#dancing and making art and then going to the bar to get something to drink i just felt like

[bugmistake]

so transgender i could cry

[girlkisser13]

going on your first date with the tvdu men would include

damon salvatore

• damon would likely choose a secluded and romantic location, perhaps the mystic grill for a drink, followed by a surprise trip to a hidden spot in the woods or a beautiful clearing with a view of the stars.

• he would pick you up in his blue convertible, making the journey to your date part of the experience, complete with playful banter and a perfectly curated playlist.

• expect witty and flirty conversation. we all know damon LOVES to tease, but he’d also be surprisingly attentive, showing genuine interest in getting to know you better.

• he’d most likely choose your drink for you, something you’d end up loving, showcasing his impeccable taste. if the date involves food, he’d make sure it’s something special, perhaps even cooking for you at his house.

• if the moment felt right, damon will suggest dancing. whether it’s a slow dance in the woods under the stars or a playful dance at the grill, he’d make it unforgettable.

• at the end of the date, damon would walk you to your door. his goodbye would be lingering, leaving you eager for the next time you see him. he’d probably leave you with a teasing comment or a promise of more to come.

elijah mikaelson

• elijah would choose an elegant and sophisticated location, a high-end restaurant with a stunning view or a private, luxurious setting that exudes old school harm.

• he’d OBVIOUSLY show up dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, reflecting his refined and timeless style. every detail of his appearance would be perfect, from his cufflinks to his neatly styled hair.

• elijah would send a classic car to pick you up, or he would arrive himself, ready to escort you to your date with utmost courtesy.

• elijah would be genuinely interested in your thoughts, opinions, and experiences. he’d share fascinating stories from his centuries-long life, offering glimpses into his past while keeping an air of mystery.

• elijah is the epitome of a gentleman. he’d hold doors open for you, help you with your coat, and ensure you feel cherished and respected throughout the evening.

• he would bring you a thoughtful gift, such as a bouquet of rare flowers or a book that he thinks you’d love, showing his attention to detail and consideration.

• elijah would choose the finest cuisine and wine, making sure everything is of the highest quality. he’d ensure the meal is a culinary experience, with each course carefully selected to delight your palate.

• he would engage you in conversations about art, history, literature, and culture, revealing his vast knowledge and passion for these subjects.

• while elijah is a perfect gentleman, there’s always an underlying sense of his power and ability to protect you. you’d feel safe and secure in his presence, knowing he’d go to great lengths to ensure your well-being.

• at the end of the date, elijah would walk you to your door, ensuring you’re safely home. his goodbye would be tender and sincere, perhaps with a gentle kiss on your hand or a soft brush of his lips against your cheek, leaving you enchanted and eager for the next time you meet.

kol mikaelson

• kol would choose a fun and unpredictable location for your date. this could range from a vibrant bar in the french quarter, to a late-night carnival, or even a spontaneous adventure like breaking into an abandoned mansion for some exploring.

• kol would either show up in a flashy car or decide to take you for a walk through the lively streets of new orleans, there’s no in between.

• kol is all about living in the moment. he might suggest impromptu activities, like dancing in the street to a nearby musician’s tunes or trying some exotic food from a street vendor.

• there’s always a touch of mischief with kol. he might pull a harmless prank or engage in a bit of friendly competition, such as challenging you to a game of pool or darts at a local bar.

• kol wouldn’t hide his vampire nature; instead, he’d use it to impress you. he’d show off his speed, strength, and compel the bartender to give you both free drinks.

• the date would be filled with energy and excitement. kol’s enthusiasm is contagious, and he’d ensure you’re constantly entertained and engaged, never a dull moment.

• at the end of the date, kol would walk you home, making sure you’re safely inside. his goodbye would be flirty and full of promise, perhaps with a lingering kiss or a playful comment about your next adventure together.

jeremy gilbert

• jeremy would choose a casual and comfortable location, like a cozy café, a local diner, or a peaceful spot by the lake for a picnic.

• jeremy is a good listener and would be interested in learning about your passions, dreams, and experiences.

• jeremy would suggest doing something fun and interactive, like visiting an arcade, going for a hike, or even attending a local concert. he’d want to create a memorable experience that’s enjoyable for both of you.

• jeremy’s an artist so he might even take you to a local art gallery, or he could even bring his sketchbook and show you some of his sketches (they’re honestly probably all sketches of you).

• jeremy would choose a place with good, hearty food— nothing too fancy, but something that feels comforting and satisfying. if you’re having a picnic, he’d pack a basket with some of his favorite snacks and drinks.

• he also loves being outdoors, so he might take you to a beautiful, secluded spot in nature.

• at the end of the date, jeremy would walk you to your door and make sure you’re safely inside. his goodbye would be sweet and sincere, leaving you feeling cared for and excited for the next time you see him.

malachai "kai" parker

• kai would choose an unconventional and adventurous location. this could range from exploring an old, abandoned building to a spontaneous road trip to a nearby town. he loves to keep things exciting and unpredictable.

• there’s always a sense of mischief with kai. he would definitely suggest something dangerous or illegal, like sneaking into a restricted area or trying out a thrilling activity. he enjoys pushing boundaries and seeing how far you’re willing to go.

• kai wouldn’t shy away from using his magic. he might perform small, impressive spells to amuse you or use his powers to enhance the date, like creating a magical light show or conjuring up something special.

• kai would take you to a unique, offbeat restaurant or café, somewhere with a cool vibe and interesting menu. he’d make sure the experience is memorable and out of the ordinary.

• at the end of the date, kai would walk you to your door with a mix of playful charm and genuine interest. his goodbye would be intriguing and magnetic, perhaps with a lingering touch or a cryptic comment that leaves you wanting more.

niklaus "klaus" mikaelson

• klaus would choose a sophisticated and exclusive location, like a private rooftop dinner with a stunning view of the city, a hidden garden, or a historic site. he loves grandeur and would want to impress you with a memorable setting.

• klaus would pick you up in a luxurious car, ensuring you travel in comfort and style. the journey would be smooth and filled with engaging conversation, making you feel at ease and intrigued.

• klaus is well-read and knowledgeable, and he’d be genuinely interested in your thoughts and experiences. he’d share fascinating stories from his long life, providing glimpses into his complex personality.

• klaus is a master of romantic gestures. he’d bring you a bouquet of rare flowers, arrange for a talented musician to play a private concert, or surprise you with a beautifully handwritten note expressing his admiration.

• klaus has a deep appreciation for art and culture. he might take you to an art gallery, a classical music concert, or even show you some of his own artwork. he’d love to share his passions with you and see your reactions.

• klaus has a penetrating gaze that can make you feel like the only person in the world. throughout the date, he’d often lock eyes with you, never looking away until you do.

• his protective nature would be evident. he’d ensure you feel safe and cared for at all times, subtly asserting his strength and willingness to defend you if needed.

• klaus is a gentleman at heart. he’d open doors for you, pull out your chair, and be attentive to your needs, ensuring you feel respected and cherished.

• at the end of the date, klaus would walk you to your door. his goodbye would be lingering and filled with promise, perhaps with a gentle kiss on your hand or a soft brush of his lips against yours, leaving you yearning for more.

stefan salvatore

• stefan would choose a charming, low-key location for your first date. this might be a quaint café, a scenic park, or a cozy restaurant with a relaxed atmosphere where you can talk and connect.

• he’d pick you up in his car, making sure the ride is pleasant and comfortable. he might even play a soft playlist to set a relaxed mood.

• stefan is thoughtful and would likely bring a small, meaningful gift, like a single flower or a favorite book he thinks you’d enjoy. he values the little things that show he’s paying attention.

• stefan would plan a thoughtful activity, such as a stroll through a picturesque park, a visit to a local art exhibit, or a casual outing to a farmers' market, where you can explore and talk.

• he’d pay close attention to your preferences and needs, ensuring you’re comfortable and having a good time. if you mention a favorite food or drink, he’d remember and include it in the date.

• stefan’s demeanor is kind and respectful. he’d open doors for you, offer his arm while walking, and be attentive without being overwhelming, showing his genuine respect and care.

• rather than grand gestures, stefan plan a quiet moment to watch the sunset together or find a peaceful spot where you can talk privately.

• at the end of the date, stefan would walk you to your doorstep. his goodbye would be heartfelt, leaving you with a feeling of warmth and anticipation for the next time you see him.

[chlmtsdoll]

hear me out

reader and girl friends dancing and drinking at a nightclub after work when one of the girls says something like "holy shit, look at those two, they're hot"

when reader turns to look, she sees Patrick and Art laughing and having fun together

"i want the brunette one", one says, "are you crazy? look at the blonde, how hot he is", another responds.

"fifty bucks for whoever gets both"

reader smiles. it's showtime.

OH? IT’S GIVING SATC 🤭

This was supposed to be short but I got carried away I’m afraid ! 🎀 | 18 + smut, p in v unprotected sex, oral (m) receiving, heavy obnoxious flirting, kinda messy reader

When the club had been this crowded with a full dance floor and beautiful men nearly everywhere you looked, finally letting loose after a long work week with your girls was enough motivation to get the confidence pumping between the three of you.

Your friends were frozen. Facing the the bar area where this six foot blonde and brunette were standing, laughing like everything around them was funny. One had an infectious grin, hair untamed and a tight dark skirt that show cased his brooding arms. He was the tallest and had ‘a party girls wet dream’ written all over him. The other slightly more polished, could pass for the stereotypical Ken doll type with his charming smile, sterling blue eyes with golden locks combination. You couldn’t find why he would be here, he looked like the only interested in finding a wife type.

Either way, the two men had your thighs pushing against one another the second the girls began chattering about. And once you heard ‘fifty bucks for whoever can get both’ your ears were all game.

“Oh, I am so in. That brunette is scorching.”

“And ? Look at that blondes jawline, bitch.”

“Double the pay if they both finish.” You announce. Both of your girlfriend’s locks go up in the air as they whip around to see the smirk pulling at your lips. They quickly take upon one of their own as well.

“Oh… the competition just got serious.” One of them says.

“It’s been serious. Those guys are totally loaded..” The other comments.

Your eyebrow dips. “What makes you think that ?”

“Oh come on, what two guys that hot are going to come to the club and not be looking to spend their cash on a girl ?”

Her theory wasn’t too out of range. There was something quite different from the boys across from you all. Setting them apart from the other clueless guys around just trying to get as drunk as they possibly can. There was a more tamed and calculated aura to these two. Something that made them not only sexy, but stand out profoundly.

“..or, they could just be gay.” The other girl replies casually and the three of you burst into laughter.

“Oh my god, shut up!”

You giggle, slightly rolling your eyes to land on the two men occasionally eyeing the dance floor as if they’re considering joining in the crowd. And that’s when you caught the gaze of the one with the darker head of hair, he flashed you a smile that sent a thrill straight to your core. You tried not to blush so terribly your friends would be on to you and raise the stakes.

But you couldn't help but ponder if they’d been right too — not about the gay thing, but if they truly we’re packing bills.

And soon you found yourself worrying less about what was in you and your friends wallets, and whatever was in theirs.

“Okay. Let’s get in there. Game on.”

You and your girls were heading over to the bar, tight mini skirts and all with just the right amount of cleavage on display for your upcoming play date. And with hardly any nerves that you’d loose to the two, knowing you had it locked in with the way you just got checked out hard from the brunette all the way across the bar had your hopes high.

As you all were now getting ready to own that bar area, you let your friends have a try at playing with the men first — and it was certainly quite amusing to watch them try to flirt with both the blonde and brunette at the same time.

With fingers twirling in their hair, laughing a little too hysterically at whatever was said and trying to keep both of their attention, you wondered from observation if it crossed them that it wasn’t as easy as they’d think. One of the boys was either off staring at another cute girl or just looking for a drink when your friends hadn’t been trying to sweet talk them into a little more fun. The most they got was a couple flattering laughs from the two.. and you couldn’t help but chuckle yourself, their game play was adorable.

But they failed where you knew best. Multitasking.

So when it was your turn to get your head in the game, one of your friends walking past you in defeat from her attempt whispered, “totally gay.” in your ear post her rejection from the charming boys. You tried not to laugh in her face but you did crack and grin.

You were up next. And you wasted no time going in.

You played it all out in your head within a few minutes of taking note of the two and also of course where your friends lacked. It would be an easy job especially since you spent your week trying to sell to people at work. You knew charm like the back of your hand — soon enough you’d be making out with these guys in the back of the club in no time.

Hips swayed without any real effort as you found where the brunette had been standing nearby the vault of vodka and steely liquor at the bar. Purposefully leaning against the counter and close enough to his side for him to hear you call to get one of the bartenders attention, “Um- - could I get another drink ??” You attempted. But with it being rush hour, they'd all been too occupied.

And that’s when your plan started to make the magic happen.

The towering man beside you glanced over his shoulder at your presence, noticing you weren’t getting any luck with the attention of the bartenders and he inspected your soft and sweetened voice pretty quickly. But also with just how edible he thought you were from earlier, “what do you want, doll face ?” he turned to face you with a grin that was as overwhelmingly striking as they come. It could have made any girl want to drop her panties at the sight. And his voice sounded as if he knew that he absolutely could, “it’s packed in here, yeah ? I’ll get someone for you.”

If it wasn’t for your determination, you would have erupted into a melted pile on the ground after he winked down at you. “Oh- no, it’s fine. I’m sure my friends annoyed you enough.” You laughed lightly and he joined along with you.

“Nah, they’re cute girls… but I gotta admit, I was kinda hopin’ you’d be the one to come over and annoy me a little bit.” His eyes focused on the way your lips curled up into a swayed smile and your face was flustered quicker than the flashing lights on the ceiling. He could be bluffing. And he probably was. Even though that was supposed to be your job here — it was totally working.

You titter, “..really ?”

“Really.”

“Well than, I guess I stumbled into the right spot.” (You wanted to pat yourself on the back. You’d been farther ahead than you even assumed.) “What do they call you ?”

“Patrick, a hell of a fun time, Zweig. Your pick.” his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he took a swing of his drink, and you were all laugher as his green eyes followed you from over the rim.

This was when you could implement the gorgeous blonde to his right — eyeing off to a couple of girls on the floor. With your bottom lip pulled between your teeth, you step a little closer to Patrick, glance going from him to other handsome work of art beside. The space getting less and less personal between you two didn’t scare him either.

“Well, Patrick… who’s your friend- - ?” Your eyes darted to where he stood and the brunette hit his poor friend in the chest to get his attention on you, when he did, you noticed the uniqueness of his eyes up close. You could of seen it from across the bar — but this is another level. Some kind of otherworldly matter, it got you choked up for a moment.

He was about to make you bank.

“This is Art.”

Of course it is.

Your were trying not to drool as you took a little too long to examine the way Art leaned up with a miniature straw pressed against his pretty lips with a soft sideways smirk,

“I think he’s a cutie..” You sputter as you bit your lip with a cheeky smile. Trying not to get lost in Arts gaze — you had to remember the goal, get your head in the game to why you’d walked over here in the first damn place.

“I think you’re both pretty cute..”

“Yeah?” Patrick chuckled and grinned at his friend, they looked at each other like it had been some hidden kind of communication. Like they already knew what the other was trying to say telepathically. That was a signal to you that this was for sure a package deal — you’d have both of them tonight. Not only did they welcome it, but they’d probably been here for that exact motive.

Art gave you a little smile, “We had our eye on you the whole night honestly, so that’s good to know…”

There it is.

You laughed a bit and shrugged. Eyes following back to the darker haired one. “So I heard..”

“How come you aren’t out there?” Art nodded to the dance floor full of bodies, his eyes ran over you, “you’re a stunning girl.. no way none of these guys asked you to dance.”

You hoped to god you weren’t getting flustered. They’re just boys. Ones that you needed to be bedded by till the sun came up, but still.

“I’m- uh.. a bit shy.” (You weren’t. You had your fair share of men in and out of your apartment. Not as stunning as Art and Patrick although, so making them feel extra special wasn’t too much of a stretched truth.) “so it’s rare I even talk to guys.. but you two- - I just had to say something.” You giggled and they were leaning into your laughter with their own. You could swear you smelled Burberry cologne being sent your way from one of them, if not both. Maybe your friends had been right about the wealth.

Art and Patricks attention had been solidly on you. And you didn’t know if it was the way you decided to style your hair tonight, and the way you made sure to keep lustful but sweet eyes between them, or if your friends just sucked at flirting. But you were already yearning to keep this going.

It was time to throw them a curve to lock in their undivided for the rest of the night.

“Well- - I should get back to my friends, they probably think it’s way odd of me to even be over here..” you tittered with a soft goodbye smile as you began to turn away from the men and before you could even step away from the countertop, “wait!” was being called your way from over your shoulder.

A smirk was ridden on your lips once again. You turned back to face their pitch with curiosity.

“Stay a little longer?” Patrick asked of you with a beam.

“Yeah, let us buy you a drink.. what are you? An espresso?”

“No. Man, she’s a cosmo girl, trust me. You are- - aren’t you?” When the brunette corrected his friend, blue and green orbs focused on your answer in desperation you’d keep them a little more company. And you couldn’t help your decisive but giddy expression that was all too pleased with your work here.

“I am actually, yes.” You chuckled before taking a stand between the two tall and handsome men with much more than a quick fuck and collecting your rewards on your mind now. You actually sort of liked them. And that was rare with any man you’d meet doing an activity like clubbing, especially two of them.

As time went on, Art and Patrick were racking up on buying you drink after drink. As many as you wanted. Within as little as an hour that passed, you’d been with the two boys as if you’d known them your entire life. It could have been borderline love bombing with how fast you went from zero to a hundred. Both men simultaneously wrapping their arms around you from behind, laughing loudly as you’d been glued between the two of them. Even dancing in ways more than a couple flirts could have gotten you.

The boys were more than happy to keep tipping the bartenders with haughty smirks after getting you sparked up and hanging on their arms of course, even having one too many of their own. The three of you took it to the lounge area and your friends would be somewhere watching in disbelief and slight envy of how quickly you were able to get handsy with Art and Patrick.

You’d been passed back and forth on their laps as you chatted and even snuck a couple kisses by now. Totally giddy off their energy and the liquids they’d been giving you. The way Art had slipped his wallet back into his back pocket after buying you another drink, was a straight turn on to the point you’d been sticking sugary kisses to his neck as he did so with a couple playful bites, the man grinned at your bubbly essence. Your not so careful hands slid up his chest and slung over his shoulders, “Mmm- -You’re the sweet one aren’t you?” You giggle, finger tips run over his jaw and Art bit down on his peachy lip while he held on to your hips nice and easy, yet with a respectful distance. He couldn’t find the words to define the way he’d been enjoying the way you stroked his ego all night long.

“Don’t let him fool you. He’s actually a menace.” Patrick scoffed as he sat man spread in the seat across from you two with a cigarette in hand.

“Fuck off.” His friend defended lightly. It was the way you could tell he enjoyed the playful banter when Patrick poked at him tonight that solidified to you just how close they really were. You thought it was adorable.

“You two really do everything together, huh?” You toyed with Arts now loose collar, casually sipping on something clear with flirtatious eyes, and the man shrugged a bit as he glanced at the brunette across from him who was hiding a sardonic kind of look behind his glass.

“I mean, well- - somethings..” The blonde nodded with a soft smile, but you raised a brow. “Most things.” He corrected, he and Patrick narrowed eyes at one another. You noticed with a devious little hum at the way the blonde had still been holding back. It made your lips turn up with a grin, watching between the two as Art struggled to confess the obvious. “Okay. Yeah- kind of.. everything.” With a flustered look towards the brunette, Arts eyes trailed off with a sort of blush as you leaned into his shoulder. All close to the blue eyed man getting harshly coy now.

“That’s so cute. Like brothers..” you smiled in Patrick’s direction and he immediately let out heavy laughter.

“Not exactly.” The other man grinned. You tilted your head some, and looked at Art again with wonder in your eyes.

“Like.. lovers ?” Your eyes were wide as you focused on the blonde and he shook his head and drowned out his flustered expression with a swing from his glass. Patrick had smirked at your final conclusion, but still, the two gave you not a significant confirmation spite lingering looks and the newfound heat coming from Arts body.

Holy fuck

not just one, but both your friends had been right.

You were already one step ahead with more questions to coax out of the two if a bartender hadn’t interrupted with a new round of shots and your mind was quickly occupied as you ‘ooo’d’ at the tray being set beyond you. Patrick met your gaze and grinned. “Baby, come take one with me,” you were cheerfully being swapped from Arts lap to Patrick’s — bouncing over his way and also grabbing a shot with him.

A quick clink of your glasses filled the air along with your energetic giggles as the man who groped you with firmness in his lap contrast Art, drowned the substance at the same time. Patricks roaming hands were coarse and just as bold as he was when you straddled him after letting the liquor flow down your throat with ease, you wiped your stained lips with the back of your palm.

“Shit.. you took that so well, pretty girl..” Patrick took the glass from your hands, his hooded eyes stayed on you with a smirk. You brushed your fingers over the light stubble to his chin and leaned in close,

“I can take a lot of things pretty well.” You whispered so only he could hear with a smile, you scanned the area proudly as you were very aware of the show you’d been putting up all night. Patrick shifted in his seat with arousal, lips inches away from yours so you went in deep with a kiss.

The man groaned, “Is that so?” He pushed your hips farther into his lap as you’d been lipping off his jaw with a prideful giggle. You were messing with the hem of his shirt as you remembered you still had your own benefit of the deal to seal — getting the boys somewhere you could have your way with them. You came this far, why stop now when you’d been so close to victory?

“Mmhm… want me to show you how?”

Your words were music to the brunettes ears. His eyebrows rose as he watched you lean up with a grin, intertwining your fingers through his knuckles and Patrick stood as you were able to grab Arts attention too. Abruptly stripping him of his seat as well. “oh- - we’re going somewhere else..” the blonde rushed to follow where you’d been leading for a little more privacy. A secluded vip party section that you were a hundred percent not allowed in without a fee — but something about the trespassing turned you on even more. With a finger to your lips, you gave the two a silent “shh” along with your little grin and lustful eyes. They were all in with thrill and eager hands to get on you anyways.

You had gone to the nervously flattered one first. Taking his hands to wrap them around your waist, you stood on your toes to press your lips against his, carefully moving your jaw with Art’s and melting into the dance of it on instant. Your fingertips crawl through his butterscotch tinted curls like you couldn’t get enough. And Art went to a little bit of a risk, he didn’t stop his hands from slipping down to grip your ass beneath your tight skirt.

“Mmm.. easy blondie- -” you giggled with a soft push to his collarbone so he’d been a tad away from you once again, and Art finally let himself breathe with a mumbled curse coming from his lips.

You then made your way to the brunette beside him — but before you could even take your stance, the man pulled you in without a warning. Pressing his broad body against you as he collided his mouth with yours in one swift motion and your whimpers had been an immediate reaction by the way Patrick left sloppy kisses wherever he could. Down your neck, over the top of your chest. You grinned as you eyed the man next to him while Patrick tore into your skin.

You found the vile rising tent in Arts jeans quite cute.

You let your hand trail to where his button began and you undid it as quick as you could with the way Patrick had been holding your body like some kind of rag doll. Art helped you unzip them, and when Patrick had flung you around so your back was flush against his chest, your jaw was unleashed as you squealed.

“You really aren’t shy are you?” His voice was richer than before — full of the whisky and pent up from the foreplay of the last hour making you let out a loose laugh while the man pushed past your messy hair to kiss on your neck.

“I am- - but even the quite ones have our needs.. right, Art?”

The blonde let out a coy chuckle before his blush took over more of his expression and with that you had been hiking up your skirt to tuck your thumbs into the hem of your panties to pull them down your thighs. “Oh, shit.. shit” Art was already softly groaning as you used his undone belt buckle as leverage to get the lacy pair from your feet and he watched with overwhelming interest in the way Patrick caught your drift and started to get his own belt gone faster than you got them into that room.

