke began to fill the room. Things began to come easy, things falling into place with more than a pair of eyes looking for a solution. Damon thrived in the environment. He personified the more, the merrier.

He would detach himself from one group just to mingle with those working in the opposite direction. He multitasked even when everyone decided to relax collectively, yourself included.

“All I’m saying is that the audience in Rio has this unmatched energy.”

They talked about the upcoming tour, regaling tales of part performances that couldn’t be matched. It had just been confirmed and announced to the anticipatory fans in capital cities globally.

“Toyko, hands down.” Another added. “ Plus, the food is well worth the travel.”

You traveled for work but only hopped from one studio to the next. Never had you performed in front of crowds as the rest had. They shared stories of the things thrown at them during peak performances and tales of drunken nights that were fuzzily being put together.

“Albarn, do you remember?” They called for him across the room. He had waited for the single invitation to be closer to you with the backing of an excuse. “In Montreal, how’d we get back to the hotel?”

Damon didn’t touch you, not yet, at least. The arm around the cushion of the sofa settled comfortably as he sat. His head lulled back and forth, giving attention to those he conversed with. But something about how he gravitated to your space made it seem like his undivided attention was yours.

You found it difficult to listen to shared stories you knew little about. But you liked the rumble you felt against your side when Damon fluttered with laughter. Each time, he would catch the goosebumps that spread across your arms. He figured you were cold, but you were worried that you were revealing yourself, and he only reveled in it. So you used the very excuse of being affected by the temperature to cover yourself.

You could have gone without asking, but your hand landed on his knee before you realized. “You have a jumper or something?”

His eyes lingered on your hand, which caught his attention. It was a smart move on your part, better than trying to call his name, knowing it would go out in one ear and out the other. Others continued around you, making nothing of the touch, but you rarely initiated something.

“On the chair.” Damon jutted his chin across the room where his sweatshirt had been scrapped.

Eyes were on you, watching your sock-clad feet pad carefully over the various wires that littered the floor. The sweatshirt was intentionally large on Damon, so it swam on you as you pulled it over your head.

A warm smell surrounded you that’s familiarity made something bloom in your chest. It wasn’t a far cry to admit Damon was attractive. Any star was. Something scratched at your chest, toyed with you. It taunted you to bring the fabric close and be consumed by it. But Damon’s eyes were fixated on your every move; the wrong one would be catastrophic.

Someone called your name, and your original spot was filled beside Damon. There was a yearning to return to that, probably the shared exhaustion of the day forefronting your thoughts.

—

Your eyes couldn’t help but drift throughout the session. It was becoming a hard habit to break. But for once, you were thankful, able to catch the tail end of Jamie and Damon’s tiff. They had their lovers quarrels, but they never remained quiet. They were never shy to be dramatic for everyone to hear and witness.

The studio glass was your barrier, but you had an inkling it was about you. Jamie was always an advocate for you, for everyone. He, although not always, could talk sense into his counterpart. You just wished he waited to do it when you weren’t there or when you could eavesdrop.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m—

“Nah, I’m tired of your excuses.” Jamie tutted, arms crossing with conviction. “You have a beautiful girl over in the middle of the night, and you make her work.” He shook his head as if it was the most despicable thing. “The only thing she should be doing is moaning–

“Fuck off.” Damon frowned at the crudeness. He’d mused the thought but never allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy. “It’s not like that, believe me.

“You’re letting me down.” Jamie continued, ready for the fight. “What happened to you?” He always tapped right on Damon’s pressure points. “You’ve gone soft, can’t even ask out a girl without falling apart.”

“Thanks, mate.” Damon threw a glare, still looking ahead. He caught your eye unintentionally. But his eyes flickered back to Jamie before the slim chance of being ashamed. “Go find something to do, I can’t babysit today.”

“You’re drawing it out,” Jamie said. “She’ll be gone when you finally fucking do something—

“I’ve invited her out tonight.”

The lie flew out fast. Damon had only heard through the whispers of others that you would think about going. Now, he gambled.

Jamie’s eyebrows twitched up, “With us?”

“Who else?”

A smirk pulled at the thought. Years passed, and your tendency to avoid social events began to precede you. “You bribed her to say yes, didn’t you?”

—-

“Refill?”

Damon watched your drink dwindle. Your ordered whatever everyone else was having, making it easy to blend in. It was his excuse to talk to you, which he found otherwise difficult.

The music was loud, thumping directly to drown out his voice. Yours carried beautifully as you laughed with the company. It felt like a strike every time Damon heard it. A reminder of the incompetence Jamie had reminded him of earlier.

“Hmm?”

The music covered Damon’s words. You leaned close to his neck; ear perked to hear him. He had caught you on the dance floor, where you swayed to the beat. On the off-beat, your shoulder brushed against his, a deliberate move on your part.

“Your drink…” He pointed to it this time. The strobing lights helped cover his stumble. “You want another?”

Damon looked good. Maybe it was the buzz around you allowing you to fall behind the veil of alcohol. It helped that people around you bumped the two of you closer. If he hadn’t been looking at you so intently for an answer, you’d be in his arms within a matter of minutes.

“Yeah,” You nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

The atmosphere of the club required commitment. But the bar offered a reprieve. You were lucky to have found a free stool that wobbled under your weight while Damon flagged down the bartender. You were sure some recognized him, but as he matured, the more privacy he maintained.

“Thought you would be a no-show.” The gin and tonic had a heavy pour, reflecting the overwhelmed workers and carelessness of the night. You sipped on its sweetness, patient for Damon’s response.

“So did I.” Ironically enough, you had approached Damon. You extended the invitation, lying through your teeth that the others had sent you to ask him. Relief flooded him. A shrug simplified Damon’s feelings. “Changed my mind.”

“Why?” You teased, looking at him with nothing but conviction. “You found out I was coming?”

“Something like that.” His lips twitched at the sentiment, arms encasing you as more bumped him toward you, “Jamie’s quite persistent.”

Your drinks dwindled, and more were ordered. The bubble you’d created was filled with wit, a banter that came naturally and held heavy sentiments. You had already memorized the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, how his laughter started deep within his chest just to echo its way to you. But it never got old. Typically, you’d scold yourself for admiring him that way but indulged regardless. Damon was never subtle with how his gaze lingered, but you doubted subtly was his priority.

Especially as he broke eye contact with you just to wet his own lips, mirroring your gesture. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “You’ve got my attention.”

It seemed the best time to ask you when he had you in his grasp. There wouldn’t be a more appropriate time in his eyes. This was what he wanted most but never knew how to express. He wanted you near him, like this.

“Come on tour with me.”

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