“Fuck” Patrick, equally aroused, groaned when he had got his hardened dick out of his boxers. Your mind was so clouded from the tension of the way he grabbed on to your clothed breasts behind your top, rummaging to find your sensitive nipples — you were panting from the friction of his throbbing member that was far ready to fuck you senseless, just brushing against your upper thigh. You bit down on your lip hard as you looked up at the finely built man behind you who had a smirk stuck to his face before he toyed at your already slick pussy with his fingers.

“Go on… put it in- -” your drunken mind went fuzzy when the dark haired man started to slide through your walls, your hand went slapping against whatever you could reach in the confined space you’d been in as a full moan escaped you — your eyes fluttered from the way Patrick stretched you open on his cock. Keeping both hands on your hips so you didn’t fall over as your legs already begun to go weak. He didn’t even hesitate to plunge into you with a grunt. “I wasn’t- - even planning on.. fucking you tonight, but fuck, I knew you wanted it.” Patrick groaned out while he snapped his hips against your ass and you turned into a mess of whimpers. You’d been in a slight arch for his entrance, cunt clenching around his length so much so you were sure to turn into a stuttering mess within minutes.

Arts reddened cock was on your mind as he’d been right ahead of you just in reach of your sloppy fuck with the brunette. And as “Oh ! Fuck.. yes, yes” was being thrusted out of you, you still reached out to start stroking him. Art hissed on contact with your warm palms on his shaft like you’d been a pro. And he was gorgeous, eyebrows knitted away as he melted into your heavenly coax of his dick, stiff enough to cum right then just from the voyeurism of it all.

“Baby.. faster- - just like that..” Art groaned before putting a hand on your waist that was being rutted by his friend. You spit on your hand quickly before going back to use it on Art. Your legs were in fact giving out — but the bliss due to the man fucking into you was just too good to let go to waste.

“Patrick..keep fucking me- - mmm.. please, it feels so-so good.” You whine while your wetness sticks to the curve of your inner thighs, you could hear the man’s haughty snicker run through your ears. He was now digging his fingers into your hips, slowing his movements to watching himself pump in and out of your hole with rhythm.

“Hold still, sweet girl.. I’m gonna make you cum- -”

That wasn’t what you needed. But what the heck.

With Patrick pounding a couple cries out of you down the line, he'd been putting his hands roughly in your hair to push you over the ledge as you began to make a mess on his twitching cock. “Mmmh.. f-fuck- yes..!” You couldn’t give a damn at how loud you were being. Your creamy juices were left on the man as he wasted no time to pull out of you and start pumping away at his cock on your backside. Using the wall as a rest with his damp curls stuck to his forehead, he released ropes of his cum on to the dip of your back with a low grunt. By the time he tapped the last few drops on your ass, you had a teasing little hazy smile on your face and Patrick held you up again like used goods.

You got one down. You already knew with a few strokes of your tongue, Art would have that sweet release too. So you got on your knees without a question and attached your generous lips around the blondes member. He closed his eyes to feel the heated wetness of your mouth closing on him. “Oh god,” he panted as you suctioned your lips around his tip. Te naughtiest kind of sounds leaving you while you sucked a climax from Art at the same time. The feeling of his cock down your throat, mixed with the moaning through the moment his cum flows through, made your mouth feel totally full and fucked out. Art cursed at the way you looked so pretty taking him on your knees like this — but he thought you were far too comely to be down there for long, so as soon as you swallowed he helped you rise to your feet with a small stumble, but the man managed to keep you aligned as he grabbed hold of you with a soft grin.

“You’re too good, even drunk. I mean, shit..” Patrick panted as he observed your state. Just like before. Arms flung over Arts shoulders as you leaned into him with flirtatiousness.

“You fuck good.” You eyed him back, your voice was a little too impressed to the brunette, but he was appreciative of the acknowledgement. You had focused on the blonde again, whose chest was against yours, running your finger over his cheek in playfulness with a small giggle.

“And you have to play Ken in me next time..”

He looked down as he just couldn’t help himself but shy away from your compliment. “next time, huh ?” Art questioned with a soft chuckle, You nodded and kept your place temptingly close to the blondes lips. “Well then, we’ve gotta get you home first.”

After Patrick and Art insisted on paying for your Uber back to your apartment, they were also nearly begging for your number as well — and after a few waters to sober up, and a kind hearted snap of your seatbelt from one of the boys, you eventually did give in.

You nearly forgot you had a pay to pick up from your friends at your hangover brunch the next morning, and of course the girls wanted all the details about everything from the previous night while bills were paid to you gladly.

You planned on giving the two hot guys at the bar a handjob and couple kisses at the beginning. But exposing to your friends that you got to cum on Patrick’s cock while you jerked off Art and sealed your deal was an extra bonus as they both ended up being as sweet as they come.

Maybe two boyfriends wouldn’t hurt.

[222col]

Can we get a fic about womanizer Art who's a very famous tennis player and never committed to any woman before even though girls are throwing themselves at him and who doesn't sleep with the same girl twice until he meets y/n ( a maneater) and the sex is something that Art has never experienced before to the point he becomes obsessed with her, she's all what he thinks about and refuses to sleep with another girl and he's determined to make her his no matter what

uhhh yes of course 🧎🏻‍♀️

art donaldson. the man who's only lost two games is entire professional career, he's one of the most, if not the most, successful tennis players in history. he's out most weekends, celebrating another win, another trophy to add to the cabinet. taking a new girl home with him every night, they all fall to his feet like putty. he thinks it's pathetic, but hey, it gets him laid. he's been single during his adult career, too busy fucking random girls and focusing on his tennis to bother committing, not that he would want to anyhow. he never sleeps with the same girl twice, he did that once, some seven years ago. he couldn't stand the way she'd text him constantly afterwards.

he's just won another trophy hitting up the local club with his friends. patrick joins up with him, later in the night. "congrats donaldson, sorry i'm late man, we all bar crawled our way here." art surveys the people patrick has brought with him. you're laughing at something with one of the boys patrick's brought along. "who's that?" art questions, nodding towards you. patrick tells him your name, "she's uh, my buddy's girlfriends, cousin or sister or something, fuck i don't know," patrick laughs into his drink. target acquired, art finishes the vodka soda he's drinking, turning to place the empty cup on the side. your mouth is attached to the guy you were laughing with, your dress hitched up slightly as his hands dart around your waist. "look like he beat you to it, artie," art shakes his head at his friend. "games not over 'til it's over, patrick."

the group of you are shown over to a vip booth, near the back of the club. the guy you were making out with gets up to go to the bathroom, art stands, about to steal his seat next to you when another one of patrick's friends beats him to it. "fuck me," art whispers, slumping back to his place in the booth and backing another vodka soda. the new guy whispers something in your ear, hand on your thigh as you move to make out with him. art should be turned off with how easy you're acting, but honestly he's impressed, the way you have every guy here wrapped around your finger. they're throwing themselves at you the way in which girls do to him, he's intrigued. "game, set, match." patrick laughs to art. "uh uh, no way." art walks straight over to you, pulling the guy off you by his shoulder. "hey! hey- you're art donaldson!" art rolls his eyes. "i'll sign an autograph later, but right now, you're in my seat."

he raises his hands in defeat, moving for art to take his position next to you. "i'd tell you off for interrupting, but he was a shit kisser." you smirk to the blonde in front of you. "well, guess you'll just have to thank me instead." you sip your drink. "i wouldn't go that far, donaldson?" he nods. "art donaldson, and you are?" you introduce yourself. "and who are you that your face alone made that guy run for the hills?" wow, you really don't know him. it's refreshing. "a tennis player." it wasn't the answer you were expecting. "aren't you a bit too pretty to be a tennis player?" art fakes a pout. "i'm so sorry i don't meet your expectations, but hey, at least i know you think i'm pretty." you shrug at him. "it's just a fact. dance with me?" you ask, standing up, holding out your hand. he takes it, of course, joining you on the dance floor. art's not much of a dancer, but that doesn't stop his arm snaking around your waist as you grind against him.

he's whispering in your ear, disgusting, perverted things about the way your body feels against his. art's not shy in situations like this, he thrives, it's his weekly routine. "you gonna keep talking or are you gonna take me home and actually act on what you're telling me, donaldson." he's pulling you out of the club, jumping into the car he has waiting outside. the partition is already rolled up as art climbs on top of you the second the car door is shut. his lips touch yours for the first time tonight and he's intoxicated, your lipstick leaving stains on his skin but he can't get enough. you're reaching between your bodies, palming him through his jeans. "christ, you're like a teenager. all you've done is kiss me and you're already hard." he was hard the second you danced up against him, but that's not the point. "you gonna fucking do something about it then?" he's biting, kissing, sucking his way down your jaw to your neck. "no actually, i think you can grow up and wait until we're at wherever we're going." it's you biting his skin now, his earlobe, his neck, his shoulder. "we're going back to my house, where i can fuck you like the slut you are." you're desperately trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan yet. the car pulls up to art's place, the door opening as he pulls you into the house.

you're kissing the way through the house as art leads you to his bedroom. pulling your dress over your head as you remove his shirt. "fuuuuck," he whispers as you push him backwards to the bed. undoing his jeans, discarding them across the room with his briefs. you crawl over his body, his hands looping behind you to undo your bra. "you're the hottest woman i've ever seen." he peppers your breasts with kisses before manhandling them. "bet you say that to all the girls you fuck in this bed." your hand reaching down between your bodies again, pumping his newly exposed cock in your hand. he groans as he replies. "i don't actually, you're the sexiest thing i've ever laid my eyes on." you scoff and pump his cock faster. "you're not so bad yourself, donaldson."

he flips you over onto your back, moving down your body, removing your panties with his teeth. "you've even got the prettiest little pussy i've ever seen." he immediately starts tonguing your clit, inserting two fingers into you. your moans are killing him, pre-cum falling out of his cock at the taste of you. he reaches over to his nightstand to pull out a condom. "don't, i'm on the pill." he smiles over to you, "fuck me, art." lining himself up with your entrance, "now, say please." god, the sound that escaped your lips in response could have had art confessing his love to you. "please, fuck, please art," he lifts your legs up, resting them on his shoulders as he slides himself into you. getting drunk of the sounds of you and the way you feel around him. he pushes your legs down closer to you, he's never felt this deep inside someone before. "jesus, you're fucking perfect," he mutters, leaning down to kiss your swollen lips.

he's already getting close, leaning back to thumb your clit as he fucks you quicker than before. "fuck, shit, you feel fucking amazing," your hands grasp the sheets, more profanities leaving your lips. "i'm so fucking close," he whispers, his grip around your ankle tightening. "fuck, come inside me, please, art." fuck. no one's ever let him do that before. in all these years, all these girls, not one as let him come inside of them. a few more thrusts is all it takes for art to finish inside your pussy. it feels like fucking heaven to him. that's it. that's what's been missing. he works your clit until you're a mess beneath his fingers, watching you orgasm as his load drips out of you. "fuck. i need to do that again." he falls down next to you on the bed. "which bit specifically?" you giggle, kissing his shoulder. "all of it. you. coming inside of you." his eyes meet yours. "i wanna see you again." placing kisses on your lips. "not my style, unfortunately for you, donaldson." you start sitting up, his hand grasping your wrist, stopping you in motion. "it wasn't a question."

he gets your number from patrick's friend's girlfriend, turns out you're her friend, not her sister or cousin. she likes art for you, so obliges when he requests your number. blowing up your phone, near enough begging you to see him again. it's been weeks since he saw you, skipping the clubs after matches to sit at home and stalk you on social media. there's just something about you, consuming his thoughts. you never replied further than 'who's this?' to his texts, you make him look pathetic.

i will literally do anything you ask if you just let me take you on a date.

it's late, he's becoming desperate for just a text back from you. throwing his phone across the room after he sends another text. "this is just ridiculous." he mumbles to himself, when a text notification lights up his phone, falling off the bed and running to it, he see's your name.

anything?

fucking finally. he's sat on the floor, smiling into his phone like a little boy texting his crush.

literally anything in the world.

he sends the text back immediately. fuck waiting around to make himself seem less desperate.

would you let me fuck you with a racket?

god, you're disgusting, he fucking loves it.

i would do whatever it takes just to taste you again.

he's staring at the three bubbles on his phone, like his world would shatter if they stopped.

you can take me to dinner tomorrow then.

[sweetteainthesummerx]

☄. *. ⋆ mine ⋆ . * . ☄

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

nhl masterlist !

pairing: nico hischier x eldest daughter!reader

warnings: angst and comfort, sex is mentioned, but not too graphic!! fluff and happy ending

song: mine by taylor swift

summary: you've had to fight for yourself and everyone your whole life, now you have nico to fight for you.

word count: 2.5 k

notes: UGH nico my love!! this is for all of the eldest daughters who deserve the world :) hope you enjoy!

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

i was a flight risk, with a fear of fallin', wondering why we bother with love, if it never lasts

it's during one of your first dates with nico when you realize this boy is special.

you don't do relationships. you're sensible enough to know that romance isn't like how it's portrayed in media because even if there is love between two people, there will always be hesitations and complications.

complications that you do not need, not when your job keeps you busy and you have your family to think of.

there's another reason though, one you don't like to think much of as a reason for your aversion to vulnerability.

you grew up with an absent father and a mother who cared too much. your perception of love had been thrown out the window, stomped on and ran over.

so when you meet nico at a bar and he asks for your number, you don't expect it to progress anywhere.

but he's so handsome, all dimples and foreign accent as he buys you a drink and tells you that you're pretty.

three dates in, he's got you wrapped up in his arms between his legs on his bed.

he's warm, broad chest under your back. you snuggle closer, pressing the tops of your cold feet into his calves. he dips his face into your shoulder and smiles.

the notebook is playing on the tv facing his bed as he fiddles with your fingers. you told him it was your favourite last week when he took you out to an art museum. you didn't expect him to remember.

you cannot believe this man. he's made you cum three times, once with his mouth, another with his fingers and the last with his cock.

and then he drew you a bath and dried your hair for you.

when you ask him why, he puffs out his chest awkwardly, scratching one of his big bicep and tells you he really likes you and he wants to take care of you.

who does that in this day and age?

he had texted you earlier to see if you were free for dinner. you expected mediocre food and then sex.

maybe a few minutes of cuddling before you left his apartment, but he's breathing in the smell of his shampoo on your hair, holding you like it's the only thing he wants to do on a saturday night, after he had you writhing in his sheets for nearly an hour.

you want to run, because he makes you speechless and your mouth dries up with how sweet he is. you're not used to being taken care of, as sad as it sounds.

normally you would be halfway back to your apartment if had been anyone else.

but this time, something tells you to stick around because you have a premonition that even if you do get hurt, nico hischier is going to be worth it.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

we're takin' on the world together, and there's a drawer of my things at your place

"hey, handsome." your boyfriend of a month comes up from behind you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss into your hair.

he asks you to be his girlfriend during a morning walk in the park, eyes earnest. you say yes eagerly, because you don't know if there's something so different about him, but he makes you so deliriously happy.

so after a week or two of dancing around each other and no labels, he makes you his with a sweet, long kiss next to the flowers that are starting to bloom in the damp spring air.

now you're in his kitchen, words coming easy to you again. you tell him he looks handsome with his wet hair and week-old beard.

he flushes like he always does when you compliment him.

cute, you think.

you turn from the overnight oats you're making for him to kiss him properly. he nips your lip and you laugh.

"I have something for you, schatz ." the pet name makes you weak in the knees, and you're glad he has you pinned against the counter.

he slips a key into your fingers.

your heart drops to your stomach, and it bounces back up.

"really?" you ask, and he shrugs, oddly shy and pink.

"you're here so much, and I want you around more. it doesn't make since to drive all the way to your apartment when it's dark."

you swoon; does he even know the effect he has on you?

soon, half of his closet is full of your clothes, your pink toothbrush has a spot next to his and your girly products he has no idea how to use are scattered on his counter.

he buys you a nightstand for your side of the bed, and it has a picture of the two of you on it.

you wonder if it's too early in the relationship for something like this, but nico tells you he doesn't care.

he just wants you. you want to cry, because no one has ever just wanted you, with all of your complications and busy schedule.

he cuddles you to sleep and tells you that the two of you can take on the world together, and the first time in a while, you feel content and steady.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

you learn my secrets and you figure out why I'm guarded, you say we'll never make my parents' mistakes

you don't think of your father often. he left when you were 13, when you were young enough to be ridden with emotion and the feelings of inadequacies because why didn't he want you?

but you were also old enough to take care of your four younger siblings as your mother took to bed, her own problems boiling up.

sure, he kept up with birthdays and holidays by sending money instead of well wishes, but you wanted him to be present.

the last you saw of him was at your high school graduation a few years ago. you've given up since then, because he's remarried and has step-kids he treats the way he should've treated you and your siblings.

your mother has moved on. she's dating again and you like seeing the flushed glow on her cheeks over facetime as she tells you about some math teacher that took her out to an Italian restaurant.

your youngest brother, the runt of your family, your sisters always joke, is finally 18 this year.

they can all fend for themselves and you are just you.

sure, they still call you up every few weeks with something trivial, but you are no longer just the oldest of four, or the reliable daughter your mother counted on for everything.

and nico reminds you of this all the time when you start to worry and get in over your head.

you're happy and carefree. you go out with nico and his team mates who gag when the two of you kiss, and laugh at your jokes.

nico takes you on dates, and lets you try and cook swiss dishes on his days off.

your mind is clear of your father, until he calls you on a wednesday night.

nico is fast asleep beside you, and you have to wiggle out of his embrace to reach for your phone.

"hello?" you ask groggily. you don't check the caller id, but you wish you had when your father says your name enthusiastically into the phone.

you want to throw up. what does he want?

"listen, kid. I know I don't call enough, but Johnny is a huge hockey fan. I was wondering if there is anyway that you could get tickets since your boyfriend plays for the devils?"

"how did you find out-" you asked, half-shocked he still has your number saved, and half-shocked at the sheer audacity he has to ask you for a favour for one of his step-sons.

"I saw on the news, kid. now, I would really appreciate if you could do this for your father-"

you want to berate him. if he has the time to read those useless gossip pages, why hasn't he come to see you or even called just because?

you don't even realize nico is awake, but he takes the phone from you.

"excuse me, sir, but your daughter has an early day tomorrow. she needs to go. she'll call you back, if she wants."

he hangs up and turns to you, eyes soft in the light of the lamp he turns on to see you better.

"oh, schatz," he sighs, pulling you into his lap and wiping you tear-wet face.

you're sobbing, but you need to stop. he doesn't need to see you like this, not when this was the behaviour that made your dad leave your mom.

he pulls at your fingers that are stifling your cries and kisses each one of them delicately, "let it out, liebling."

he hates that you think he's going to leave you. he hates what your father has done to the way you think, and he hates that your hurting.

seeing you cry makes something primal and angry stir in his chest, because you deserve all of the good things in the world and more.

it frustrates him that there is nothing for him to do, no one to punch - well, maybe your dad - and all he can do is be there for you.

between the conversations about why you're so guarded and the way you pull back whenever your relationship progresses with him, he knows.

he knows your scared, but he's so determined to make you see that he's so willing to do anything for you, and your future.

"I promise you," he whispers when you calm, only hiccuping slightly, "we will never make your parents' mistakes."

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

i ran out, crying, and you followed me out into the street...braced myself for the goodbye...then you took me by surprise, you said, "I'll never leave you alone"

"why didn't you talk to me about this before hand?" he huffs, setting down his mug.

you can feel something jittery and hot floating a milimeter above your skin, incasing you in the want to retract, to leave.

your stomach is empty and you want to vomit. you can't look at him, not with frustration on the tip of your tongue.

"I didn't think you needed a say in my career!" you exclaim, and the hurt on his face makes it hard to breathe.

"I would like to know what's going on with my girlfriend, especially if she has to travel every month for work!" he rubs his temples, "we hardly see each other as is-"

"I need to support myself! I would love to quit and be a trophy wife, but forgive me for needing financial independence in case you leave me!"

you scream that last part, and tears are starting to sprout in your eyes. this is so stupid, but there is no part of you that can shake off that needling feeling that he might go.

nico gapes at you, trying to unpack everything.

you shake your head, fingers trembling as you stand.

"I'll give you some space." you have no where to go, maybe your sister's house two hours away by train, but you can't stand the tortured look on his face.

you run out, ignoring his calls of your name until he catches you on the street.

his fingers loop around your wrist easily, and you want to shake them off because you can't bear having his gentle touch now and losing it later.

"I'll never leave you alone, schatz. you know that. so don't walk out on me, please."

you hang your head low; you love him so much, but it's so hard.

you're so afraid to lose him you're not letting yourself love him.

you tell him so, and his face crumples as he takes you in his arms.

you whisper promises to each other under the streetlights, to never leave each other and to communicate better.

from then on, you believe everything he says.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

you made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter

nico is watching you from the kitchen, because your youngest sister forced you to sit on the couch and gave him a dirty look that had him following her into the kitchen to help with the drying.

she notices the smile on his face: soft, completely unguarded and full of admiration.

she sighs. maybe you are in good hands after all.

when you called a month ago to tell her that nico brought you to switzerland on a whim and you didn't panic, make an itinerary and freak out, she almost choked on her water.

you who bared your teeth at the unknown, who always needed a plan?

he made you so carefree. it makes her relieved that you have him now, because she saw how bad things were when your mother was depressed and you were balancing school, a part time job and watching all of them.

she was too young to understand anything then, but she wishes now that she had behaved better, understood more, just to take a pound off of the heavy burden you carried.

"y'know, I think you're making her a rebel."

"what?" your boyfriend laughs at the younger girl, and she nods seriously.

"she came late today, and she only fixed the flowers once. that's crazy improvement."

"hmm." he's smiling at you again, while you laugh at something one of your brothers' had said. she relishes in the fact that he can hardly take his eyes off of you.

"she's had to fight for us her whole life," this gets nico's attention, "and she's had to fight for herself. we were always here, but we were too young to understand the weight she carried for us."

"but now," she feels oddly emotional, the unwarranted guilt she has from simply not understanding dissolving in her throat, "she has you to fight for her."

you, her sweet sister who wasn't grown and was forced to take on more than any kid did, finally had someone in her corner.

you could afford to be careless once in a while now.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

+ you are the best thing that's ever been mine

you are undeniably sick: runny nose, shivers, a cough.

calling into your job for a day off, you sleep in until your phone shines 2:37 PM.

nico hears your stirring, and comes in. he smoothes your hair and kisses your red nose.

quietly, because he's afraid your head hurts, he hands you a bowl of soup and reties your hair for you.

he fusses, the captain side of him coming in as he fluffs your pillows and rub your shoulders.

you can't remember the last time someone looked after you when you were sick.

so maybe it's the delirium and the fact you can't really breathe, but you give him a loopy smile (the Advil was kicking in).

"you are the best thing that's ever even mine, handsome."

he flushes and rolls his eyes affectionately, and cuddles you close.

your statement still stands when he inevitably gets sick half a week later and becomes a whiny baby.

you love him so, so much.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

© sweetteainthesummerx.tumblr. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.

[w1shfullthink1ng]

can i get a nika fic based on the song back to friends by sombr PLEASE 🙏🙏

HOW CAN WE GO BACK TO BEING FRIENDS?

nika mühl x fem!reader

DESCRIPTION/ you & nika have always been close but how close is too close? y’all eventually let y’all’s bodies take over and when the morning comes you don’t know what this means for you two now.

WARNINGS/ language, suggestive, smutt, p eating (reader & nika receiving), slight f!ngering? (reader receiving), mentions of alcohol, angsty, happy ending!

first time writing something suggestive so please bear with me😔😔😔

MUSIC BLASTING, LIGHTS LOW…the atmosphere loud and full of life. You, nika and a few of y’all’s friends decided to go out as it’s been long overdue especially with balancing life & work. Yall settled on a local bar, a few drinks in and y’all where gone. The alcohol taking its course in y’all’s bodies. You and nika have always been close y’all first met 3 years ago y’all’s first year at uconn and have been roommates/best friends since then.

But there’s always been that unspoken tension, the looks, the touches that linger for a little longer than needed. It was even worse when y’all where alone there was times where the moment was just intimate. But y’all never spoke about it not wanting to “ruin” the friendship you guys have built. “Come on come dance with me” before you could respond nika was pulling you out of the barstool and to the dance floor. You laugh as the alcohol made her much more carefree. Y’all dance to the song bodies up against each other as the music blasts.

The world seemed to slow down when y’all locked eyes there it was. that unspoken tension. It’s like there was no one else in the room. Her grip around your waist tightens a little. “You look beautiful tonight..” she moves a strand of hair out of your face her touch lingering, her gaze goes down to your lips. The moment was cut off by one of y’all’s friends suggesting y’all do shots.

As the drinks keep coming so does the tension, the room felt hot as you two got more and more touchy. You exuse yourself to the restroom, nika following soon after. You smile softly as your gaze meets hers through the bathroom mirror. You reapply your lipstick as she wraps her arms around your waist and her chin rests on your shoulder. “Can I have some?” she asks “innocently”. “mhm” you reply, you turn to hand her the lipstick but she kisses you. You’re momentarily stunned. She just has a casual smirk on her face “What shade is this? it’s pretty” she asks like she didn’t just stop your train of thought for a moment. “yeah- it’s uhh..pillow talk deep from charlotte tilbury.” “always loved the color of your lips” she admits.

touch my body tender ‘cause the feeling make me weak.

without thinking you smashed your lips onto hers. Your hands in her hair, her hands around your waist. She pins you against the wall sliding her tongue in your mouth in a fight for dominance, she easily over powers you, gripping your neck gently moving your head back so she can deepen the kiss. She had you right where she wanted you. Her knee slides in between your legs making you even needier if that was possible. She pulls away at a gasp for air. Lipstick smudged like modern art. She wipes some of the lipstick that smudged from your bottom lip.

You fix your hair and dress making yourself look presentable. As nika made some bullshit exuse on why you two had to leave to y’all’s friends and before y’all knew it y’all where off in a cab. The messy make out in the car lead into stumbling out of the cab and into y’all’s shared apartment.

kicking off the covers.

She pushed you into the wall, kissing down your jaw & neck. She grips your thighs lifting you up with ease as you wrap your legs around her waist. Neither of yall didn’t dare to say a word just letting y’all’s bodies do the talking. Your back sinks into the mattress as she climbs on top of you. The kisses where full of need and want.

She kisses down you neck, to your chest, down your stomach till she lands in between your thighs, she looks up at you for silent permission. You nod giving her the go ahead, she studies your expression making sure there’s no sense of hesitation or discomfort when she doesn’t find any that’s all she needed. She lifts your dress up making it sit above your waist as she kisses on your thighs.

I see the ceiling while you’re looking down at me.

Her fingers tease you through the thin fabric of your panties making you whine. Nika laughs softly “So fuckin’ wet hmm”. “Nika please” you whimper, it comes out more whiny then you intended but you where needy. “shhh i’m getting there” she places a soft kiss on your core through the thin fabric making you moan softly she gently slides your panties down your legs. She grabbed your thighs to spread your legs apart. She was in awe of you “So pretty bebo..”

Her mouth mouth finally comes into contact with you, you let out a moan your body feeling like it was on fire in the best way possible. She works at you like it was her job and she wanted a raise. Her tongue glides across your folds making you squirm. “so good for me” she murmured against you. She was driving you crazy. You where a moaning mess it wasn’t long before she had you moaning her name and begging for more.

“please nika please please please” you squirmed you weren’t exactly sure just what you where begging for but nika delivered holding your thighs to keep your legs open as she applied the right amount of pressure at the perfect speed. Your hands in her hair tugging it slightly to ground yourself.

She rubbed her fingers against you just to tease you and bring you over the edge. Your legs shaking unable to stop the sounds from coming out of your mouth. “come on I got you baby..” and like it was on command she pushed you over the edge slowly her pace down riding you out of your high.

You swore that you died for a second then came back, you where seeing stars, nika laughs as she places gentle kiss on your jaw “You back on earth?” she teases. “oh fuck you” you snap back playfully. She gives you that same look she did just a few moments ago “oh yeah? why don’t you fuck me yourself” you laugh taking that as a challenge flipping the two of you over so you’re on top “there we go pretty girl” her hands go to your thighs caressing them as you slip out of your dress.

She watches you with hungry eyes her look almost taunting. You slip her out of her dress throwing it off to the floor somewhere. Kissing down her chest, abs and thighs, you slide her panties off immediately diving in like you where starved “oh fuck” she moans out gripping your hair guiding your head just where she wanted you. You swirl your tongue around earning a moan from her “just like that keep going bebo good job”. She guides you through everything still in control.

“don’t stop…go a little faster for me come on” she pulls your hair making you whine, you do as your told eager to please her. You bring her thighs over your shoulders pulling her closer to you. She grips your hair harder as she moans your name once you bring her over the edge.

You climb back up flopping next to her, both of you panting and satisfied. “well shit…” she pants out. “guess your mouth is good for something other than your yapping” she laughs “oh shut up!” you hit her playfully with a pillow. Y’all where both pretty exhausted after the events of the night so y’all fell asleep pretty quickly.

how can we go back to being friends?

The next morning you woke up with a pounding headache and a fuzzy brain. You groan softly rubbing your eyes adjusting to the light from the morning sun. You sit up a little and the memories from last night came flooding back as you find yourself entangled with your best friend, clothes scattered on the floor. The realization hitting you like a truck. You pull the covers over yourself as nika stirs up. She sits up too her back against the headboard. The same realization washes over her “oh shit..” she mumbled running her hands through her messy hair.

when we just shared a bed.

You sit in silence for a few moments the tension in the air thick and not the kinda tension from last night. no. this was a “wtf do I do” kinda tension. You where the first to speak “so last night was a-“ “one time thing.” she finishes. “right…is that what you want?” “it’s what’s practical. we live together we can’t just..” she sighs “we can’t what?” you egg on “we can’t let things get weird okay. i’m not gonna throw away our friendship over some drunk hookup” you scoff softly “is that all this was to you? a drunk hookup?” “yes.” “bullshit. you and I both know it was more than that. we’ve had unspoken tension for awhile now”

How can you look at me and pretend?

“tension or not if this becomes a regular thing then what? hmm? we’re just fuck buddy roommates yeah. real classy” she says sarcastically “God nika no. I mean I don’t know okay. maybe we shouldn’t have hooked up in the first place.” “okay so first you where saying that it wasn’t just meaningless sex now you’re saying you wished we didn’t have it at all?? I mean you’re fuc-“ you cut her off with a kiss. “just shut up.”

I’m someone you’ve never met.

She looked a little dumbfounded. “okay. umm..i’m too hungover for this where the hell are my clothes” she stumbles out of bed. “nika. we need to talk about it.” “I can’t not now we should just pretend it never happened and move on with our life’s it was a drunken mistake let’s leave it at that.” she says while getting dressed. Her words stung a little. was it really that meaningless?

You watched as she leaves your bedroom. You couldn’t shake off the icky feeling she left you with. You sigh and take a shower needing to wash your worries away…and the smell of alcohol. You two spent the whole day avoiding each other which was a little hard considering y’all lived together but y’all somehow managed.

It was late at night and you where tossing and turning unable to sleep you hated this whole situation you where someone who needed to talk things out and you hated going to bed angry. Unable to sleep you slip out of bed and to the kitchen to get some melatonin. You try to reach the top shelf, Nika would normal help with these things..you climb onto the counter.

“Bebo get down your gonna hurt yourself..” nika grabs your waist steading you on the counter so you don’t fall as she grabs the melatonin bottle for you “can’t sleep?” she puts her hands on either side of the counter trapping you in. You ignore her still upset from earlier you pop the melatonin in your mouth then try to hop off the counter but she grips your waist putting you back down on the counter.

“Hey no. we’re gonna talk I don’t want you going to bed angry” “oh so now you wanna talk? about what it was a drunken mistake and we should leave it at that remember?” you quote her. “Look I was being an asshole earlier i’ll admit that” “yeah you were.” she cups your face “And you have every right to be angry..look I just don’t know how to communicate well you know this..I just shielded myself because I got scared of what last night really meant” her voice was vulnerable you rarely saw this side of nika she was pretty guarded so you know she was serious when she got vulnerable.

“It wasn’t just meaningless sex that was real..and there was clearly emotion behind it..look I know I said I didn’t wanna throw away our friendship over this but truth is i’ve fell for you hard. and there’s no hiding or denying that now..” “nika..why didn’t you say anything?” “beacause I was scared of taking a chance and it not work out I don’t wanna lose you all together” “you could never lose me niks..don’t miss out on something…on us just because of fear” “I know I was being an idiot” “I’ll say” you laugh “alright alright not too much i’m here now and if you’re the risk i’m gonna take it.”

A/N ahhhh!!!!! I was literally shaking in my boots and laughing at myself the whole time because i’ve never written smutt and I could not take myself seriously kudos to everyone who can teach me your ways🤝 but thank you so much anon for this request! I hope I delivered 🙂‍↕️

thanks for reading, love you always

wish signing off🪽

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 3

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The third time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — the one that hurts the most.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.4k

Tag List: @strangedeerconnoisseur, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlightandstarshimmer

Author’s Note: It's part 3! The tension is heating up, the emotional stakes are rising, and my obsession is only getting worse / better. Let me know what you think! :)

Part 1 // Part 2

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

You step into the darkened club at the height of the company’s weekend party, colorful lights flashing over the dozens of people dancing and chatting across the crowded room, but your eyes are sharpened on the lookout for just one person. Colt Seavers.

You can’t get him out of your head. You’ve spent the last three days doing everything in your power to avoid him on set, from locking yourself in the art trailer to conveniently arranging to work on the still-in-progress train station set. You had entertained the idea that if you could just keep from seeing him for a few days, you could stop replaying every moment of that night in your head.

But even when you’re knee-deep in epoxy or hyper-focused on scoring holes in iron beams, you’re envisioning the way the lamplight accentuated Colt’s features and reflected in his dark blue eyes that night. Try as you may, you can’t forget how absorbed he was in studying your face, or the way he wrapped his arm around your shoulders to escort you to your hotel, or the way he lingered at the doorway as if he wanted to say something.

And you especially can’t forget the way you thought he was going to kiss you.

But then, of course, you had to ruin it. You obviously came on too strong. You physically cringe every time you remember some of the things you said to Colt that night while you were so delirious you couldn’t even stand up straight.

“I bet the desk clerk thought I was drunk and bringing you home with me.”

“I couldn’t have made it without you.”

The fact that Colt has been avoiding you just as hard as you’ve been avoiding him only confirms your anxieties. In the past three days, you’ve only seen him twice, and both times he’s ducked away before you had to have a conversation. It’s not like anything shameful or immodest happened between you — it’s just that you made your crush on him so painfully obvious that you’re sure he’s trying to spare your feelings. The thought makes your heart ache, but it’s ultimately for the best. You’re not about to make a move when it’s so obvious that he’s not interested in anything serious with you.

However, the fact that you’ve been sleeping curled up with his jacket — the one that has his musky smell embedded into its very essence — has not helped matters in the slightest.

You shake your head as you glance around the dark room and wave at your friend Holly across the bar. You’re honestly an embarrassment to yourself. All your life, you’ve had an iron will that bends to your intelligence, not your emotions. Why does that have to change now, all of a sudden?

Holly makes her way around the bar, a drink in her hand and the evidence of more on her breath. You reach out a hand to steady her before she spills her drink all over herself, and she giggles uncontrollably. She’s a talented cinematographer and a dedicated weekend partier.

“Where have you been the last few days?” Holly asks dramatically, as if you’ve committed an atrocity against your friendship. “I haven’t seen you anywhere.”

“Just working on getting the sets perfect,” you shrug, trying not to give anything away. “Besides, I’ve never been one to hang around the cameras too much anyway. That’s your department.”

Holly gives you a mischievous smile and takes another sip of her drink, peering over the edge of the glass at you knowingly. “You certainly seemed to find ways to be near the cameras when a certain stuntman was on set.”

You stiffen immediately, doing your best to paint an unaffected smile on your face and failing miserably. “That’s all over, Hol. Not a thing anymore.”

Holly raises her eyebrows skeptically, and you know she sees right through you. “What a shame,” she grins. “He certainly only had eyes for you.”

That comment sends a stab of pain through your heart, but you ignore it. “It’s fine. Nothing weird, I’m just keeping my distance. Just trying to avoid a heartbreak, that’s all.” The words are technically true.

“Got it,” Holly nods conspiratorially. She takes another sip of her drink and glances around the room. “Well, he didn’t show up here tonight, so you don’t have to worry about him. You can just have fun!”

The words have barely left Holly’s mouth before her eyes widen to a comical size at something behind you. Somehow, you already know who just walked in the door, and your heart gives another spectacular lurch.

Knowing you need to get this over with, you turn to face him, your heart in your throat. Sure enough, Colt slips through the club door, glancing around the room intently, as if he’s looking for something. Or someone, you can’t help thinking.

His eyes land on you, and he freezes in his tracks. A mixture of emotions — nervousness, embarrassment, surprise — crosses his face. You know it’s going to be awkward after all that’s happened, so you try to break the ice. “Hey, fall guy,” you greet him, instantly regretting it. Too flirtatious, stop it right now.

Colt smiles, something like relief crossing his tense features. “Hey, da Vinci,” he responds over the boom of the club’s music, closing the door behind him and taking a single step in your direction. He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets, and you suddenly notice that he’s not dressed for a company party.

“What brings you here?” you ask, trying to ignore the way Holly is pressing into your side and doing a horrible job of hiding her elbowing. “I thought you weren’t a fan of these company parties.”

Colt shrugs, looking past you into the crowd. “Yeah, not really. Just came to drop some stuff off with George for tomorrow’s session.” He swallows hard, as if he’s pondering something, then lets his eyes fall back on you. “What about you? I thought you didn’t like the company parties either.”

I don’t. I came to try to forget about you.

“Oh,” you say casually, “just dropping by. Holly asked me to come.” You squeeze Holly’s hand to signal her for backup, and, intoxicated as she is, she immediately jumps in to help.

“I did!” she exclaims, a little too enthusiastic. “We were actually just talking about — ah, we were just talking about…” Holly hesitates way too long, and you cringe inwardly. “Your stunt!” she recovers. “Your transfer truck stunt!”

“Your what?” Your curiosity is instantly piqued, along with your worry. “I don’t remember a transfer truck stunt in the script.”

Colt smiles a little, the first one you’ve seen since he walked in. “Gordon decided to try it out today. He thought it would spice up the car chase scene.”

Holly jumps in with gusto, clearly excited to have turned you onto a better topic. “Yeah! Gordon came up with it at the last minute. The stunt was originally supposed to just be VFX, but Colt said he could do it.”

“Do what?” you ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Colt shrugs. “Just a jump. One transfer truck to another.”

“The top of one transfer truck to another!” Holly adds for emphasis, sloshing a bit of drink over the edge of her cup. “At top speed, while the trucks are rounding a hairpin turn in the canyon!”

Your eyes widen, and you turn your shocked expression on Colt. “Tell me you’re joking,” you manage.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he amends, obviously embarrassed by Holly’s dramatic retelling. “It’s not like Gordon forced me to do anything. I volunteered and said I could do it.”

“You could have gotten killed!” You’re not sure why you feel so passionately about this; he is a stuntman, after all. But something about knowing that you’ve been avoiding him for three days while he’s been performing death-defying stunts rattles you in a way you can’t ignore. While you’re gathering fire for a rant, Holly backs away into the crowd, an impish smile on her face.

Colt’s smile comes more easily this time, and he takes another step closer to you, ducking his head to look more squarely into your eyes. “Hey, calm down,” he reassures you. “No major injuries. No brushes with death. Just a cool shot.”

You press your lips together, still bubbling over with an emotion you can’t name. “Risking your life for a cool shot isn’t something to laugh about,” you tell him, though there’s no real edge to your voice. You glance down at his hand that’s resting on the bar beside you. “What happened to your hands?” you demand.

Both Colt’s hands are wrapped in bandages that you hadn’t even noticed until he pulled them out of his pockets. His expression shifts again, this time to a kind of bemused concern. “Just a little friction burn, that’s all,” he assures you. He brings one of his hands up to rest on your right shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze that makes your stomach flip in response. “Don’t waste your worries on me, Picasso. I’m a stuntman, remember? Taking risks is what I do.”

Colt’s laid-back tone does calm you a little, and you fight the urge to shake your head at yourself again. What are you thinking? Why are you getting so emotional about this in front of him? Play it cool, explain it logically, don’t make the same mistake you did before.

“Yeah, I know,” you admit, shrugging. “It just seems like Gordon is pushing you harder than he was before. It’s like he’s getting too comfortable putting you in more and more danger for the sake of impressive shots.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Colt tells you. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he cocks his head as his gaze flits over your face. “And it’s no different than you going without sleep for three days to finish a setpiece.”

“It is not the same thing,” you begin, but he shakes his head, leaning one elbow on the bar to tilt his head closer to you. You despise yourself for weakening your resolve, but you can’t resist leaning closer to him, too — so close you can feel yourself getting lost in the dark blue of his eyes.

“Sure it is,” he said softly, his husky voice carrying over the short space between you even with the loud music playing in the background. “I do stunts because it’s what I love to do, even if they’re dangerous. You make the sets look amazing because it’s your passion, even when it means you have to go without sleep. I guess we’re both just too dedicated to our crafts, huh?”

You’re finding it difficult to think of a response, your eyes locked on his. All the resolve you’ve been building for the last three days melts under the heat of his gaze. Something like a magnet is pulling you even closer to him. Your mind unhelpfully flashes back to the night you were wrapped under his arm while walking to your hotel room, his warmth enveloping you.

“Well,” you murmur, trying desperately not to look at his lips, “my dedication won’t result in a broken neck.”

Colt lifts one eyebrow in response, leaning a hairsbreadth forward. “Neither will mine,” he whispers.

You mirror his quirked eyebrow, lowering your voice to match his. “How do you know?”

Colt keeps his eyes locked on yours, but one of his hands reaches up to the side of your face unnoticed. His palms are bandaged, but he uses his fingertips to twirl a strand of your hair. Your breath catches when he tucks the strand behind your ear, his touch searing your skin even in the brief contact, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m the best in the business,” he tells you as he finally pulls his hand away from your temple.

You smile at his teasing tone. The distance between you keeps closing, a quarter of an inch at a time, and you can feel the burning heat of his skin the closer you get. His eyes don’t drift from yours, but the tension is so potent that you can barely take a breath.

“The best in the business,” you repeat, a coy smile edging the corners of your lips. “Haven’t you heard that pride comes before the fall?”

“Mmm hmm,” Colt hums, and you feel the sound reverberate in your very bones. Your faces are only a few inches apart now. Everything — the music, the crowd, the flashing lights — is forgotten, consumed by the fire blazing in his eyes. His gaze finally tears off your eyes and slowly, so slowly, steals down to your lips. His own lips part slightly, as if he’s finally about to lean forward and close the tantalizing distance between you.

Suddenly you couldn’t care less about all the reasons why you shouldn’t.

But then, your heart still hammering against your ribs, your skin prickling, your lungs strangled into stillness, Colt pulls away from you.

The abrupt distance feels like a cold bucket of water on your head after the heat of what you just shared. Colt seems to feel the shock too, rubbing both hands over his face and letting out a shaky breath before his casual smirk returns.

“Wow,” he half laughs, shaking out his arms and shoulders dramatically. “Nothing like a club’s vibe to muddy the waters, right?”

His careless comment stuns you even more than his quick withdrawal did. You suddenly realize how much every moment with him means to you, and the stinging pain of rejection is amplified a thousand times by his casual attitude.

He doesn’t care. He seriously doesn’t care at all.

You try to recover some dignity, but you know you’ve already blown that more times than you can count. All you can choke out is, “Yeah,” and then a listless, “See you around,” before you slip past his shoulder and head for the door. You can already feel the hot tears threatening to spill down your cheeks, and you’re not going to embarrass yourself further by letting him see you cry. You throw up a hand at Holly as you hurry out the club door into the chilly evening air, barely registering her questioning look.

What you don’t notice is the way Colt clenches his hands into fists against the pain of his burns, or the way he squeezes his eyes shut to block out the memory of your devastated expression.

All you know is the pain of the rejection, the bitterness of your tears, and the smell of his jacket as you fall asleep that night.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Part 4

[writingsfromhome]

In Plain Sight

A/N: I wanted to play with the idea of 2 characters falling in love at different points in a story and what that would be like on each side. Idk if I fully captured what I wanted but I liked writing from harry/reader pov like this even though I kept switching partways lol.

Would love to know for inspo purposes—how do you know you’re falling?

———————————————

This is a first, you thought as you and Claire walked into the art gallery—one of your friends had a show of their unique pieces, mixing tech with traditional art. All of it was inspired by their partner, the lead in an indie pop band so to tie it all together they were playing at the gallery while the pieces hung on the walls, rippling with their programmed light and movement.

Take a posh gallery and stitch it with a rave. That’s kind of what it looked like in there.

“Guess I didn’t need to look so fancy,” Claire says in your ear. You two had spent the last half hour sorting your closets to figure out what was art-show appropriate.

“Let’s find Mimi,” you shout back.

You weave through the crowds, staying on the outskirts and spot her all the way up the front by the stage. You both agree to find her later and opt for a drink instead.

“Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight,” Claire comments as a tall guy brushes by, eyeing the length of her with a smirk before walking away. “Maybe you will.”

“That’d be nice,” you sigh. You hated being the chronically single one of your friends but that’s just how it went. Well it went beyond that—you felt unlucky in love.

Every relationship you poured yourself into and every relationship failed, just like that.

You were unloveable, maybe. You were lonely, definitely. So you’d take the warmth of a stranger where you could get it.

“I have an idea,” Claire says. “We dance our way through the crowd, I’ll be your wingwoman and we can make our way through towards Mimi. You’re so going home with someone tonight.”

You hold your glass up in agreement, you’d learned to just go with Claire’s ideas. Somehow they never worked in your favour, but that’s what you got for having a best friend that was a smokeshow. It used to bother you, but now in your late 20s after seeing Claire go through men like she went through shoes, it didn’t matter. The guys she went for also wanted a fun time like her. You wanted someone in it for the long run.

The men who felt the pull of her magnet were never meant for you anyway.

It felt mature, to think like that.

As Claire pulls you in, you find yourself dancing with male body after male body, hands on parts of you you barely touched yourself. You feel the familiar hollowness of loneliness. It was a constant companion, and yet never made you feel any less lonely.

Across the room stand two guys, they both watch Claire throw her head back and laugh. The purple and blue lights from above dance over her skin, she looked like a muse come to life. Like she was born from this art gallery.

“Mate. She’s beautiful,” Harry, the taller of the two, comments.

“You gonna talk to her?” Dylan asks. “Because if you’re not…”

“Give me a sec,” Harry got stupidly nervous around beautiful women. Which was stupid because he interacted with them on a daily basis, but that’s probably why he was considered a bit shy by people who met him. Shy was the nice way of saying awkward.

The thing with Harry is that he grew up as a wallflower. But in his mid 20s he started earning the attention of women. Pretty women. He felt like his pot of luck had been filled and then some, and yet he only got lucky on occasion. The problem was he just didn’t know what to do with his newfound attractiveness. Even 5 years on.

“There she goes,” Dylan comments as their muse moves to the bar. “Go on.”

Harry swears under his breath but makes his beeline towards her before anyone else could swoop in.

“Hiya,” Harry slides in beside her and then curses. He should have gone for something more suave. “Can I get you something-“

“I already ordered,” she smiles and Harry confirms she’s more beautiful than any of the crazy art in this room.

“Well it’s on me.”

“Thanks,” she takes him in. He tries not to squirm or think about what impression he was making. “I’m Claire.”

“Right. I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you Harry.”

“Likewise…So, erhm, you like dancing?”

She tilts her head, “I do. I was just down there.”

“I know.” Harry says. She raises a brow. Shite. “I mean like I saw you dancing. In the middle. You made it look like a fun time.”

“It is. Is dancing not fun for you?” She laughs. Her drink arrives and Harry pays for it orders for himself.

“I don’t do it a lot.” Harry taps his fingers on the bar. “I like the music part. That make you want to dance.”

She gives him that look. The look that told him he’d tipped the scales too far off to recover. Why couldn’t he just explain he made music? And dancing and making music went hand in hand. Why was that so hard to say??

“Well I’m going back in,” she announces. “Feel free to join.”

And of course he doesn’t. Because she would probably inch away from him if he did until the crowd swallowed her away.

“How’d it go? Make a good impression?” Dylan asks but Harry just downs half his drink and hopes that answers Dylan’s question. He’d made an impression alright.

Meanwhile, in the middle of the dancefloor you move to the heavy drums. This was one of your favourite songs by this group; it was on replay on your Spotify. The girl beside you grins at you and you both move in sync, shouting the lyrics. It’s more fun than you’d had with any guy here tonight.

When the band takes their break and a playlist replaces the live music, you try to find Claire. It’s surprising she doesn’t have a bloke already wrapped around her this late into the night.

“The line to the toilet is stupidly long,” she complains. “I don’t feel so good. Can we get air?”

“Of course,” you grip her arm and help her out. The night air is crisp compared to the recycled air inside. You take in a lungful.

“Hey,” Claire spots someone she knows and she moves towards them. You trail behind her as she walks up to two blokes smoking off to the side. “I never saw you dancing in there!”

The guy she’s talking to shrugs, his cheeks taking on a pinkish colour. He’s cute in a boyish way, but you reckon if he trimmed his hair and grew some scruff, he could be a lot more interesting to gaze at. A face that could hang in this art gallery, a soft pink light shimmering on the highs of his cheekbones.

His eyes clash with yours and you throw a friendly smile and make a conscious effort to join the group. You hadn’t heard what was said in the time you were admiring his face.

“I would if I hadn’t broken my foot a month ago,” the other guy says. He was a cold good-looking. Sharp features accentuated by a buzzcut. You could imagine him in an avant-garde spread of a magazine.

“Excuses!” Claire teases. She was good at this. “I was telling your friend here how fun dancing was, that he should join.”

“And he didn’t?! Harry, mate, we all know you dance.”

“Not the right setting.” He replies. Almost mumbles.

“Any setting is the right setting for dancing,” his friend says.

“Right!” Claire latches onto him, you knew her well enough she’d chosen her prey for tonight. “I feel like dancing is such a good release, any time music comes on my foot just-“

“Can’t hold it in right?” The other friend laughs. “Me too. When I’m on the tube I’m like how do I get into this without looking like a weirdo.”

Claire’s laugh crackles into the air. You smile, she was going home with him for sure.

You glance at Harry, he’s looking after her like a sad puppy. You’d seen that look too many times—dejected.

“I bet you wished you liked dancing more huh?” You tease, quiet so it doesn’t travel to the couple.

“Huh?” He looks at you like he just noticed you were standing beside him. “Oh. No?”

“Right.” Well this was awkward. “So you’re Harry. I’m y/n.”

“Oh sorry,” Claire says when she hears your name. “We’re so rude we just closed ourselves off to these two. This is y/n. and I just learned that this is Dylan.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dylan smiles at you. “Harry are you okay if we split?”

Claire looks at you, asking the same question with her eyes. You nod, and she smiles at you gratefully. Her eyes widen and she motions subtly with her head to Harry. You smile like it was a good idea but you know he wasn’t an option; he was one of Claire’s castaways. But she was too oblivious for that.

“Then there were two,” you joke, reaching for the familiar line. “Are you going back in?”

“In there?” He shakes his head. “We already said our goodbyes. I might just head home.”

“Oh okay. Did you know the artist?”

“I don’t. Dylan’s cousin is the lead singer in the band? We came by to support the show.”

“That’s nice.” You respond back even though he didn’t return the question. “I’ve worked with the artist actually—Jemima.”

“Cool. I take it you’re an artist yourself?” He asks, finally looking at you instead of around you.

“Yep. I do photography.”

A group of people exit the show and their noise drowns out whatever Harry was about to say. Without warning, like a valve opened, your chest fills with the ache of a feeling.

What am I doing here, you ask yourself. You’d come by to support Mimi, but you didn’t owe this guy anything. You should go home, do your usual routine of staring at the ceiling, hearing Claire come in late, try to drift to sleep, and then finally doing so.

Sometimes being with others felt more lonely than being alone.

“Anyway, it was nice meeting you Harry. I’m gonna head home.”

“Oh.” He seems surprised. “You’re leaving for home?”

“Well, yeah?” You shrug. “I’ve made my rounds, danced enough to need a gallon of water. My feet are telling me to go home.”

“You ladies talk about dancing and I feel like I missed out,” he laughs but it comes off kind of awkward and shy. It’s endearing.

You change your mind then—you imagine posing him at 3/4 angle and snapping him from below. Maybe a shot looking through his lashes. Something mysterious yet welcoming. The longer you got to know him, the more he shifted.

“Does that mean you want to go back in again?” You ask.

“Fuck it sure. If you come too. I don’t want to dance alone.”

“Why not? Have you never?”

“Danced alone?” He holds the door open for you and you go in. His energy seems to have shifted. He’s less awkward, more relaxed, but it still feels like you don’t have his full attention. Or maybe that was just your insecurities projected onto a beautiful man.

“I dare you,” you have to tip toe for him to hear you once you’re back in. You use both your hands on his back and guide/push him through the crowd. When you let go you open your arms wide.

He shakes his head and tries to grab your hands but you back away. “Dance!” You shout. “Let’s see.”

He laughs, his head weighing backwards like the ceiling could grant him some confidence, the length of his neck glistening with something you wanted to taste.

When he looks at you again you chant to dance and he shrugs away his shyness. Before you know it he’s moving until he’s actually in sync with the beat. You try not to be a creep, sneaking your phone out. He was a complete stranger but god the photo opportunity was perfect.

You manage two before he turns and finds you in the crowd again. He pulls you closer to him, nearly chest to chest.

“I should be a lot more drunk to be doing this.” He says in your ear. Goosebumps erupt down your arms.

Take it easy.

The two of you end up dancing for a few songs, laughing at new moves you put on. It becomes a contest to do a silly but serious move and you’re in stitches by the time the two of you stumble out.

“Jeez that was fun,” you lean against the brick fence a few buildings down. You were sweaty and out of breath, your body demanding hydration now.

“I have not done something like that in years. It was nice.” He grins. It feels like a secret. “Thank you for pushing me in.”

You felt like you should be thanking him, for the fun and for making you feel included tonight. But of course he ruins it when he opens his mouth next.

“You can tell your friend Claire I ended up dancing. It was a proper good time.”

“Yeah,” you fake a smile, the aching wound reawakening in your chest. “Maybe I will. I’m headed that way though, I’ll see you around Harry.”

His face falls for a moment, you can see him try to figure out asking you to stay but wondering why you’d gone so cold. You hated how a good looking man could fool you into thinking he could be smart. But this one was as daft as they came.

You wave and turn towards the direction of your station, feeling a bitter chill that wasn’t coming from the weather.

***

The next time you see Harry is about a month later. Claire had been seeing Dylan—they hadn’t labelled it according to her so it was still casual. But she felt good about it because he was having a thing at his flat and he’d invited her. So you join Claire since he’d extended the invitation.

“Maybe you’ll see his friend Harry.” She sings as you turn the corner to his street.

“I already told you nothing happened that night.”

“Maybe because you went home after having a marvellous dance-off with him!”

“He kinda got like soggy bread!” You complain. “If it weren’t for me the conversation would have gone stale.”

“Same here. When he spoke to me I mean,” Claire laughs. “Dylan did say he’s a bit shy. Just give him another chance.”

“He’s not interested-“

“You’re so harsh on yourself. Of course he would be! He’d be lucky to be with you…”

You let Claire launch into her tirade. Although you appreciated it, it ignored the fact that someone could just not be interested in you. Especially after fancying your friend first.

Dylan’s flat ends up being nicer than you thought, a lot of windows and fancy tech things around.

“Just call her,” you and Claire walk up to Dylan, Harry, and another guy. Dylan seems to be lecturing Harry on something.

“Call who?” Claire asks.

“Hey,” Dylan kisses her hello. “This girl Harry went to uni with. He bumped into her when she was walking her dog. Harry thinks they hit it off, but he refuses to call her!”

“Why not?!” You and Claire ask. Further proof he wasn’t into you.

“Well I friended her on Instagram and she’s just ignored it!” Harry explains.

“So? Maybe she doesn’t use instagram.” Claire offers.

“She does. I had Dylan request too and she accepted his.”

“Oh?” You notice the pitch change in Claire but nobody else does of course.

“I unfollowed her after,” Dylan says. Or maybe he did hear the change. Smart man.

The friends gathered in the room shift and flow around each other, you lose Claire pretty quickly after the hour mark like you usually did. Eventually it’s you and Harry again, sitting on the couch.

Just like soggy bread, he’s mostly silent with beer in his hand. You get tired of the silence so eventually you slide closer to him.

“So what’s with the girl from uni? Do you have history?”

“Huh?” He seems startled out of his thoughts. “Oh. Her. No we had a few classes, saw her at parties that sort of thing.”

“But it seemed promising when you saw her recently?”

“I think so?”

Poor Harry, he couldn’t even tell the difference.

“What about her number? Or try DM-ing her.”

“I don’t wanna be desperate.”

“Fine,” you think. “Nevermind. She’s probably not into you.”

“But she kept touching my arm,” Harry recalls. “Why would she touch me if she wasn’t interested?”

You look at his physique. It wasn’t anything extraordinary but you can see the temptation to touch his arms.

Meanwhile Harry watches you eye him. It was kind of funny to him. He didn’t know why Claire’s best friend always remained at the end of the night but she was easy to talk to so he didn’t mind. Better than pretending to be interested in whatever Dylan’s tech-bros were talking about.

He hadn’t actually seen Dylan in a while. Probably off with Claire, he thinks with a sigh.

“Yeah nevermind.” Harry hears you say. It’s then he realized he’d tuned you out while his brain had been running. And you had taken his sigh as a response to what you were explaining.

The conversation falls flat after that. And when Harry goes for another drink you decline, deciding it was time to head home.

Surprisingly, Harry says he could use the time away and walks you to the station. Claire was spending the night but mostly he just wanted out of the flat. Walking you a few blocks away was a good enough excuse.

***

A few weeks go by before you find yourself alone with Harry again. It was someone’s birthday, or two people’s. You forgot what exactly was the excuse you took to get out of the house. All you had to know was there were people and an open bar.

Again, you started off in a group but couples drifted away until the two of you remained. You had been standing in Harry’s blind spot so when the last couple leaves, he notices it was you.

“Hey.” Harry says to you but his eyes look out into the room, even his body faces the crowd’s direction. He should have known you were here after seeing Claire cozy up with Dylan.

It should make you feel shittier but you’re almost used to it. After a week of working from home hunched over your table editing photos for yesterday’s deadline you would take any social interaction. No matter how stale. Or soggy.

“Hey!” You elbow him so he looks at you at least. “It's been a while hasn’t it? How’s life treating you these days?”

“Yeah, it's fine.”

“Cool, yeah. Any exciting projects keeping you busy lately or…?”

“Not really. Just the usual keeping me busy right now. Same old routine y’know.”

“Right, right.” You could feel him slip away again. “Yeah. Work can be a drag. I’m pretty sure I gave myself scoliosis being hunched over for 10 hours a day this week. I’d rather fold laundry than do that again, and you probably don’t know this, but I absolute hate folding laundry. But yeah that’s my thrilling life. Anything you've been doing in your free time?”

“Nah. Just trying to stay on top of work.”

“Right.” He was the busiest man on earth apparently. “So everyone at the party’s talking about the new Love Island season. You watch it?”

“Not really into TV these days. Busy with work and all that?”

“Right. You mentioned. I did too.” You nod. “I had a lot of deadlines this week so very busy too. Busy busy. I actually got so stir-crazy I started talking to my plants? It felt silly, but my nan was saying it does help them grow so…it’s a win-win. Or maybe it’s the isolation makes you appreciate the little things…”

“Right.” Harry nods along. He’s looked at you twice this whole time. Well, glanced was more like it. And suddenly you want to scream because it was utterly unfair that you only knew him at any of these godforsaken parties. And he never wanted to talk to you, or cared to.

You’d seen him with Dylan, even with Claire! He was more animated and interested then, even though he stammered through half of it. Was there something wrong with you that put you in gray-scale in this crowd of colourful people?

You’re not Claire, the stupid voice in your head reminds you.

I didn’t need to be Claire, you remind yourself.

“So what about that girl you fancied?” You try to ask him something he might be interested in; you hated how desperate you were getting for company. “From uni? Anything come of that?”

“What?” He finally looks at you. “Oh her. No she uhm. Well embarrassing but she has a bloke. I misread the whole thing-“

“You said she was all touchy!”

“Yeah she was wasn’t she?” He scratches his head. “I dunno, i suppose she’s always been like that. So yeah, nothing happened there.”

He chuckles like he’s embarrassed, yet the smile brightens his face. It makes you a little more upset and you don’t know why.

“Maybe you dodged a bullet. Anyway. I’m gonna make some rounds. I’ll catch you around-“

“What?” He actually turns to you now. “Why?”

“What?!”

“Why you leaving?”

“I’m not leaving. I’m just doing a circle. And getting another drink.”

“Oh,” his shoulders drop a little. You’re confused, because he didn’t seem interested in having you around at all until you were leaving. “Good.”

“I didn’t think you’d miss me if I was gone with your half-ass answers.” You say before you can think. He looks a little stupefied.

“Half-ass?”

“Or were you just being a whole ass?”

“Huh?” He closes the gap between you again. “I was listening to what you were talking about.”

“Yeah. Just listening. It felt like having a conversation with paint while it dried.”

“I’d think that’s better than houseplants?”

You’re a bit stunned—he had been listening. But still. He wasn’t keeping up conversation.

“Now see if you made a joke about it back then it would have been funny. A back-and-forth conversation? Now it’s just a desperate attempt to keep me around. I don’t know what for.”

“It’s not desperate,” he argues. “I didn’t realize you’re so needy.”

You raise a brow, “I am not needy.”

“I think you are,” he grins and with his full attention on you and that stupidly smarmy grin you feel that pull again. Too bad it was just one-sided.

“I’m not. I’ll prove it by leaving your presence for good tonight. See you next time Harry.”

“Don’t be like that,” he calls after you. “And I like to keep you around because I thought we were friends!”

Your stride falters as you’re walking away. You weren’t expecting him to say that.

But wasn’t he just friends because both your friends were dating each other?

What are you even doing here with these people, the thought comes back to you again. The same one that always floated through your mind being in these sorts of places.

If Claire wasn’t dating Dylan you wouldn’t even be here. God, you needed to hang out with friends other than Claire.

***

You unwrap the belt that ties your coat closed and drop it all to the floor. Well not all, your cameras get let down gently.

Your shoulders ached. And your back and your head and your arms. Jeez.

You had a wedding gig that was paying most of this month’s rent, so you had to take it. The only thing is your job started at 6am and ended at 8pm. That was more than half a day and you were spent.

“Hey you’re home!” Claire waves at you as you pass her. She has her phone held out in front of her face, you hear Dylan’s voice on the other end.

“Is that yn? Hii!”

“Hi,” you croak to Dylan. Claire juts her lip out at the sight of you.

“I’ve already done dinner,” she says over the top of the screen. “I’m going out with Dylan and some friends later you wanna come?”

You shake your head. She knows what a low battery yn looked like.

“Okay fine. Leftovers are in the fridge for you.”

“God I love you,” you tell her as you close your bedroom door behind you and collapse into bed.

You liked it when Claire was happy in a relationship, or whatever she called them, but when she wasn’t these were the nights she’d follow you into your room after a big shoot and ask about the details. And you’d complain about the pushy customers eventually moving to how beautiful everything was. She was usually the first person to see your raw images.

But tonight while she talks to Dylan you turn on your humidifier and let the low hushing noise lull you into a relaxing trance. You remember that you only had yourself. That you had to learn to be happy with that, lonely or not.

***

Claire promised to do kitchen duty for the whole week if you came out to Jemima’s partner’s gig. And you couldn’t deny a week of no dishes or meal prep, so you drag your ass out the door despite riding on 4 hours of sleep for the last few nights. But you met your deadline this afternoon so this was as good of a celebration as any. Even if it was a Thursday night.

“So you and Dylan are getting serious huh?” You ask Claire on the tube over.

“Kinda?”

“It’s been over 3 months. Half the time you were with you know who.”

You-know-who, her one relationship that actually meant something to her. Crashed and burned two years ago.

“No,” she blushes. “It’s just, he’s pretty great but we don’t really talk about labels.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Guys always run when you do.”

Do you want that sort of guy, you want to ask. Instead you shrug, “let them.”

She rolls her eyes, accustomed to your biting remarks around men.

The gig is electrifying as soon as you arrive. It gets you moving and your sedentary body remembers it has more flex in it than just your wrist. You’re alive and sweaty a few hours later, happy that you went.

“Hey,” Claire says when you drift back to her. “Dylan said the drummer’s inviting some friends to the place she’s staying at. Wanna come?”

“Yeah! Let’s go!” You were high on just being out and around people, the loneliness had been kept at bay, and you didn’t want to ruin that by going home just yet.

The drummer’s place is the bottom floor of a quaint house near Portobello. Most people are already there by the time you trail in behind Claire and Dylan.

“Look there’s Harry!” Claire shouts, pointing to the figure that was become too familiar to you. He’s listening intently to the couple in front of him. Nice to know he could do that.

You flash her a thumbs up. But her and Dylan start walking towards them. Ugh!

You eye the room, thinking you could make a run-in with alcohol instead of Harry but he looks up at the approaching couple and catches your eye. He waves.

Whatever.

The four of you eventually find a quieter room, mostly because there was a hookah circle going on and everyone there was talking in hushed voices. A stark contrast to the volume in the den.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you here.” Harry says when the two of you find yourselves alone again.

“Why not?”

“You didn’t show the last couple times we all hung out. I thought you were tired of us.”

“Maybe I am.” You raise your brow. “Did you miss me?”

“Hey!” Dylan appears in front of you two again before he could answer. “Nish is here, I heard.”

“Nish?” Harry becomes all fidgety.

“Who’s Nish?” You have to ask.

“Someone we know,” Dylan says. You look for Claire and she’s making her way to you. But before she gets there another body steps towards your group.

“Hi! Harry look at you—and Dylan, is it just me or you look more hideous than last time?” The girl cuts in and you take a step back instinctively. The group felt overcrowded.

You watch the two boys hug the new girl, Nish you assume, in greeting.

Claire approaches the group with curiosity.

Introductions are made and Dylan offers to show Nish the drinks.

Then there were three.

“She’s pretty,” you comment. You know Harry agrees what with how much he resembled a ruler.

“Yeah,” he nods stiffly.

“So were you at the gig Harry?” Claire changes the subject. “It was amazing.”

“Yeah! I was there with Dylan and some friends. Surprised I didn’t see you two.”

“Were you dancing?” Claire teases.

“I was,” he blushes. He glances at you. You recall that first night when the two of you had a lot of fun just dancing. “Maybe that’s why I missed you guys.”

You give a small smile at the in-joke. He looks back to Claire.

You all talk about the gig, and then a little about someone similar Harry was working with.

Eventually Claire wonders aloud where Dylan had gotten to and leaves.

And then there were two.

“I get this feeling something’s going to happen,” you say.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks.

You shrug, you didn’t quite know. The whole night was moving so fast, especially after the gig. You just had a sense you missed something and it was bothering you.

“Have you got a drink yet?” Harry asks.

“No, maybe I should.”

“Me too. I’m done mine. I think I want another.”

As you walk down the hall to where it might logically be, you hear a shout. Your stomach drops. Was this it?

“I’m sorry wait!” Someone shouts over the noise. The overall noise dies down a bit quieter. “It’s not what it-“

“Fuck off! I’m done!”

“Shite,” you recognized Claire’s voice anywhere. You rush past Harry and towards the voices.

You find Dylan shirtless and holding it against his chest. Nish is a little ways behind him, hair a lot messier than when you last saw her. Buttons undone on her dress.

You notice the lipstick on Dylan’s neck. A colour Claire would never wear.

Everything snaps into place.

You rush to Claire and try to comfort her but she hurls more insults towards Dylan over your shoulder. You manage to get her out of his sight and she fights you too, she was seething with anger.

“He’s a dick!” She screams. “Why did I think he was going to be any different oh my god! I shouldn’t have let him go alone with her, what was I thinking? Yn! Why didn’t you stop me!”

You knew it was all rhetorical. Claire rarely took romantic advice from you.

“He tried to say we weren’t even a couple I-“ her voice catches and then comes the tears. You pull her in, familiar with the routine. Next would be feeling sorry for herself, then the anger again, then telling you she needed to be alone. Then a few hours would pass before she crawled back to needing comfort again.

And it happens just so.

“I don’t need a mother right now!” Claire says as you convince her to stay with you. To head home. “I just need to clear my head! I’m sorry okay I just want to be alone!”

And you let her go.

And now you had to kill time.

You find a beer and down it. Someone nearby asks you what the drama was about and you strike up a conversation that ends in them trying to kiss you. Ew.

You wander until you find Harry again. He’s surprised you’re still here. Asks where Claire was but as you respond one of the girls from the band recognizes Harry—you’re pretty sure her name is Kate. Soon enough you’re sidelined while they talk about something you knew nothing about.

Well fuck him too, you think miserably.

You grab one of the few remaining cans and head to the back of the house. Past open doors and closed doors. The closed door intrigues you at the end of the hall.

The doorknob is stuck so you wiggle it. Probably locked.

You were tired. God, you were tired of it all.

In a moment of anger you bang your shoulder against the door and magically it opens.

It wasn’t locked, just stuck due to age.

Same, you think.

Inside is the smallest room you’ve ever seen. The size of 1.5 closets. There looks like a childs bed, the walls are covered in posters, and there’s a small set of drawers with a guitar resting on top. It’s cramped but cozy, something about it feels familiar.

You step inside and close the door.

Down goes another beer.

You hope the person who owned the room didn’t mind you crashing it. You lay in bed and let out a big sigh. And then another. It felt good. Cleansing.

You listen to the noises outside, people laughing and talking. You think about Claire. About yourself. All of your several issues combined. The dull ache of loneliness starts in your ribcage and spreads out.

The door handle rattles a few times but eventually you realize nobody’s angry enough to smash it open like you. Most people assumed it’s locked and leave.

You’re taken by surprise then the door does creak open a smidge.

Distant light travels through to paint a multi-coloured line across the floor and over the bed. You lift your fingers to touch it but it feels like everything else.

“Of course you’re in here; I wondered where you went to.” Harry reveals his face by opening the door wider, poking his head in. It looks like it’s floating and the image almost makes you laugh. Almost.

“Why?” You ask in your most disinterested voice.

He takes the question, despite it dripping with apathy, as an invitation. The door remains opened a crack, now just with Harry on the inside.

“Because you disappeared.”

“You started talking to Kate so I made my exit. Did she go home?”

“No.” He inches closer after closing the door. You have no idea how he knew exactly where you were and how to get in. With the door closed it’s not so dark that you can’t make out his figure. But he’s a shadow in the dark.

“Can you sit or something? It’s kind of creepy having you hover like that in the dark.”

“Sorry,” he laughs and again, he overextends the invitation and lays parallel to you. He’s close, with the bed being so small. Your ache spreads. “Kate’s dancing with another bloke.”

“Poor Harry.” You mock. “Every pretty lady wants to dance with someone else.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I have this special ability to read between the lines.”

“Well my specialty is reading between the sheets.”

The comment lands like a third person on the bed. It’s a withering creature a cross between a baby and a calf. He scoops it off with, “sorry. I really don’t know where that came from.”

You laugh. It was so silly for something so bold to come out of his mouth.

“It’s fine. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be that bold before. Usually I just watch you fumble around and finish up thoughts inside your head instead of out loud-“

“I do do that don’t I?”

“You said do do,” you giggle.

“Very mature.”

“Very manure.” Your giggles turn into a laugh, something’s cracked inside of you and it feels funnier than it probably is.

Harry nudges you with his elbow and it silences your laugh. It’s abrupt, and he notices. “Why’d you come in here anyway?” He asks. “I thought you’d be with Claire.”

“Were you looking for her? You could be with Claire now y’know,” you say. Some part of you knew you’re tipsy and you should shut up but in the darkness your cutting words feel blunted.

“What’s that mean?”

“Dylan the dick—that’s his new nickname just fyi. He fumbled the bag. She’s free for the taking now.”

“I feel like this violates some sort of girl-code. Shouldn’t you be warning me away?”

You scoff, “Harry don’t be coy. Everyone knows you tried to get together that first night we all met. You always look at her like a lost puppy.”

“I don’t.”

“Do so.”

“What’s it to you?“

You shrug. He’s close enough to feel it.

You were upset tonight. Angry. Angry at Dylan for being another a-hole. Angry at Claire for putting yet another man on a pedestal with all his potential he could never reach. They hadn’t labelled themselves for 3 months, what did she expect would happen?

Mostly you were upset at yourself. Because a part of you watched Claire put herself out there over and over, and you were upset that you couldn’t do the same. That your shallow bruises compares to Claire’s gashes had kept you locked up in your bedroom.

You admit it to yourself then: you kind of liked Harry. And you totally and absolutely hated it.

Because you watched him watch Claire, fumble his words with every woman you catch him with, push him away just so you don’t potentially get hurt. A part of you knows he wouldn’t like you like that. He treats you like you’re part of the furniture half the time. He’s given no indication of the sort. And you just weren’t the kind of girl to leave a confession like that hanging. You didn’t want a public unrequited crush.

It comes again. The wave of loneliness, the feeling that nobody ever has or ever will understand you. That you were an island with no dock, a house with no door. You were unknowable, and unforgettable.

“Why don’t I ever hear about your relationship exploits?” Harry suddenly asks. You forgot he was there and you startle. “Sorry were you falling asleep?”

“No.” You answer. “And because…because I’m not showy about that sort of thing. And it also doesn’t happen as often as you or Claire or Dylan the dick.”

“Wow the name’s really gonna stay.”

“Mhm.”

“Do you have a boyfriend now?”

“Nope.”

“What’s your last actual relationship?”

“A long time ago.”

“Me too.” He sighs. “My last proper girlfriend was in my early 20s. She moved city. We broke up after that, long-distance is hard. I feel like every year I age, I get worse at talking to women.”

“I can confirm.”

“Well not you. You’re easy to talk to.”

“Thanks,” you say dryly.

“Not like that.” He backtracks, sitting up as if you could see his face. “No not like that. You’re…nice. To look at. I don’t mean that I don’t see you as a women—because you are. I see that I uhm-“

“I think you’ll have to take back your previous statement.”

His head falls back on his pillow and he laughs, it sounds like he’s choking on air a little.

“Jeez, what was that?” He asks once he pulls himself together.

“Beats me,” you say with a smirk.

“It gets pretty lonely though right.”

You let his statement sit in the dark. You don’t agree or disagree. Doing so felt like admitting something vulnerable.

“Or maybe that’s just me.” He says after a while. “Maybe you have a great life and don’t fall in love with every other person you meet.”

“Do you actually?” Your interest was piqued.

“I can’t help it. I’m a musician, I just notice something small about them and suddenly a song is being written about them in my head without even realizing. So I just fall in love with a lot of random people. And I uhm, I don’t think I’ve ever admitted that to anyone!”

It was the dark. It was easier to be honest in it. No wonder churches kept their confessions in darkened corners.

You think about all the regular people you fall in love with every time you lift your camera to your face. How every person made you ache; there were whole worlds going on inside of them and you saw it all through the lens.

You wonder briefly if Harry ever wrote a song about you in his head but squash it. He barely took the time to look at you, definitely not long enough to notice you like you did him.

“Here’s my confession—same.” You try for the confession-in-the-dark thing. To make him feel better. “At least when I’m taking photos or making videos. Some people get camera shy but after talking to them they loosen up and getting to capture their whole essence in a picture or a video I just…makes me fall in love too. I like to imagine what everyone would be like in front of a camera. I dunno.”

“What a pair we make.” Harry reaches out and his hand brushes yours. You pull away, hating yourself while you do.

He clears his throat when you reject his bid to be closer, you feel his hand slide back to himself.

Harry didn’t know why sometimes it felt like you hated him and other times like you were friends. He just figured he didn’t understand women. On any spectrum.

“Y/n,” your name is loaded in the dark. You wait for him to continue but the silence stretches out.

“What?” You finally ask.

You feel the bed shift and move under you. He was turning. You feel his gaze on you. You turn your head to look back and he’s inches away. Alarms blare in your head, abort abort! But even in the darkness his eyes find some light to reflect.

Harry’s thinking the same thing about you. Somehow it’s dark but when you turn your head to look at him, your eyes twinkle with what little moonlight streams in from the window. Or maybe that was the streetlights. Either way, Harry wonders why it felt like this was the first time he’s ever seen you. How ironic that it’s in the dark too.

It happens without realizing, his mind starts to string together something about the girl laying in his bed shrouded in darkness, with light in her eyes. A girl with secrets-

The bed vibrates.

“Oh,” you turn away and take the intimate moment with you. You feel around and find your phone beside you. Claire’s face lights up the screen.

“Claire,” you sit up.

“I’m ready to go home,” Claire sniffles on the other end. “Where are you?”

“At the party. You’re still at the party right?”

“I’m just outside. I got some chips but I couldn’t find you so I finished them all.”

You laugh, “Lie. I know how you feel about sharing chips don’t worry.”

Harry watches you have this conversation. Your laugh finds its way right into his chest. He feels warm.

You look at him and hold your finger up, shimming off the foot of the bed.

“You bought two!?” You ask after Claire sniffles about how much she emotionally ate tonight.

“It’s your fault! I ate two because I couldn’t find you and they were getting cold.”

“Well I’m coming outside to save you now.”

You put the phone down and look back at Harry. He’s sat up in the bed and staring at you.

“I gotta go weirdo.”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Well…I dunno if we’ll see each other as much now that-“

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“So good luck? Until next time?” You laugh, but an awkwardness starts to creep in as Harry stays unresponsive and staring on the bed. “Uhm. Okay?? Bye…”

You leave Harry as he is. Did he get all weird because Claire was on the phone? Ugh. What a liar, you think. He was still just as obsessed with her.

You feel a little bad for goading him about it earlier but it doesn’t linger long. When you see Claire you gather her up in your arms and then the two of you set off arm-in-arm back to your small flat together.

***

“So what’s happening with Kate?” Dylan asks. Harry and him are sat at the pub a few weeks later, he’s already moved on from Claire to the girl on his arm. He didn’t know how his friend did it, if Harry had a girl like Claire he wouldn’t treat her like she was disposable.

But thinking of Claire didn’t have that same spark anymore. When he thought about it, she was beautiful and spirited, the kind of woman musicians like him write songs about. But there was someone else on his mind, the kind of woman someone could spend their whole career trying to compartmentalize into songs. Songs turning into albums. Only to find nothing beats her living spirit.

How could he be so dumb, he’d been beating himself up since that night in the dark. He’d had 3 months of being around her and he never actually looked at her. Always took her for granted. God, even that first night together had been the most fun Harry had had in ages. But he’d just turned her into a friend by proximity.

But weeks gone without her, knowing there was only pure chance of bumping into her, had made Harry a regretful heart.

“Hello? Did you scare her off?” Dylan asks.

“Nah. She’s not my type.” Harry responds.

“Harry I should set you up with one of my mates. She’d be perfect for you. She’s a teacher and…”

Harry listens to Dylan’s new girl describe a friend Harry couldn’t be arsed to go out with. All because he wanted something he couldn’t have anymore.

***

Harry runs into Claire at a pub a week later. His hopes soar as high as the sky when he thinks y/n might be here.

“Hi! Claire!” Harry awkwardly stops her as she walks past the bar where he sits. He was waiting for a few of his mates to watch the football match with. Dylan was luckily out of town today, otherwise this pub would have it’s roof blown off.

“Oh Harry hi,” she’s friendly. Harry didn’t think she’d be friendly towards him. She leans in for a hug. “How’ve you been?”

“Good! Ehm good yeah just making more music and stuff. You?”

“Better,” she rolls her eyes. “How’s Dylan the-“

“I’d rather not be in the middle. If that’s alright.” Harry says before he can think. He knew what his friend was, he didn’t want to talk about him.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Watching the game?”

“Sorta. My family’s down and I know y/n hates the ruckus my brothers make watching the game at home so I’m sticking them here.”

“Oh y/n’s not here?” Harry feels his hope evaporating.

“No. What’s the deal with you and her anyway? Why didn’t you ever…?”

“Y/n?”

“Yeah!”

“She’s not interested in me,” Harry laughs. He was also blind but he doesn’t say that.

“I mean, maybe not crazily but if you asked she would have said yes. She didn’t hate you.”

“Is that the standard now?” Harry jokes.

“It is with her,” she smiles with a look in her eye like there was more there. But of course, Harry doesn’t push.

“I…I dunno. I never thought she would be interested. It never occurred to me.”

“You’re such a guy,” she scolds. “You have anyone now or you’re still regularly putting your foot in your mouth?”

Harry flushes. “I don’t. And I don’t put my foot in my mouth.”

She rolls her eyes but the smile stays on her face. “Anyway, I’m grabbing the beers. I’ll talk to you later?”

Harry nods, suddenly unable to just ask for y/n’s number. Anything.

But as she walks away he realizes he’d had a whole conversation with Claire without overthinking or being a fumbling idiot once.

He thinks back, to the last couple weeks. He realizes it’s been a while since he’s done it.

Was I finally turning a corner, Harry thinks.

***

You had a gig today filming at a studio. Some indie duo but they were gaining popularity on Tiktok and wanted some bts footage of working in the studio for an upcoming music video. You weren’t going to ask questions. It paid decent money so you said yes.

You pull into the parking lot, grateful that Claire had a car you could borrow. It helped lugging around your equipment for videoshoots. Today it was just you as your PA was out sick. It wasn’t supposed to be a lot of angles so you figured it would be okay.

You consider the day a win by the time you pack up. The group were much younger than you but very outgoing and it made for a lot of funny and sweet footage. They also had amazing voices, you told them they were going on your playlists once you got home.

Your right hand goes weightless as you walk with your bags down the hall. You turn just as the helper speaks up.

“Looked like you could use a hand.”

“Harry I…what a surprise hi!” Your mood brightens at the sight of him, despite everything.

“Hi,” he shifts the bag in his hand to return your hug. His body is solid and warm. It made no sense but you missed something about him. “How was your shoot?”

“Really good! I was shooting a…wait how did you know?”

“I saw you in there?”

“I didn’t see you.”

“Yeah I um-“

“You had nothing to do with this right?”

“And if I did?” He meets your eye and you feel out of breath with whatever speaks through them. What was up with that?

“Uhmm I owe you a thank you!?!”

Harry offers a small smile, “I was looking at your work a couple weeks back. You’re really good. I just threw your name out to a few managers if they were looking for someone…”

Harry looks different with this new information. Or maybe this was a Harry that was actually paying attention to you, it was both intimidating and touching.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks.

“No! No, thank you I…that’s…I’m grateful. Thank you. Can I get you a drink to say thanks?”

“Okay cuz your face was all scrunched up. I thought you were pissed.” He laughs. “And I have some things to finish up-“

“Oh right, you’re probably busy-“

“No no I would love to. Get drinks. With you.” Harry grows more awkward as the air between you crackles with something electric. Maybe, he thought, this is what happens when two people are on the same wavelength.

“Ok. Well when do you finish?”

Harry doesn’t quite hear your question. His head feels flooded with sand and he can’t stop looking at you, right in front of him finally. Why did he never notice your eyes and the way they take him in, your sweetness, the easygoing tilt of your head, or how how disarming your smile was. He chalked it up to being an idiot.

“Wait what-“ he laughs, feeling the blood flush his face. He was doing that thing again, where his brain stopped thinking in the attention of a pretty girl. “What’d you ask?”

“When you finish?” You ask, suddenly feeling shy yourself. You can feel the element of nervousness from him and it made this casual moment feel more intense.

“Maybe half hour?” Harry scratches his nose. “Are you heading somewhere now? You can hang out with me and we can go together?”

You thought about getting to see him work, it sounded promising. “Sure!”

Harry wipes his palm on his jeans and walks ahead, leading you down the hall and to the right. He opens it to a recording studio, gesturing to the chairs and taking the seat behind all the buttons. You set your things down and stand by the panel, curious what each of the controls did.

Harry glances up at you and you shoot a smile, about to ask if it was okay you watch, but he goes back to work just as quickly.

He was working on something that sounded like a pop song. You try to make out all the layers on the software he was using, it kind of looked the same when you edited a video. But there’s too many layers to distinguish.

Eventually you sit back down, admiring Harry in his element. Your mind drifts, and you wonder if everything that happened out in the hallway was a figment of your imagination or Harry was being weird with you. Because the thing about Harry being weird meant he was in his head about one thing.

You wonder, like you did every so often, what could have happened that night in the dark the last time you saw him if Claire hadn’t called. Harry had looked at you like he had just met you—with a good curiosity.

But then again, this was the same Harry that probably looked at Claire with the same look.

“Done.” Harry turns in his swivel chair with a grin an hour or so later.

“Great!” You shake off your thoughts and set your laptop down.

“Did you want to leave your things here?”

“I have a car I can put them in?”

“The place I was gonna take you to isn’t that far from here.”

So you agree, and leave your equipment in the studio. The two of you walk out, talking about what he was working on. He asks you about your shoot today and the conversation carries you to the pub he had picked out.

Conversation starts to fizzle out as you tuck into your booth seat.

“What you guys getting today?” The waitress appears almost instantly, it startles you.

You look at the menu and to her. She’s got a beautiful face, round cheeks framed by micro bangs and night-black eyebrows that made her look permanently unimpressed. And yet her rosy cheeks and button nose were a friendly addition to the severity of the rest of her.

You glance at Harry, ready for him to be a bumbling idiot around her. He glances at you from the menu when he senses you looking over and for a second you feel the loneliness creep in. Despite the warm smile he sends your way.

“Can we get a few more minutes?” Harry asks her. She pockets her things without another word and walks away.

“What’s good here?” You ask to fill the silence.

The two of you go over the menu and by the time the waitress returns you’re ready. You watch Harry ask her questions and place the order, confident and direct. His eyes slide to yours every so often and each time they do you feel your resolve slip a little more.

“What’s changed then Harry?” You tease when she leaves. You tease, but you seriously want to know. “I thought you’d be a puddle of words around a woman that gorgeous.”

“Her?” Harry glances back. “I guess. I’m not such a mess.”

“Oh you so are.” You laugh. “You’re all ums and uhs.”

“I’m…fine. I’m not so bad anymore!”

“Yeah so? What happened?”

He looks at you with such a serious look that your smile dies down.

“Drinks,” the waitress places them down on the table, saving the both of you from whatever would have come next.

“Thanks,” you tell her and pull the distraction towards you.

“Let’s just say,” Harry says after she leaves. “I gained some perspective.”

You raise an eyebrow, not wanting to push it any more. “Okay.”

For the first time in a while, your nerves overtake the anxious discomfort you usually lived with. Something was definitely happening here—you weren’t hallucinating. But you weren’t sure where it was going, and if you wanted it.

Of course you want it, stop convincing yourself otherwise, you tell yourself.

Why did vulnerability feel like facing mount everest in just your pjs.

“I bumped into Claire a few weeks ago, she seems to be doing well.” Harry says and you can’t help but overanalyze for a heartbeat. He’d brought Claire up after all.

“Oh she didn’t mention,” you reply.

“She was with her family? Said you kicked them out of the flat-“

“Oh!” You laugh. “Yeah her brothers get stupidly rowdy when the football’s on. This one time I had an interview early the next morning and—this was before I knew how loud they could get. And I was up. Until 2am nearly to tears! Finally I snapped, they call it the y/n-geddon. Then of course I felt so bad I couldn’t sleep for another two hours. Now we just draw boundaries.”

Harry laughs at your story. “Sounds scary. Now it makes sense though.”

“Better for everyone,” you laugh. “But yeah. Claire’s been good, it was nice her family was down she’s always more herself when they do.”

Your food arrives and you put the conversation on pause as you tuck in.

“How about you?” Harry asks. “Your family?”

You tell him about your family and the conversation moves on to moving out, living in the city. It branches out naturally like a tree, and both of you relax into each other’s company.

It was really nice, you admit to yourself. It felt like talking to an actual person rather than the shell of someone. Which is how it felt like talking to Harry in the past. The only soggy bread was the butty dipped in your soup.

You pay, as you insist it was to thank him for the help. It’s cooler out when you had back to the studio for your things and there’s more people out; those free of their office jobs and roaming for a drink to relax into.

The studio’s empty and you head towards your bags, asking Harry if he was heading home too.

“Yeah, I’ve been here since 6 so I think I’m ready to go home.”

“Shite that’s early!”

“Deadlines!” He sighs. “What can ya do.”

“Can I give you a ride somewhere at least?”

“If you’re going in the direction of the station I’ll hop in.”

“Yeah sure!”

“Good thing you have a car with all that equipment.”

“Yeah my thoughts this morning. But that reminds me of all the footage I have to edit.” You say. “Thanks to you.”

“Anytime. Anytime y/n. I’m gonna keep whispering your name around. You’ll be fully booked soon just watch and see.”

“You don’t have to,” you set your things back on the ground. It didn’t seem like Harry was in a hurry to get out.

“I want to,” he replies seriously. The room feels smaller than it did seconds ago, or maybe the awareness of Harry’s proximity tightened the space between you.

“Thanks,” you try to meet his eye as you say it but it’s hard to. His gaze strips away any doubt you had; his feelings are written all over his face. All you could think was: Holy Fuck what is this

“It’s my pleasure,” he says which just sucks any remaining oxygen out of the room.

When you’re on autopilot you don’t even think, you just go through the motions. That’s what it felt like, one second you’re standing opposite Harry. The next you’re standing right in front of him and his lips are on yours.

Maybe you just imagined this scene so much it became repetitive and now this—kissing him, felt so familiar.

He’s nothing like the timid and awkward Harry you watch at parties and pubs. He’s sure of himself, kissing you in the exact way to soothe your past aches; your loneliness is washed away like ocean tides over words etched in the sand. You get lost in it. In him.

You don’t know when his hands slide around your waist and pull you in. His lips are soft and gentle. Your mind blanks as the sensation of being held, of his touch, spreads. You don’t realize you stop kissing back, just for a second, until he pulls away.

Harry takes a deep breath, face pink and brows furrowed. This felt right, but was he reading it wrong? He did that often.

You take a small step back, needing the space to process. It felt right, better than your imagination, and you couldn’t deny the pull you felt to him.

“So um,” you bite your lip. “You still want that ride?”

“Where is it going?” He asks, the tightness in his chest easing a little when you look up at him, head tilted and a nervous expression on. He wasn’t reading it wrong. Both of you were just a little overwhelmed.

“Anywhere you want it to. I was thinking it could go home.”

“Mmm,” he nods. “Home sounds nice.”

With a smile exchanged, he lifts most of your equipment to the car. You have to take a beat outside the car just to force your brain to go from scrambled to whole so you can manage the drive home. It took every ounce of concentration.

Claire’s not home when you get there and you’re so grateful for that. Firstly, you just wanted to get him back into your bedroom. Secondly, you wanted this just between the two of you. At least for today.

You drop her a text in case, like you two usually did. You tell her you had company over.

The rest of the night can be spent uninterrupted.

You set everything in the living room and take Harry back to your bedroom.

He looks around curiously, taking in the photos on the walls and the things on the dresser.

You watch him, feeling a little exposed. he was looking. Seeing. You. It was different. Good different.

Harry looks at you with a question and you answer by closing the space between you; he reaches his arms out and your body is engulfed by him. Your lips meet, this time less hesitant.

It’s not long before Harry pulls you towards the bed, falling backwards with you on top of him. You straddle his hips and kiss him like a teenager. You feel his fingers brush your waist and tug at the bottom of your top.

It’s off in an instant and you try to hide the smile as Harry takes in the sight of you, his eyes filling with awe. He was such a dork. But it made you feel empowered, and seen. You reach for his shirt and he lets you take it off.

When you lean forward again, chests pressed together, his hands find the small of your back. They trace circles there, sending shivers up your spine.

You take the cue and kiss him slowly, rocking your hips against him. He gasps, his hands tightening as you trail kisses along his neck.

The sounds he makes go straight to your core and you feel the familiar flutter that tells you to hurry. You move back, undoing his jeans and helping him slide them off.

“You’re alright with this?” He breathes into your skin.

Your heart thuds in your ribcage, but mostly from anticipation; you never realized how long you wanted this for. Wanted him.

“Of course,” you pause and so does he. “Took you long enough.”

With a wry smile he covers your mouth with his and soon the two of you find a rhythm that no song could compete with. You find company in someone you’d sworn could never be yours.

It’s bliss.

***

The sun filters through the window and casts a warm light across your floor.

You were in your own bed, and in the middle of the mattress with a leg thrown over the edge was Harry, sound asleep. Tbe weight of his arm over your waist and the steady sound of his breathing is the proof you needed that this was real. He was real.

The two of you hadn't bothered to get dressed last night. It was an unspoken understanding that this wasn’t the end.

You turn onto your side; it was a nice view.

It was a nice morning, actually. The first morning in a while where you not only woke to a warm body, but one that felt like it belonged. That wasn’t going anywhere

Claire must be somewhere in the flat, you realize. You hadn’t heard her come in.

Harry starts to stir as light fills the room. His eyes squint open and his left hand comes up to cover his face.

You reach over to run your fingers through his hair and he sighs, his face relaxing into a smile.

Harry turns to you, eyes finally open and alert and your heart thumps happily.

There was no need for words.

You snuggle closer and he wraps an arm around you. You bury your face into his neck and breathe in his scent.

He laughs quietly, his chest rumbling under you. You kiss him and he responds in kind.

This time there was no rush.

The morning was warm, and so were you.

5 months later

You get there early, you wanted a moment before the guests to take in your accomplishment. Sure you’d been published on websites and magazines before. Your dream has always been to live forever on an album cover. And you’d finally done it.

The venue was a sparkly room thanks to all the disco balls. They contrasted against the rich fabric and wood beams all over the space.

You take a ton of pictures to send to your friends and family.

You mingle with guests as they come in, trying not to give in too much to the hollowed out feeling that came with a string of strangers and the tiresome small talk. You smile and introduce yourself, you know this was how connections were made. In rooms like this.

You feel him come in as you give in to a second drink. You’re at the bar, and your eyes lift up to the entrance and there’s Harry. Your Harry.

Harry’s eyes skim the crowd looking for someone. His someone. No other person mattered until he could locate her. That’s how it felt these days. A million faces could blur by but hers was the one he looked for every time.

He sees her. Looking at him. Of course she’s already spotted him.

You watch as his face splits into an eager smile, his hand raising above his head.

Harry was like fresh lemonade poured into a cup of ice, all of the tiring talks and fake smiles from before vanish as you drink him in. He’s looking at you, only you. You’re looking at only him.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says as a greeting.

“That’s alright,” you peck his lips. “I was just taking a breather.”

“Is the band here? My phone died on the ride so I couldn’t check in.”

“I thought I saw one of them somewhere in that crowd,” you point to the right.

Harry had gotten you this gig. It was the third thing he’d helped you get and slowly you were able to take on less and less wedding and marketing jobs and focus on the music industry. It filled your days and nights with passion-fuelled hard work. You loved every second of it.

And when you weren’t working, you spent time with Harry. It had been 5 months since you started dating. Neither of you questioned what your labels were. You just knew there was nothing else you two could be.

You teased him a lot, how he took the long way to finally recognize the truth. But he made up for it all the time. He made sure you knew how you were the only one for him.

“That is one perfect album,” Harry slips his hand around your waist. Your photograph is blown out to a tapestry and hangs in the middle of the space. It was a sophomore album for the band and with their debut a hit, this tapestry was going to be signed and auctioned. Eventually it would sit somewhere, your photograph, coveted as a piece of music history.

“This is unreal,” you squeeze Harry. “How amazing is it that we both got to work on this album in our own specialties?”

“A perfect match I’d say,” he kisses you.

“What a pair we make,” you grin.

“I see many more shared projects in our future,” Harry promises.

“I’d like that.” It was one of the things you loved about being with Harry, your creativity and how both of you shared a similar industry at times. It brought you closer together, swapping ideas and stories.

“One day I’m going to need album art for the EP I release.”

“Ooh yes,” you clutch his arm. Lately Harry has been spending some times with his head in a brand new notebook, he said he was working on his personal project. “I can’t wait for that day. I have so many ideas of styling you.”

You had a particular image that sat on your phone from the very first night you met. One where he’s dancing alone in a crowd, red lighting casting half his face in shadow and the other in a vibrant scarlet. His eyes are closed and his brows scrunched as his body flows with movement, even in a still picture. You adored it. It was one of the best photos you ever took.

“Me?” Harry looks down at you. He knew whatever songs he pulled together for an EP would be about you. His rush to write recently were from all the time spent being in your presence. It was intense, it had only been 5 months of dating, but somehow he thought you might understand. “I was thinking the cover art could be the subject of my songs.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “How do you feel about self-portraits?”

Your face grows slack as it dawns on you. He had a whole EP in mind, about you.

“Well?” He twitches his hand on your waist, tugging you a little closer.

“Self-portraits sound a bit lonely,” you will your eyes not to tear up.

“But you won’t be,” Harry tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You have me. You won’t ever be lonely.”

“I know,” you feel the emotion catch in your throat as you gaze up into his photographic eyes. You can’t explain it but your body feels grounded—more grounded than it’s ever been. Here in his arms you felt together, like you were a book finally finding a shelf to lean on.

The two of you stand side by side and look at the people this collaborative masterpiece brought together. The room fills with the energy of the music. It was special.

"I love you," Harry reminds you.

"I love you too," you respond.

Your life hadn’t change all at once, not really. The biggest thing that changed was Harry. His presence, his attitude, his attention—it shifted. He wasn’t just a guy on the periphery, in proximity. He had you in his sights and he in yours.

You noticed small new things about him, and you wondered if everyone did. He was more confident and present, rooted to and with you. Both of you had bloomed, like caterpillars into butterflies. A pair of butterflies—you should tell him that.

Sometimes you thought you were just born lonely, it’s how it always was and has been. With Harry, you felt less lonely. You felt like things could really change for you.

You extend your hand to him and motion to the dance floor. It was a tradition now—no dance floor would go unmarked by the two of you.

He takes your hand and you lead him there. And with you in his arms he feels set free, like always.

Out of the cocoon and into the embrace of belonging, two butterflies dance in plain sight.

[tinytennisskirt]

small list of boyfriend art! who knows you like the back of his hand headcanons

- he can tell when you’re upset by something and if it’s not him, it’s usually easy to tell what did it. he pulls strings when he can to make sure you don’t run into anything you wouldn’t like. and if the problem is him he’s politely asking what he did wrong and ACTUALLY works on whatever it is you found upsetting.

he’s memorized all your regular food orders he knows what you like from where so if you say you’re craving something he usually heads out to get it for you, no questions asked or needed.

- he cooks for you. mostly pasta but it’s always really good. he knows that when you say you’re not in the mood for one thing that it means you’re in the mood for anything and there’s usually clues as to what means what. he knows them all and he’ll search up recipes if he needs to

- yeah he knows the movie you just watched back at your dorm room made you horny that’s why after a simple phone call you’re at the door to his room and he’s more than happy to help you ease frustrations, just tell him what to do. he knows how to everything just the way you need it, just ask.

- he knows when your time of the month is coming around and of course he’s the best about it. doesn’t mention it, just knows and just… has your favourite snacks lying around and there’s mysteriously a chocolate bar in your purse. he’s cute like that.

- he’s also ready with open arms when he knows you need it. he’s got all the blankets all the pillows and he knows when you’re going to want to come back to his dorm and crash into him. he’s more than ready to kiss the top of your head as you fall asleep on his chest.

- he knows your coffee order down to the last detail. or your drink order. basically every drink you could order he knows what it is and when you want it.

- he knows everyone you don’t like by face and name and he doesn’t like them either. just how it is.

- he knows your favourite everything. song, movie, book, food, drink, celebrity, ice cream flavour, etc. he’s good at remembering all of the small stuff- your favourite crystal, what kind of metal you prefer in jewelry, your minor allergies, the allergies of your family members as well as their birthdays.

- he knows your mom’s favourite flower and your dad’ favourite golf club. he knows the snacks your siblings like and what games they like to play.

- he knows when you need silence. he’ll be wordless and easy. bring you a cup of water or whatever drink he knows you’re feeling and sit beside you while you’re doing whatever task you’re doing. and he knows when you need music and dancing and laughter. he’ll bring that to you if it’s that kind of day. he just knows you.

to be loved is to be known and he knows you so well. he is fluent in your body language, he is well-versed in reading you. he is your best friend and he’s so in love with you, so of course he knows it all. remembers it all.

[aerinaga]

can you please write a fic about paige based on this post please please please 🤗

angel in heat.

paige bueckers x reader

warnings: smut (thigh riding, makeout sesh)

note: i wrote this during art class. i miss you guys, i’m sorry for being ia. been busy 🫶🏻

you were out with your girls for the day. paige had dropped you off at your friends house, telling you to text her if you needed to be picked up.

you had went out with your friends, bar hopping around the city. you and your friends danced on the dance floor, jammed to the songs played by the dj, drank til you dropped. it was nearly 1am, texting paige to pick you up.

while waiting for her, you saw a wlw couple near you. they were making out by the sides of the bar, no one minding them since the place was busy. you watched them and felt like you needed what they were doing. you felt like you were being teased.

forgetting your thoughts, you saw your girlfriends car stop in front of the club you were at. you immediately rushed to the car, getting in your “passenger princess” labeled seat.

“hey wifeyyy” you slur out in your drunken state.

she chuckles at you, finding how cute you are when you’re tipsy.

“hi baby, you ready to go home?”

you nod at her, not feeling the need to speak.

as the both of you were driving home, you felt her hand creep up on your thigh. your stomach churned at the feeling, the butterflies and sex thoughts were coming up to your system. your breath hitched from what she was doing, resisting yourself from moaning.

regardless, paige felt you stiffen up at what she did. and she knew it turned you on.

you entered your shared apartment with paige, immediately sitting yourself down on the sofa from exhaustion. paige approached you with a glass of water and medicine, to avoid you from getting a hangover the next morning.

while you were drinking water, paige asked you “oh that turned you on, didn’t it?”

you nearly choked on your water, putting the glass down on your table.

“which one?” you asked.

“when i had my hand up your thigh, baby.”

you slowly nodded at her. you looked like a mess, but to paige? you looked like a princess begging for something with doe eyes.

she sat down on the same couch as you, signaling you to sit on her lap.

“come here baby. take your underwear off before sitting on my lap, hm?”

you sat on her lap in your flowy dress, with no underwear on. you were aroused, almost dripping in fact, at the sight of her.

you wasted no time wrapping your arms around her and pulling her into a heated kiss. your drunken state made you even hornier, and the fact that your girlfriend had such a hot outfit on made it even worse.

her hands gripped at your waist, then to your hips, then putting her hands under your dress to squeeze the flesh on your ass. and boy, it felt so damn good.

you started to slowly grind on her thigh, the feeling of it being slippery from how wet you felt. paige slowly kissed down on your neck, sucking on it lightly. your hands clawed at her pink dyed hair, gripping it like it was a stress reliever.

you fastened your pace, paige was holding you down her thigh to make it even faster. she flexed her thigh for you to feel more friction, as she wanted you to feel pleasure.

at this point, you were a moaning mess. the basketball players hair was messy, your lipgloss was smudged around, your dress was hiked up to your waist. it was blissful.

“i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum.” you repeatedly tell her.

“cum for me baby, i wanna feel you.”

[izsheum]

Hello!!!

Can i listen to you yap about rodimus and swerve for hours please 🥺🥺🥺🥺

WHEN I TOLD YOU I JUMPED FOR JOY!!!

ugh these guys have been in my brain for a bit now…i swear

“it’d be cool if i took my favs and made them kiss haha that’d be so silly” and then Boom. I kept thinking.

have some art of them i am in the trenches methinks

when i tell you they are PEAK yapper + louder yapper…

like i genuinely believe that’s how it can start. two losers who love to hear themselves talk? it should be a recipe for disaster.

However.

it’s not like swerve doesn’t know when it’s not his turn to talk. he’s got a big mouth, and criminal levels of audacity, but he has manners. and that means that whenever rodimus goes on and on about whatever bullshit he had to deal with during the day, he listens.

and, good lord, rodimus can definitely talk.

he does so with swerve probably after having a few because i mean…that’s how this starts, surely. a bottle of top-shelf and a purely functional arrangement.

(hundreds of words of sleep-deprivation-induced writing under the cut. i am so sorry. completely sfw btw just barely on the edge of suggestive.)

predictably, swerve’s constant chatter is bearable after rodimus gets in a few drinks. and in the beginning of Whatever The Hell They Got Going On starts with the two of them building a routine.

swerve supplies the shots of liquid stress relief and a listening ear (audio processor? cybertronian anatomy is lost on me), and rodimus provides what can only be described as a semi-coherent stream of complaints and whines about his day. and he has a lot to gripe about—he’s suffering from an acute case of ‘doomed by the narrative’, primus help him.

and swerve, for the most part, is quite a good active listener. not that rodimus would ever admit that out loud (for now) because swerve wouldn’t be able to keep that kinda praise to himself. i mean, the guy raved for months after getting his own rodimus star…yeah, no, not happening. rodimus’ appreciation will remain unspoken, thank you very much.

he gets his sentiment of ‘thank you for listening to my bullshit, you’re such a good friend’ out there by continuing to show up. same time, every day, like clockwork. he’s there in the bar, long laundry list of things he’s going to cry like a baby about, and swerve is at the ready with the fainting couch. their little ‘whine and cheese hour’ (as swerve calls it. rodimus will adamantly deny that he likes the name. it’s not clever. it’s not! it’s apparently a human thing, anyways. little thief.) is probably the only thing he’s ever on-time for at this rate.

having someone listen politely to your woes is. nice! having someone gently try and guide you into solutions to said problems is…manageable, i suppose.

having someone who gasps dramatically and exclaims “i can’t believe you had to deal with that—you’re so much stronger than me for putting up with such scrap” is euphoric.

because since getting the weight of the universe thrust on his shoulders again and again. since he had it ground into him every single day that he needs to be this mature, wise, thoughtful leader who doesn’t react to problems with complaints, but rather calm understanding followed by benevolent resolution…rodimus has completely, truly missed just being able to talk shit.

and, oh, does swerve just love that song and dance.

this isn’t therapy, and neither of them are going to pretend it is, though the constant flow of drinks does manage to feel like something akin to self-medication after a while. their lives are messy, god damn it, and they’re going to cope with it messily!

and cope they do. and they talk. a lot. and—for some reason—it helps. turns out, when you get to vent all your frustrations towards someone who knows how to match your energy exactly, you feel seen. not as this esteemed figure who needs to watch what he says and make sure he keeps up the display of picture-perfect-motivational-cat-poster-leader twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five…but as just. a guy. a guy with a lot on his shoulders and a lot more on his mind. turns out, talking with swerve ends up helping rodimus feel normal.

go figure.

and somewhere between the start of their little unofficial gossip sessions and the end of another bottle of the good engex, something bubbles up that wasn’t there before. and it isn’t the carbonation in the cocktail.

feelings. affectionate ones. rodimus goes to recharge afterwards all giddy, like some newly forged spark still buzzing with boundless energy, and honestly? he feels like he might be going crazy. might need some actual fucking therapy, because ho-ly shit he is not about to entertain this. not at all.

because, let’s be real here, it’s swerve we’re talking about. swerve. s-w-e-r-v-e. the ‘shut your damn mouth’ guy? he used to annoy the living hell out of rodimus when he first came aboard, and nowadays rodimus finds himself excited at the thought of going to talk to him again.

war changes people…and, okay, the war is. over, technically. but still. maybe he hit his head a little too hard during a mission. yeah! yeah, that’s it. little concussion knocked a couple things loose in his processor. that’s why he’s suddenly wanting to share more than just his woes with the little ‘bot. that’s why he starts asking swerve about himself, why he starts listening back. chimes in every so often with “huh, i never knew that” or “you should show that to me some time” when swerve goes on his little tirades about foreign media.

why rodimus can’t help but wonder how that big mouth would feel against—

phew! yeah, definitely brain damage. because the alternative is that rodimus has started feeling terrible, awful, affectionate things for swerve. and that just won’t do. nope!

but ohhhhhh god, does that do nothing to stop his imagination. because really. how would swerve fare if he used that mouth for something else—

thankfully for rodimus, swerve is an avid fan of imagining things that he can never have. dreaming like the hopeless mech he is about a future that only someone as deeply delusional and para-social as himself could think up.

in his swerve-y fantasy, the talks start to mean something. rodimus goes from coworker to situational friend to…something. something that he can’t place his finger on. but it’s something that he doesn’t believe he can have. because while rodimus laughs at his jokes…he’s also laughing drunk. and swerve is desperate to let people close, sure. he likes people, he wants friends, he loves connection. but he’s not stupid. a bit air-headed? sure. but not dumb. not by a long shot. he has a mental list of things that he can try to have (friendship, a successful business, endless adventures with said friends that he plans to get more of, he swears), and things that are off-limits.

you can guess which box rodimus starts to fall into.

doesn’t mean he can’t…y’know. think about him. a lot. find excuses to comm him about this or that, subtly hint that he misses him…uh, he meant their talks! offer him free drinks just to see the way his face lights up. deny the suspicion of special treatment by reminding rodimus that he’s the captain! c’mon! of course he deserves a little leeway!

and ignore the fact that the reassurance is more for himself.

swerve is so good at believing that this something he imagines with rodimus is so, so far out of reach that he thinks it’s a joke when rodimus propositions him for the first time.

and, c’mon, he’s gotta be having auditory hallucinations. because there’s no fucking way in the world—in the galaxy, or in the whole universes that he’s visited, for that matter—that (co-) captain fucking rodimus prime-not-prime-status-still-pending-thanks-a-lot-matrix-of-lameship asked to borrow him for the evening. he nearly drops the glass in his hand.

because that’s the only way rodimus can bring himself to phrase it when he finally fucking gets through all five-billion stages of grief over this stupid crush. god. he was so pathetic. the worst part was that he didn’t even care anymore.

“yo! are you working tonight? can i borrow you for the rest of it? we can watch that movie you were talking about earlier this week, or whatever.”

or whatever. rodimus would’ve just tossed himself out the nearest airlock if he wasn’t glued to his recharged slab (not literally, this time) rocking back and forth like an asylum patient. he could hear the cries now—nurse! nurse! he’s out again!

successful attempts at being casual: zero. days since last urge to ram his head into the wall: also zero.

swerve’s response comes in quickly just before rodimus contemplates jumping ship and taking a page outta megatron’s book and starting a new life in another universe. and if rodimus wasn’t busy having a fucking panic attack, he’d’ve noticed the undercurrent of excitement in swerve’s voice when he strains out those six little words.

“sure thing! your place or mine?”

it ends up being at rodimus’. more space meant more wall for the projection of ‘Alien’.

not that they ended up paying much attention to the movie by the time the fledgling xenomorph got loose.

and liiiisten. listen. they didn’t plan on it going that way, alright? major props to ridley scott—the two of them were intensely invested in the film for a good long while. but, as per usual, swerve brought drinks to help ease the tension that threatened to smother them as soon as he entered rodimus’ quarters.

he would’ve pat himself on the back, too, if he wasn’t so consumed by the way the light of the projection reflected off of rodimus’ frame. and rodimus would’ve thanked him (and i mean, like, actually thank him, no reluctance left in him whatsoever) if he wasn’t so focused on the warmth of swerve next to him.

the elephant in the room was slaughtered and left for dead in the same way as the crew of the nostromo as soon as they locked eyes.

and rodimus ended up being right.

swerve’s mouth could do a lot more than just talk.

[fuctacles]

An offer you can't refuse

@stevieweek Day 1: Stobin + Dom!Stevie | T | 2127 | no cw | bar setting, modern au, Steddie, Buckingham, Stobin, Hellcheer, mentions of polyamory, everyone is horny, Eddie is a switch for hot ladies | Ao3 Stevie Week: Day 1 | Day 2 (art) | Day 3 (art) | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

"I hate you so much!" Robin slurs slightly, her hand slapping against the bar. Stevie presses her lips together, trying not to laugh at her distressed and intoxicated friend. 

"Why this time?" she inquires, calmly sipping her drink. 

"You're so pretty!"

"Why, thank you," she beams, but Robin huffs. 

"Stevie," she says, putting her drink away and grabbing Stevie's face. "You did this on purpose," she accuses, though her tone has no real anger. "For not dating you when you wanted to."

"Uh-huh."

"And now you got so cute. But I know what your farts smell like!"

Stevie snorts, but Robin presses her cheeks harder together until her lips pucker out. She stares at them, dark and shiny with the lipgloss she uses. 

"Robs..."

Robin only shakes her head with her hands, making a wild sound of distress and frustration. It forces Stevie to put away the drink and grab her. 

"Stop it, you're ruining my hair!"

Robin grumbles but lets her pry her hands away.

"You hate me because I'm hot?" Stevie asks, amused. Robin huffs.

"I didn't say you're hot," she protests.

"But you think that?"

"Evie." Her fingers flex like they're itching to abuse her hairdo and makeup again but Stevie keeps her wrists in a tight grip. "You know you're hot, you bitch. And I'm stuck here—a 6 with a 10 for a best friend. And if we weren't best friends, if I didn't know about your gross pickle breath, you'd be exactly the kind of girl I crush on, but—!"

"But you're stuck with a hot best friend?" Stevie asks, pouting sympathetically.

"Exactly!" Robin deflates angrily.

"I mean, we can make out if you want," she offers with a shrug.

Robin, in her drunken state, seems to be considering it, before she crunches her nose.

"No, thanks." But then, her frown deepens. "But if we had, like, a threesome? Or foursome?"

"Ooookay." Stevie pushes her away, so she sits fully on her barstool instead of perched on the edge to be right in her friend's face. "We can get back to it when you sober up. See if you still want to see me naked then," she snorts. There was a time when this kind of confession would lead them to the back of their current workplace, but Stevie shares the sentiment that their relationship had evolved in a completely different direction by now. Robin was too much like her sister. 

And she doesn't want to think about a threesome with her sister right now. Not with the alcohol pumping through her to the beat of the music.

It wasn't Robin's usual scene, but ever since Stevie's transition, she's been helping her to get out more. Thanks to that, her experience with women has been expanding. Stevie got something from these outings too, they helped her feel better in her skin, feel like a real woman, and be treated like one. Back when her features were stronger, and her makeup skills lacking, the club lights helped to hide them. Now they both felt comfortable in these settings and knew where to go to to feel safe and have fun.

But sometimes it was nice just to be in their tiny New York apartment, just the two of them, and a mildly amusing sitcom on their second-hand TV. Stevie presses the back of her fingers to her friend's shoulder.

"Do you want to go home?"

Robin shakes her head slowly.

"Not yet. Let's dance for a bit."

Dancing was also something that hadn't been a Robin thing until Stevie dragged her into it. She was still uncoordinated and awkward but after a few drinks, neither she nor other people seemed to care. So they finished their drinks and Stevie pulled her onto the dancefloor.

She usually dragged her friend out to the bar in hopes of helping her find a girlfriend or at least a hookup, but having fun with her friend was more than enough after a week of working in a quiet bookstore. So, with a pleasant buzz fueling their movements, they dance close together, hands laced because they are that comfortable with each other. And since it was a queer-friendly club, someone unfamiliar with them couldn't tell if they were friends or lovers. 

People would bump into them and make offers they have to decline. It's been assumed they were a pair of lesbians looking for a threesome more than once. But since Robin wasn't into dicks and Stevie was afraid of how people would react after finding out she had one, it's always been a 'no'. Even if she liked the idea of having sex with multiple partners. It was tricky being born a woman, and even more becoming one. 

So when someone gently touches her shoulder, she sobers up in case she needs to defend herself and her friend.

"Do you mind swapping up?"

She turns to see a long-haired man wearing a leather jacket, one of many frequenting a club like this. But instead of another man accompanying him, he has a petite blond girl by his side. 

Stevie hesitates and turns to Robin to find out what she thinks about it. She does seem wary as well, but interested in the blonde girl nevertheless. So, hesitantly, Stevie nods. 

"One dance," she decides, accepting the man's extended hand. 

But she's not about to let him dream up impossible scenarios in his head. Halfway through the song, a pleasant mix of energetic and sensual, she leans into him, so she can be heard over the music. 

"If you're hoping for a foursome, it's not happening. We're not a couple," she says before pulling away to watch his reaction. He seems surprised at first before shaking his head. He's the one to lean in now, and his breath hits her neck in a way that makes her body throb. 

"Don't worry, I'm just wingmanning for my friend tonight," he says and they both turn to where their friends are dancing next to them. They seem to be getting into it, hands grasping at hips or thrown over shoulders, bodies pressing tentatively together, shy yet hungry.

Stevie huffs out a chuckle. 

"Same here," she says, raising her palm. The guy seems surprised but he laughs and slaps her hand in a high five. 

"Wanna grab a drink, give them some space?" he offers, and Stevie nods. They give their friends a heads up, and they both seem to be equally reluctant about being left without their human shields, but with the assurance they'll be waiting at the bar, they let them go. 

Stevie's the one to lead the way, and she likes the feeling. To be leading a guy where she wants him. She's always been a people pleaser and still is, but there's something about being in charge that just tickles her brain the right way. Which has been something she's been missing since she's started being hit on as a woman.

"What do you want?" she asks once they reach the bar, before catching her mistake. But the man doesn't seem to either notice or mind.

"A simple screwdriver," he answers without missing a beat. "Just need to let loose tonight."

Stevie nods and flags down the bartender. She orders the screwdriver for him and a strawberry daiquiri for herself. After she's done with the order, she can feel him leaning over her. He's not touching her, his hand dropping to the bar counter, but his presence hovering over her makes her feel caged in. In a good way.

"I'll pay," he offers, flashing his card, and the bartender nods, reaching for the terminal. 

Stevie looks up at him, but craning her neck like that is uncomfortable, so she turns, which in turn makes her chest to chest with him.

"I have money," she protests with a pout. 

"I don't doubt that," he agrees with a nod. Behind her, he reaches out with his card to swipe it through the terminal. It brings them even closer together for a second, and she tries not to fucking smell him because she's not a creep. "But I haven't paid for a cute lady's drink in a while. Please let me have it," he asks, and he's not doing the I'm better than you routine so she nods.

"Fine. I'm paying for the next one, though."

"Of course." He smiles, tucking his wallet into an inside pocket of his jacket. She notices the dimples appearing on his cheeks. They're stupidly cute.

"There's an empty seat there, wanna sit while we wait?" he offers and she nods. No matter how often she wears heels, they never feel easier to deal with. 

He leads her to the stool he pointed out, but then before she can hop on it, he grabs her hips and puts her on the leather cushion himself.

"That was unnecessary," she murmurs, knowing full well she's on the heavier side. She tries her best not to blush while he leans against the bar next to her, in the already limited space. She has a ridiculous urge to spread her legs for him, to make more room, but she kills that thought immediately. 

"Sorry." He looks actually apologetic. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just don't have many opportunities to treat a woman properly. My friend Chrissy, you see," he points his chin to the dancefloor where Stevie notes with pride that Robin's hands are now confidently wrapped around Chrissy's hips. "She's strictly on that feminist lesbian agenda, and while I'm completely on board, of course, I still want to treat someone like a princess, you know? She used to let me..." he trails off, hesitating before he catches Stevie's curious eyes. He sighs. "Okay, so we do have this friends-with-benefits kind of thing? But we're not like, together-together," he starts rambling. "Only when we get really unlucky on dates. She's more women-leaning. And we're both dominant? So I swear we're not looking for a foursome—"

Stevie has heard enough. She pressed two fingers to his mouth.

"It's fine, shut up. We've been thinking about it anyway."

"About what?" The man blinks.

"A foursome." She shrugs, and he suddenly seems to be choking on air. Stevie observes it with amusement while the bartender slides their drinks to them. She grabs her daiquiri. "It's just a thought," she reminds him. "You might not be into me."

The guy blinks. He grabs his glass like a lifeline.

"Why is that?" he asks curiously, but his eyes wander down her body like he already has an idea.

"I have a dick," she confirms what he's probably thinking.

He closes his eyes, and she braces herself for the inevitable rejection. It's happened countless times before, she can handle it once again. Even if he's insanely hot. 

"Damn, I was hoping but I didn't know how to ask."

She blinks at him owlishly, her face falling.

"Huh?"

"Is that weird?" The guy retracts into himself and she can sense another incoming word vomit. Robin has similar tells. "I just think it's hot. I go both ways but I prefer women and I love a girl who's packing. But strap-ons kinda kill the mood for me? Of course, it's fine if you don't want to use it, I wouldn't make you do anything that makes you feel anything less than the beautiful girl that you are."

He holds her gaze for two seconds and then busies his mouth with the drink in his hand. 

Stevie leans on her elbow, eyeing the man curiously. It seems her flirting skills won't be needed tonight. The man was gone without her doing much of anything. 

"You sure you're a Dom?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "You don't sound like one."

He doesn't take offense, to Stevie's pleasant surprise. His cheeks get redder in the neon lights.

"I make exceptions," he says with a shrug. "For exceptionally beautiful women." He's laying it on thick but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't eating it up. 

"And that would be me?"

"Absolutely," he nods eagerly. She considers him for a long moment and he holds up the silence, albeit he goes twitchy under her gaze.

"What's your name?"

"Eddie," he answers immediately like he's been waiting for her to ask. "Yours?"

She moves her mouth thoughtfully, feeling his eyes on her lips before she makes up her mind.

"Miss Stephanie," she says with finality.

The shift is immediate. His pupils blow out and he straightens up, ready to listen to orders and serve. A feeling of power shivers through Stevie's body. 

"Finish your drink and we'll go somewhere quiet."

"Yes, Miss." He nods obediently, sipping on his orange drink.

"You won't be needing your friend's help tonight."

[yooglefics]

The casual type: 01 . The blind date

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader  Wordcount: 2,888 words Genre ( for the whole series ): AU. College!verse. Strangers to friends with benefits to ?????. Eventual smut. Hurt / comfort at times. And fuff for cute friends. Summary: Hobi and his girlfriend set you up with a friend of hers to help with whatever happened months back. However no one really expected things to end the way they did.

Warnings ( for this chapter ): Setting things up for plot purposes. Gridding? Mentions of a boner. Making out.  Author's note: So, I wanted to write some friends with benefits thing, plus a bunch of art kids… and this came out ┐( • ֊ • )┌ . I should note here I took the creative liberty to play around with their ages so everyone is in college at the same time, and if you haven't, you can check the presentation post and learn a little bit more about them. Now let's start, hope you like it! If you do you can reblog, like, comment, send an ask, follow and what not. Thank you for reading <3

The place is quieter than the last time you were here, you realize, is earlier in the day and the semester just started after all, meaning students are still moving in from their home cities. And although you want to be mad at him, you can't really blame Hoseok's choice of place for a date, instead, you're already thinking of ways to be able to escape the awkwardness of it all.

Of course, he and Mai don't have to worry about that. Is not their first date and considering they're both dance students it actually makes sense for them to be in a club on a friday night. Is their element, unlike yours, who hasn't left their room for the last couple of weeks if it's not to go art-supply shopping and will spend even weekends far away from a place like this.

But you couldn't say no. Not to Hobi. Not after he held you tight that night and didn't pray for an explanation.

He had come up with his own conclusions, though, and that's how you ended here. On a double date with Mai and her friend who you don't even know, so... Yay! Blind date added to the mix of reasons why you already want the night to end.

"You made it!" Mai greats when the both of you get closer to the bar, standing up to hug you first and then her boyfriend. "We ordered something while waiting."

Your friend nods at the explanation, "What do you want?" He asks in your direction and you settle for a fruity cocktail to not look too out of place with everyone else drinking. Mai insists on going with Hobi and he insists you stay, so, a bit awkwardly, you take the stool besides your date.

"Yoongi, by the way." The guy simply introduces himself before taking a sip of his drink.

"Y/n" short, overthinking if bowing is too formal until you decide is too long of a pause and it would only make it more awkward. In the end, a soft smile is your decision.

"They look cute together," you say looking at your friends, trying to break the silence that has fallen between.

"Listen," Yoongi begins, and your head turns to him, "I'm only here because she asked, so if you're expecting something like that, let's just leave."

"Like that?" Brows slightly closer, "a cute relationship?"

"A relationship in general. I don't do those."

"Oh..."

And before you can say anything else, Hobi is placing a glass in front of you, smiling reassuringly. "You'd be okay if I go dance now?"

A pause and then a nod is the answer. Not having any intentions of spoiling their night.

"Don't worry. Yoongi," Mai turns to him, a serious expression on her soft features, "you better take care of her, alright?"

He salutes, earning a smile from the couple and they walk to the dance floor hand in hand. You watch them make some silly moves at first and giggle, but it doesn't take long before they start to follow the beat and match it with their movements.

"I don't want a relationship either," you clarify, tone assertive, still looking at the couple with a smile.

He laughs, "I'm sorry, but that's hard to believe."

"Why?"

"Look at me and tell me you didn't just imagine yourself with someone on that dance floor."

You turn to him, brown eyes inspecting yours, "Well, yes. But that doesn't mean I want it to happen with someone I'm in a relationship with."

Again, he laughs. Clearly not believing you.

"What? People do casual things all the time," you defend, straightening your back and looking away.

"You do 'casual things'?" His eyebrows raise, "all the time?"

"Shut up, you don't know me."

"That's a no," no need to look at him to know there's a smirk playing on his lips.

"Who are you? Some kind of hook up police or something?" You want to take it back as soon as it leaves your mouth, cringing.

"Are you gonna show me your license?" but he is faster.

"Okay, that was more lame than what I said," you laugh. Maybe he is not as grumpy as he seems. And maybe, just maybe, you would be able to enjoy the night after all. 

If he doesn't want a relationship either, then you don't have to deal with rejecting him or being forced to accept a second date just because you're too kind to say no. That's good.

"Yoongi, hey!" A guy calls out and for a split second your date's expression changes to a surprise one before a polite smile takes place on his face. "Oh, hi. Sorry for interrupting, haven't seen him in months."

"Is alright," you play along even when not understanding.

"I guess he has been busy with yo—"

"Jay," Yoongi's tone is serious, like the one he used to say he doesn't do relationships. However, before he can continue or you are able to clarify that you two just meet, Jay is calling someone over.

"Look who I found, love. Yoongi!"

A redhead girl repeats Yoongi's early expression and you wonder two things about Jay. One: if he always has that effect on people. And two: if he is even more clueless than you in this whole situation, since his smile never falls.

"Hi," the redhead says and Yoongi greets back just as plain.

Are you really imagining the awkwardness? Perhaps you were wrong and in the end you should put one of your plans to avoid it into place?

A few seconds of thinking go by, no one says anything and you could swear the tension is filling the air around your new  group.

"Oh, that's the song!" Fake excitement in your voice tricks everyone into looking at you. "I promise, remember? If it comes on, we'll dance."

Yoongi looks confused for a second, but it doesn't take him long to finally understand, "right, the song. Sorry guys, been waiting all night."

Jay dismisses him smiling with a pat on the back, saying something about not breaking promises and Yoongi takes your hand.

Looking around, you try to find your friends, hoping to copy Mai's moves and keep up with the plan even when you're a self proclaimed not dancer. But they aren't in sight and even if you can't really prove it since your back is facing them, you feel like Jay's and the girl's eyes are on you.

Ugh. Why did you use this plan?

Why was this something you even thought about?

When Yoongi stops and positions himself in front of you, you get closer, sliding an arm on top of his shoulders pretending you're positioning yourself to dance, copying the random couple beside you.

"I don't know what I'm doing," you confess in a whisper.

"What do you mean?” He looks for your eyes, hair strain coming out of place when his head lowers a little, "you want to go back and sit down?"

"No, then they would know I lied," you're still trying to figure out why in the first place and don't need the embarrassment too, "but I don't know how to dance."

He chuckles, "here, I'll help." And holds your hips softly, moving them to the beat of the song, matching your movements with his own. "Relax. Don't think too much about it."

"If I don't, how do I know how to move?" It doesn't make sense and is a bit frustrating, honestly.

"Is not a dance competition, or the grant ball, princess. Just do what feels right."

He catches you looking at your feet and brings you closer, eliminating the gap between your bodies completely. "Don't do that," one of his hands travels to the small of your back, keeping you in place.

"Sorry," you say against his neck. Not intentionally, but because of your height difference, there's no other option. In an effort to not be so dependent on him, both your arms move around his neck and you try to move your hips in a way that in the end doesn't match his movements completely, causing you to bum into his front. He makes a sound that you assume is a complaint at your skills and another apology rolls through your lips.

"Turn around," Yoongi commands, applying pressure to one side of your hip.

You comply, confused even when you feel his hands on your waist. "Well, I'm going to assume you been fucked before, miss casual all the time," with his chest against your back, you can feel his laugh. "Open your legs a little," one of his feets kicks gently between yours, fixing your stand. "You want to lead or should I?"

"...You." Is the safest, you decide. Your turn to assume he surpasses your experience at that too.

“Some describe dancing like a good fuck," he explains, hands softly making their way a bit lower to your hips, "because you have to learn your partner. Find a rhythm together." His movements start slow, moving your body with his from side to side, with small circles of the hips.

Your hands fall on top of his, not knowing what else to do with them. They're soft, which for some reason is unexpected.

"I have dancer friends and they never described it like that..."

"Not to you, probably," he laughs and when you stop the movements to throw an angry look his way — because you're pretty sure that's some kind of insult,— he chuckles, before continuing the swaying of your hips. "Calm down, princess. I meant, they probably just weren't teaching you this kind of dance."

And that makes sense. You can't imagine dancing with your friends like this. You can barely believe you're doing it with a stranger.

Your shyness must have shown, because his next question is why did you even choose this song.

"I was trying to help and get you away from whatever that was," you lift your head, eyes away from your feet and the color lights projecting on the floor, and sure enough, behind red bangs, the girl is looking in your direction.

Your hips halt.

Yoongi catches up a bit too late, bumping his pelvis into you.

"What ar—"

"She is looking." Cutting him off, you want to hide as if you were the one caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. So, you try to turn around on his arms but his hold is firm.

A new song starts, the rhythm not much different.

"Help me with another song?"

You try again, this time using your hands on top of his to soften the grip. He gives in. And after a look at his face, you nod.

You can decide if it's sadness or anger that you see, not knowing him well enough to tell — or at all, to be honest — but either way, there's a part of you that can relate. One for each emotion.

Throwing your hair back, letting all black strands fall over your back, your arms go back over his shoulders, this time your chest flush against him a little more than last.

Yoongi says thanks and you kiss his cheek as his hands hold you again. His movements are more determined and even his fingers form dents over the fabric of your dress.

Assuming his demeanor changed only for the specific viewer doesn't sound too crazy, and you want to confirm the theory by looking at his face, see if he is looking behind you at her. Your eyes travel against the direction the few sweat drops over his skin go, and when they reach Yoongi's, he is looking back at you.

Your body stops.

"Fuck" he whispers when the front of his pelvis bumps yours. "You really need to stop doing that."

"Sorry. Told you I can't dance."

He chuckles.

Your bottom lip forms a small pout. "Don't be mean. I'm trying to help you, remember?" And you initiate the movements again, starting to get the hang of it. Kind of.

"You're not much help right now if you keep making me dry hump into you," this time he is the one stopping, making it so you bump into his front and you can feel the outline of his growing erection.

"Yoo—"

"Exactly," he says so matter of fact, "you're the mean one."

Lowering your head, you try to not think too much about it. It doesn't make you want to run away or kick him, but you also don't want to make him feel like kicking you away. You keep repeating to yourself that is normal with this type of dance, that there's probably more than one hard on at the club right now and how you're probably not the only one who is getting we—

Damn it. Just stop thinking about it.

Yoongi stops your body from moving, and when you realize he has been calling your name, you're even more embarrassed by your thoughts.

"I'm sorry. That was too much, I shouldn't have. We can go sit now." His eyes are looking straight at you, letting you know he's being sincere.

"I need some air."

Without even bothering to wait for a confirmation that he is following or not, you make your way to the side door of the club. The autumn breeze hits your skin as soon as you step into the alley, instantly calming your hormones down.

Hands cover your face in shame after reclining on the wall. Can you stop acting like it was the first time you felt a penies? Because even if it hasn't happened in a while, it doesn't mean the score goes back to zero.

"Should I bring Hoseok?" Yoongi asks a few steps in front of you and you jump a little, shaking your head after.

"I'm good. You can go back in."

"I'm not leaving you alone here. Do you want him or Mai to kill me?"

A small chuckle leaves your throat and one from him follows it.

"And you think he wouldn't kill you for—" stop. You can't think about it.

"For dancing like that with you? Probably. But he also set this date up, so..." Out of the corner of your eye you can see him shrug, "can't complain unless you hate me now."

"I don't hate you."

"Is okay if you do."

"It… it just surprised me."

"In a bad or good way?"

"A good one." You answer directly in a strain of honesty.

"So you're not really the casual type, uh?" He teases after a couple seconds of silence.

"Maybe I just don't like doing casual in the middle of the club," you defend.

"I don't know, you were the one that kept humping into me."

Your mouth opens and closes, finally looking at him and his stupid lips pull up in a smirk. You want to erase it so bad.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

And you do.

Skipping forward, right hand flying to the back of his neck to pull him in and you're able to touch his lips with yours.

He is quick to react. Kissing you back, his hands on either side of your waist pulling your body into his. But you're trying to prove a point, to defend yourself. So, you pull away slightly, making sure your lips are just about to touch.

He pulls in.

Allowing just a peck, you move.

You kind of regret not using your cherry lip gloss, because you know for sure that knowing you're so close for him to smell it but not taste it, would be the biggest tease.

You let him lean in again, not moving this time and he sighs. You smile against his lips just before his tongue asks for permission to enter your mouth. Again, you regret your simple choice of a simple red lip tint, but remind yourself that this date wasn't supposed to go like this. That Yoongi doesn't seem like the guy he was supposed to be, not what he was advertised by your friends.

Fighting back control, your left arm joins the other around his neck, moving your lips expertly and feeling his chest rise and fall quickly against yours. Is pretty much the position you were in on the dance floor minus the grinding.

Casual in the middle of the club is not your thing. Casual in general is actually not something you have experience with. But kissing? You've mastered it thanks to your past relationships and the avoidance of jumping into someone's bed right from the start.

A moan vibrates through your lips against Yoongi's, and even if it's part of the routine, you must admit is pretty real. A soft groan is his answer and the cue for your heels to touch the floor again. His hold tightens in reaction, making your dress rise up and covering a couple inches less of your thighs. Suddenly you're aware of the wind again as a breeze runs up your legs, towards the center of your panties.

Your breath caughts on your throat and Yoongi swallows any sounds before pulling away.

"Fuck," he breaths heavily, "we've to stop."

"Why? Are you not really the casual type?" You tease, stealing his line.

The left corner of his mouth lifts, before falling again in a millisecond. "Not with you."

Should I’ve added “cliffhanger” to the warnings? haha i swear is gonna be okayyyy ♡ Tag list: @n33mesis , @mggv97 , @wobblewobble822 , @bbou-doir , @m00njinnie , @nariee02 , @sexytholland . hope you guys like this one <3

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[badkitty3000]

La classe d'arte: The Art Class

When Five accidentally stumbles into an art class with an attractive nude model, things take a turn from awkward embarrassment to hot and steamy when she asks him out on a date. Five may be inexperienced at times, but he knows how to deliver when it counts, and this is no exception. Unlocking a certain linguistic kink gives Five the ego boost he needs to rock her world like the man in charge he always is

This story is a combination of two requests that I received. One asking for a story where Five finds a nude model extremely attractive, and another where Five speaks Italian. This is written from Five's point of view.

Warnings: Masturbation, explicit sex

(My apologies to any Italian readers out there! I tried my best, but if something is incorrect, please let me know and I will fix it!)

The Art Class

I squint down at the torn piece of paper Klaus had shoved in my coat pocket earlier in the day. When I look up at the gray, brick building in front of me, I frown before turning back to the paper.

“15…” I mutter out loud to myself. “What the fuck, Klaus…there is no building 15…”

I peer up at my surroundings again. I’m on the City Community Center campus where there are about six identical looking, nondescript buildings, but none with the number 15 on them. 

“Maybe he means room 15?” I wonder aloud again. I sigh and crumple the piece of paper into a ball and throw it into the nearest trash bin. “Fucking Klaus. I don’t know why I thought he could perform a simple task of getting an address correct.”

Glancing at my watch and seeing that the class I am supposed to be attending with my niece starts in three minutes, I decide to take a chance and I enter the building named “Fine Arts And Music” because that seems to make the most sense. Claire had asked Klaus and I to come to her painting class for some unknown reason, and since I’m a sucker for anything my nieces or nephew ask of me, I accepted the invitation without question. I figured I could go and paint a fucking butterfly or some shit and still make it to the bar where I told Derek I’d meet him for drinks.

Inside, it looks just the same as any other dull community center building, with a long hallway lined with closed classroom doors. I start my way down, reading the signs taped or stenciled on the frosted glass windows.

“Jazz Appreciation…no fucking thanks…Modern Dance…kill me…Shakespearean Theater…better, but not what I’m looking for…” I see a class across the hall with the words “Painting” scrawled across a lined piece of notebook paper and taped to the door. The top part of the paper has curled down, but I’m in a hurry so I figure this has to be it since I see no other classes pertaining to art and I enter the room, closing the door behind me.

Because I am already late, I don’t really take in my surroundings in too much detail, I just hastily look around the room for Claire or Klaus. Not seeing either of them, I turn to head out again. At that moment, however, a very stern looking, very old, gray-haired woman with a tight bun on top of her head and a pinched mouth cuts me off, locking the door before I can get my hand on the knob.

“No exiting the classroom once you are inside,” she tells me with a sour expression.

“Yeah, I’m not really in this class, I was looking for–”

“It is a very resolute rule that we have and it is in place for the safety and privacy of our models and students.”

I clear my throat, trying to tamp down my annoyance. “That’s great, but as I just said, I am not actually supposed to be in this class, I am trying to find—”

“And as I said, young man, there are rules for a reason. Once you are in the classroom, you may not leave until the class is over. So, why don’t you take a seat and we can start since you have already wasted one full minute of my time, as well as the class’s, with your rudeness.”

With my mouth open to bark out a retort, I happen to look out of the corner of my eye to see the entire classroom of people glaring at me. When I turn my attention back to the angry woman, she is blocking the door with her bony body as she points a skeletal finger in the direction of an empty seat behind me.

“Sit,” she orders.

For what has to be the millionth time since my father’s bullshit reset of the universe, I grit my teeth together and flex my fists at my side, trying my damndest to regain even a flicker of my past powers. But with no handy blinking ability, it appears I am stuck. I briefly consider punching Professor McGonnegal here in her wrinkled old face, but decide against it. If I get thrown in jail for assaulting a senior citizen, I won’t be able to blink out of there, either. At least here, I can be out in half an hour

“Fine,” I hiss before turning and walking to the empty seat I was assigned to. I notice the chairs and desks in front of them are set up in a large circle with a small platform in the middle. I take my overcoat off and hang it on the back of the chair before rolling up my sleeves to my elbows and taking a seat. On the desk in front of me, just the same as everyone else’s, is a large spiral sketchbook and a small assortment of drawing pencils. I don’t bother opening the book or picking up a pencil. I plan on getting in a quick nap and maybe plot out Klaus’s demise in my head.

With my arms folded across my chest and one leg crossed over the other, I lean back in my chair while The Crypt Keeper begins her lesson.

“Welcome to Advanced Figurative Painting. As I am sure most of you know, since you have taken our beginning and intermediate classes before, this class is a full sixty minutes and we will be working the entire time.”

“An hour?” I blurt out incredulously, not even registering what the name of the class is called.

The woman narrows her eyes in my direction and a few of the others turn their heads, too, but everyone goes back to ignoring me and she continues on.

“During our full hour, we will practice drawing the human form using pencils and charcoals. Once the basic form is finished, we will tackle the painting portion next week. If you have any questions or need assistance, please raise your hand and I will come to you.”

“Fucking fantastic,” I murmur sarcastically right before Dragon Lady steps to the back of the room. A side door, different from the main one I entered through, opens.

In walks quite possibly the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. She is probably around my same physical age of twenty one, with thick dark hair that is braided and draped over her shoulder, and deep brown eyes framed in long black lashes. She is wearing a silk wrap that covers her entire body and she is not wearing any makeup that I can tell. Her natural beauty is so apparent, though, that I can’t imagine her looking any better than she already does. I sit up a little taller in my chair as she walks into the circle of desks and stands on the platform. I notice she is barefoot and she does not address the class at all. 

Before I can even understand what is happening, she unties her wrap and removes it entirely, setting it neatly on a chair behind her. She is completely nude underneath and I suck in an audible gasp that is too late to take back before I get a few side-eyes in my direction. No one else seems to be reacting to this amazingly hot and naked woman standing in our midst, and she does not appear to be fazed in the slightest.

I watch in awe as everyone around me opens their sketchbooks without a word and starts drawing. I don’t do either of those things because I can’t stop staring with my mouth hanging open like a goddamn fish at this gorgeous sight before me.

I’m not going to lie. I’m not what you would call “experienced” in the ways of women, but I have perused my fair share of dirty magazines and other forms of naked lady entertainment, so I am no stranger to the feminine body. I have to say, though, this one is in the top ten. She is on the taller side and statuesque, with large round breasts that are only slightly paler than the rest of her body. Her olive skin looks silky smooth as my eyes slowly make their way down, taking in the dark pink areolas and pert nipples before traveling over her soft stomach to the prominent curves of her hips. I am drawn further south to the faint, narrow strip of downy hair that is situated between her supple thighs. When her eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, my face immediately starts burning.

As I am trying to comprehend what the hell is going on and how I got myself into this predicament in the first place, I nearly jump out of my skin when the walking corpse that is the art teacher raps a sharp fingernail on my closed sketchbook.

“All students must be actively drawing. This is not a peep show, young man!”

My face burns even hotter as a few other “artists” turn my way, as well as the beautiful woman I can’t stop staring at. Because she is the model, she is holding a pose with her head turned just slightly away from me, but I see her eyes flit in my direction and I’m not sure but I think I see the tiniest smile form at the corner of her luscious looking mouth.

“Jesus, alright!” I exclaim loudly as I angrily grab a pencil and flip open the book. “Get off my back, lady!”

I may have imagined the small smile on the model, but I definitely didn’t imagine the quiet giggle I heard from her, aimed in my direction. The old bag standing next to me purses her wrinkly lips together but she walks away without another word. I am left holding a charcoal pencil loosely in my left hand, hovering it over the sketchbook as I continue blinking up at the flawless, nude body in front of me.

The more I am transfixed by this beauty, the more my body is starting to react. Not only is my face flushed and I can’t stop swallowing the saliva pooling in my mouth, I begin to feel the unfortunate, but all too familiar, beginnings of a boner coming on.

No. Please, no. No no no no no no no….fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

Having a body that is much younger than your mind has its perks, but this is not one of them. However, I can hardly blame overactive hormones on this. If I were back in my fourteen or fifteen year-old body, then sure; that’s a given. But twenty one? That’s just pathetic. Yeah, I may be young and my dick is quick to react, but this is a bit overboard. It’s just more evidence of the sad fact that I am under-experienced, over-sexed, and pitifully touch-starved.

Like a fucking dweeb, I hurriedly uncross my legs and scoot my chair in closer to the desk, trying to play it off like I am suddenly extremely interested in the seriousness of this class. I turn my focus to the open sketchbook in front of me, scrunching my brow in apparent concentration. I try desperately to tune out the woman standing in front of me, but my dick seems to have other ideas. I can smell the subtle waft of her perfume as I hear her shuffle into a new position on the platform.

When I glance up again, she has turned so that her amazingly, ridiculously perfect ass is now directly in my line of sight. I want to whine out loud like some sort of wounded, dying animal because that’s what I feel like right now.

Why? Have I not suffered enough in my life? Is the universe really this cruel?

If I were to stand up, I would look like the biggest fucking creep in the world. Why don’t I just get a trenchcoat and hang out at the bus stop to ogle every woman that walks by? I clench my eyes shut for just a moment to try, unsuccessfully, to calm the offending monster in my tailored suit pants. Forced to face the fact that I am stuck with this problem, at least for the foreseeable future, I pass a hand over my face and check to see that no one is looking at me. With the coast clear, I reach back to grab my coat off the back of the chair and subtly as possible, drape it over my lap.

For the next fifty five minutes I am in hell. I’ve never been so uncomfortable in my life, and that’s saying a lot. I try not to look, but she’s right fucking there, and it’s a constant torture that I can’t block out. I would give anything to have my powers back right now so I could blink out of here and go jerk off somewhere in peace. But no…I’m stuck here with my dick so hard I’m afraid if I move at all the friction from my tight pants is going to set me off and then I’ll be in even bigger trouble. Because as much as I don’t need anyone here noticing the giant boner I’m sporting, I really don’t need to be the guy that comes in his pants.

I pretend I’m drawing her, hunched over my sketchbook like I’m really into this art stuff, mainly so I don’t attract anymore attention to the angry teacher. While I do my best to make it look like I’m working, I can’t resist frequent glances at the model. She has turned multiple times so that the entire class can see every angle, and right now she is facing me straight on. I try to focus on her face and not her tits or the curves of her thighs. If I look directly at her face maybe it will stop me from imagining my hands gripping her hips and burying my face in between her legs. It doesn’t and I shift very carefully in my seat.

She is watching me, I’m almost positive. Everytime I look up, my eyes meet her clear hazel ones, and I’m starting to think it’s not an accident on her part. I can’t hold her gaze for long before I’m looking back down in apparent concern over my drawing of her. But I can still feel her eyes on me and I can’t decide if I like it or not.

Finally, the class starts coming to a close. The walking corpse starts telling everyone to put their drawing materials down and the model begins to slip her robe on again. I am dying to get out of here, but I still have the unfortunate issue of a full-mast erection going on, so I continue to sit and think about how fucked my life is. People start to file out and I see the model talk briefly to the teacher. While she is talking, though, she steals another glance at me. And there is definitely a smile this time. I’m not sure what to do with that, but I like it. I smile back, pretending I am not at all a disgusting, perverted old man with a giant woody in his pants just from looking at a naked lady.

I decide to make a break for it. I leave my sketchbook with my crude drawing on my desk, put my overcoat on, close it as tightly as I can around myself with my hands in the pockets, and bolt for the door. I look at my watch on the way out of the building. I’m supposed to meet Derek in five minutes, but he’s going to have to wait because I can’t exactly show up there in the state I’m in and I have given up hope that this is going to resolve itself naturally.

Walking at a very brisk pace with my coat still pulled closed over my junk, I head towards my apartment two blocks away. On the way there I can’t stop thinking about that woman. I don’t even know why I am so obsessed with her, but I am. I’ve been to strip clubs and I’ve watched my fair share of porn, so it’s not like she’s the first naked female body I’ve ever seen. But something about the way she held herself so confidently in a room full of strangers while completely nude has captivated me. 

When I arrive at home, I am barely through the door before I’m throwing my coat onto the floor and clawing at my fly to get it open. I have never been so hard in my life and all I can think about is getting my hand on my dick. I head straight for my miniscule bathroom, shove my pants down, and brace myself with one hand on the wall behind the toilet. It’s quite possibly the most disgusting place I could be doing this, but I don’t care. Time is of the essence and I need the clean up to be quick.

I whip my cock out of my briefs and start going at it hard. My eyes are tightly closed as I picture everything I am dying to do to that woman. I want to touch every part of her; run my tongue over her tits and stomach, and lick up into her pussy. I want to bend her over and shove my dick deep inside of her and fuck her until she is seeing stars. I want to hear her calling out my name when I make her come and I want to feel her warm body tremble in my arms. 

These thoughts are getting more and more graphic as I continue to jerk off as fast as I can, dragging my hand over my dick as I breathe hard and make involuntary grunting noises with the effort. In my mind I’ve got her pinned beneath me, legs spread wide as I pound relentlessly into her and bury my face in her neck while she moans loudly.

I feel myself start to climax and I grit my teeth together, exploding with thick ropes of cum that I forget to try and aim into the open toilet, so some of it ends up on my hand, and some ends up on the wall. As I slow my pace and try to catch my breath, I smile with the relief of finally getting that out of my system. Of course I still feel like a massive pervert and I know I must look like a total asshole with my pants around my ankles and my cum dripping down the bathroom wall. 

After I shove my shrinking dick back into my underwear and pull my pants up again, I grab a washcloth to clean up the offending mess I’ve made. When I’m at the sink washing my hands, it’s nearly impossible to look at myself in the mirror, I’m so ashamed. But I take a quick glance, fix my hair as best I can, and turn to leave.

When I walk into the bar, it’s dim but not crowded since it’s a Thursday. I spot Derek sitting on a stool at the bar with a half-finished drink in his hand. I already know what it is because he only orders the same drink every single time, and that’s a vodka and soda with a twist of lime. But not too much of a twist, or else he’ll send it back. He’s kind of a high maintenance dick like that.

“Good evening, Agent Five, glad you could make it,” he says with that irritating smirk on his face.

“Fuck off,” I tell him as I sit on the stool next to him. “And knock it off with the Agent shit, alright? It stopped being funny about two months ago.”

“Oh… little sensitive are we?”

“No, I’m not sensitive. I’m just not an agent anymore, so don’t call me one.”

Derek nods before taking a sip of his drink. “You know, you might consider apologizing. You never know; maybe you can get your position back.”

I snort out a laugh, gesturing to the bartender so I can order my own drink. “I’m not sure an apology is going to do the trick. They don’t exactly make a greeting card for punching your superior in the face after calling him a brainless fuck stick. And I’m not allowed on CIA property anymore, remember?” The bartender approaches us. “Can I get a single malt, neat? Thanks.”

“I agree that’s a tough one, but you know you were the best agent they had. They still talk about you.”

I shake my head. “Even if they did take me back, I wouldn’t even want the job anymore. I’m not sure why I even took it in the first place; I hated every minute of it. I’ve been answering to people my whole life…I just can’t do it anymore.”

“Hence the punch to the boss’s face.”

My drink comes and I hold it up in a toasting gesture. “Correct.” I take a sip of the scotch. It burns and tastes delicious on the way down.

Derek laughs and shakes his head at me. It’s true I lost my temper and clocked my asshole boss after about six months of working at the CIA. I had trained and applied for the position out of sheer boredom and desperation for some sort of stimulation after being stranded in this timeline with no powers. That, and I wanted the personal challenge of becoming the youngest agent (they thought) that had ever been hired. I should have known, though, that I could never work there. The minute I had to take orders from some dickbag that was technically ten years younger than me, I was done. I lasted a few more months, but I just couldn’t do it. The minute I was reminded to call him “sir”, I snapped. 

I did meet Derek while I was there, though. He’s a sarcastic, arrogant, irritating little shit and I liked him immediately. We get along pretty well and it’s nice to have a friend I can talk candidly with. I have my family, but I don’t like to talk too much about my personal life with them, and they all have their own issues going on anyway. 

“So, why were you late, out of curiosity? It’s not like you to not be punctual.”

I sigh heavily and take another drink. “I had something I needed to take care of.”

Derek raises his eyebrows in curiosity. “Like a dead body?”

“I wish. That would have been simpler. No, something a little more intimate.”

“I’m not following you.”

I have no idea why I feel the need to tell him about the public boner incident, but I do. “You ever get a raging hard-on in public?”

Derek almost chokes on his lime slice. “What? You mean like now or when I was thirteen?”

“Now.”

“Uh…no, can’t say that I have. Well, I guess there was that one time at that club when some guy was dry humping me from behind. But that didn’t last long because we hooked up in the bathroom five minutes later.”

Oh, and Derek is a giant slut. “Well, unfortunately for me, I didn’t get that luxury today. I accidentally stumbled into a nude art class earlier and holy shit, you should have seen this woman model. It was immediate boner city and I had to sit there for an entire hour with my dick trying to rip through my pants.”

He laughs. “How the hell do you accidentally wind up in a nude art class?”

“It’s a long story that involves me wanting to murder Klaus.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, the reason I’m late is because once I got out of there…”

“You had to race home to take care of Captain Woody?”

I nod with my glass halfway to my mouth. “Precisely.”

“I hope you washed your hands.”

I cock one eyebrow at him. “I did, but there might be a few splatters on my pants if you’re that hard up for another guy’s jizz.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not my type.”

“I have a dick…I’m your type,” I retort dryly.

“So, are you going back to the class to find this woman?” he asks, ignoring my previous comment.

“No way. She probably saw me being a fucking weirdo and thinks I’m a pervert. I can’t show my face back there, again.”

“Well, you should be trying to get some action that isn’t in the form of your hand, you know. You deserve to have a relationship with someone. And you’re much too hot to be single.”

“I thought I wasn’t your type.”

“Fuck off, I’m serious. You need to get out there and find someone. Even if it’s just someone willing to play with your dick for an hour or so.”

I snort out a laugh. “I am out there! It’s just…” I take a drink of my scotch. “It’s complicated.”

“Look, Five, as much as I know you are an absolute bastard, I also know you are a romantic at heart. And you deserve to find someone special. Someone that can stand to put up with your stubborn ass and see you for who you really are.”

“Shit, Derek, if you keep talking like that I’m going to start catching feelings for you.” He rolls his eyes at me. “No, I appreciate what you’re saying, thank you. And maybe one day I’ll meet someone, but I don’t know. I might be destined to walk the world alone.”

“You’re not alone, Five.”

“Are you hitting on me, Agent? Because if so…I’m flattered but I’m not quite that desperate yet.”

“God, you are a massive, massive asshole, you know that?”

I nod. “Yeah, I know.” I gesture to the bartender again. “Another round for my friend, here. On me.”

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

( Please enjoy Five's sketch (courtesy of @kaybreezy3000)

It’s a week later and I find the actual location of Claire’s art class. It turns out there is a “Youth Arts” building directly next to the one I so unfortunately entered before. Which would have been a nice detail to have, Klaus, so thanks for that. I sit next to my niece and paint what I think is a pretty good landscape piece on my canvas and listen as she chats about school and her life. I love these little moments with her, because it reminds me of all the things I missed out on over the years, but have a chance to get back now. She also doesn’t judge me like her mother and my other siblings do, which is a nice break from the usual family get-togethers. I always feel like I’m under a big fucking spotlight with them. Like they are just eyeing me up, waiting for the right opportunity to ask “Are you ok?” “Do you need anything?” “So…are you seeing anyone?”

But Claire is bright and smart, and actually pretty funny. She doesn’t see me for who I really am, which is an old man who has no idea how to navigate life. She only sees me as her mildly abrasive uncle that will listen quietly as she talks, laughs at her jokes, and buys her overly-expensive gifts on her birthday. She and Klaus are definitely closer given the circumstances, but we have our own thing, too. She’s a good kid and it’s about damn time someone in this family turned out half-way decent.

On the way out of the classroom, I am busy looking at Claire’s canvas that she is holding up for me while walking, and I don’t see the woman I almost run over in the process. In the collision, I drop my own canvas, and I bend over to pick it up. When I right myself again, I find I am staring into a beautiful pair of hazel eyes.

It’s her. The nude model from the art class and I want to die. I’m very sure my face is bright red as she looks at me and smiles.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, as though she were the dumbass that wasn’t looking where they were going and not the other way around. Then she pauses and tilts her head to the side. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

She is just as beautiful as when I saw her before, even with her clothes on. She is wearing a fitted, green sweater and tight jeans. Her hair that was braided before is now loose and wavy, hanging down her back in a satiny sheet. It looks like she has applied a small amount of eye makeup and some light lipstick. She is absolutely gorgeous and my mouth is suddenly as dry as the desert.

I shake my head. “I don’t think so,” I croak out.

She continues trying to place where she knows me from. “No, I swear I’ve seen you before.” Yet again, I am cursing my lack of ability to disappear into thin air when she gasps with recognition. “I know! You were at the figurative painting class the other day!”

I try to lick my parched lips but my tongue is just as dry. “Uh…oh…yeah, I guess I was.”

She laughs. “I know, it’s awkward, right?” She seems like she wants to elaborate on the fact that I have seen her completely naked, but she notices Claire standing next to me and is more vague. “But don’t worry, I’m not bothered by it.”

I nod slowly like a fucking idiot because I’ve suddenly forgotten how to form words. “Ok.”

“Yeah,” she says, looking at me thoughtfully. “You were the one getting in trouble, right?”

More nodding. “Yeah.” I clear my throat in an attempt to converse with her. “I don’t think that lady likes me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be too worried about it. She doesn’t like anyone, the old bag.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise and then I laugh. “Good to know it’s not just me, then.”

The woman smiles again, this time just a little smirk. “I certainly hope you enjoyed the class, despite all of that. Especially the subject matter?”

I almost drop my canvas on the floor again. Is this woman really flirting with me? I try to pull myself together so that I might come across as marginally cool. “I did. Immensely,” I tell her with my own half-smile as I hold out my hand. “Five Hargreeves. Nice to meet you.”

She clasps my hand in hers and of course it’s soft and warm, just like I imagined when I was violently beating off to her the other day. “Nice to meet you, Five. I’m Isabella.”

Fuck, even her name is sexy.

As I am contemplating what panty-dropping line I’m going to wow her with next, Claire shuffles on her feet next to me and I suddenly remember she is there, too.

“Oh, sorry. Isabella, this is Claire, my niece.”

She shakes Claire’s hand as well. Then she tilts her head to the side in thought. “Hargreeves…”

“No relation!” Claire and I both blurt out at the same time in a knee-jerk response to anything related to Reginald.

“Oh, ok…” Isabella responds, the wrinkles between her eyes forming with adorable confusion.

We stand there for another few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. I can’t stop picturing what I know she looks like naked and then in turn, picturing all of the things I wish I were doing to her at that very moment. I have to get out of there before this takes a very bad turn.

“It was nice meeting you,” I say, raking a hand through my hair. “I have to take her home, now.”

Claire and I turn to leave, but then I hear her speak up. “Wait, Five?”

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to keep hearing my name from someone else this much before, and I turn around to face her.

“Would you like to have drinks sometime?”

I think I might just fall on the floor in a boneless heap, but I try very hard not to look like a total fool. I give her a crooked smile and nod. “I’d like that, yes.”

“Great!” She reaches into her purse that is flung over her shoulder and rummages around until she finds a pen and paper. She scribbles something on it and hands it over. “Here’s my number. Call me, ok?” Then she smiles at Claire and I again before turning around and walking down the hall.

When I don’t stop staring for a more-than-normal amount of time, Claire nudges me in the arm. “Uncle Five? Are we going?”

“What?”I say, startled out of my daydream. “Oh, yeah, sure.” I look down at the piece of paper I had been handed. It’s her phone number and she has written “Isabella” with a little heart next to it. The giant grin on my face is ridiculous.

Claire giggles. “I think she likes you.”

“Do you?” I ask, genuinely curious. I figure kids these days have a better pulse on social cues than I ever had or ever will.

My niece rolls her eyes. “Obviously. She was totally flirting with you.”

“Was she?” I ask again, still not quite believing all of this to be true.

She breathes out a very dramatic huff and there’s another big eye roll. “Wow, Uncle Five, you are not good at this. Yesss…she’s totally into you.”

“Oh,” I state simply, glancing at the phone number again. “Nice.”

Claire laughs again and I follow her out, feeling like I’m floating on air right now, but also trying not to freak out because I have no fucking clue what I am doing.

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

After one slightly awkward but pleasant phone conversation, Isabella (or Bella as she told me to call her) and I have a date set for drinks and dinner. When the call is over, I immediately dial up Derek in a panic.

“WHAT DID I JUST DO?!” I yell into the phone as soon as he picks up.

When I calm down enough to explain what I’m talking about, he walks me through the general steps of dating a living, breathing woman. Most of them I think I can handle. Be cordial, listen, don’t be a creep, etc.  I’m about to hang up when he adds one more piece of advice.

“Better jerk it beforehand.”

“Excuse me?”

“In case things go well. You don’t want to be all pent up and then blow your load the second she touches your dick.”

“I highly doubt it’s going to go that far on the first date.”

I can practically hear the shrug and shit-eating grin over the phone. “It’s your funeral. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

While I’m showering before my date, I am nervous but I keep telling myself that it’s not a big deal. It’s probably not going to lead to anything, but it will at least be good practice should anything more serious present itself in the future. Then I start thinking about if things do go well, and…shit, here I am again with the same problem quite literally on my hands. I take Derek’s advice and rub one out while I’m in there, hoping that will be enough to stave off any unforeseen problems that may pop up later.

I shave and add a little cologne before putting on my best three-piece suit. It’s a little more tailored than the ones I used to wear during my stint at the CIA. A good tailor is essential to the fit and mine does not miss. According to Klaus, I am “a snack” whenever I wear this particular one, and I’ve heard that’s a good thing. I finish knotting my silk tie in the mirror and slip on my polished dress shoes before shrugging on my suit coat. Maybe it’s a bit overboard, but I feel comfortable when I’m wearing a suit. I can think clearer. I am more confident. And I need all the confidence I can get.

When I arrive at the restaurant where we agreed to meet, I walk in the place and look around. I spot Bella over by the bar and I am so awestruck that I stand there for a second to take her in. She isn’t looking at me, but rather chatting with the bartender about something, so I take the opportunity to watch her. She is dressed in a short, tight black dress that shows off all of her amazing curves. The tall boots she is wearing come all the way up to her knees. Her silky black hair is pinned up on one side and is hanging down in waves on the other. She is breathtakingly beautiful.

I am jolted back to life when someone walks by me, jostling me with their elbow, and I start to make my way towards her. When she sees me, I’m not sure but I think she might be blushing.

“Hi,” she says with a big smile, looking me up and down.

“Hello. Have you been here long?”

“No, not at all. Just in time to order a drink for myself. I wasn’t sure what you liked, sorry.”

I take a seat next to her, trying to hide my nervousness. “That’s ok.You look amazing, by the way.”

She smiles and looks down, embarrassed. “Thank you. So do you. You smell amazing, too.”

I am getting a little boost to my ego over that, and I find I’m sitting up a little straighter. “What are you drinking?”

“Red wine.”

I nod and take a look at the small wine menu on the bartop. Normally I would order whatever whiskey they have but I like a good red wine, too. I flag the bartender over. “I’ll have a glass of the Vietti Borolo Castiglione please.”

I notice the bartender, who is male and had looked annoyed when I’d come to sit down, glance over at Bella longingly before walking away to get my drink. This may be our first date, but I feel that little spark of territorialism ignite inside me.

“Wow,” she says. “The way you pronounced the name of that wine…do you speak Italian?”

“I do, actually. That and about seven other languages.” I cringe internally, thinking I probably sound like an arrogant asshole, so I try and breeze past that. “What about you? Isabella sounds Italian.”

She nods. “I’m named after my grandmother, but I never learned the language myself. You must be pretty smart if you know that many languages.”

“Depends on the day,” I say with a smirk and she laughs. Her laugh is light and airy and I immediately melt at the sound of it.

“And what about you? Are you Italian as well?”

My wine comes and I give the bartender a little nod and a smile which he does not return. “Irish, actually.”

“Really? That’s surprising. Wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Me either,” I say earnestly, and I wasn’t trying to be funny but she laughs anyway.

“Well, either way. The Italian thing is sexy, that’s for sure.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”

She nods again and wets her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue before taking a drink of her wine. “Oh yeah. A real turn on.”

I don’t know why, but when I catch the eye of the jealous bartender standing over at the side with his arms crossed over his chest, I feel the return to my old self come rushing back. Confident. Clear-headed. Focused.

“Well,” I say, turning my body so that my leg brushes against hers. I take a drink of my own glass, but I don’t let my eyes leave hers. “That is very good to know. Grazie.”

 She giggles and I definitely see a faint blush on her cheeks, which just fuels my ego even more.

“So, Bella, what made you get into your line of work?”

“The nude modeling?”

I nod.

“Oh, that’s just my side gig. I’m actually a high school math teacher.”

“Shit!” I say, much too loudly before I quiet my voice again. “I mean, those poor boys in your class.”

She laughs, big and loud this time, tipping her head back and flashing her straight, white teeth. “Yeah, they don’t exactly know what I do on the side. The parents might have an issue with that. I try to keep the nude modeling on the down-low.”

“Something tells me the dads of your kids wouldn’t mind so much.”

She taps me on the knee and my thigh flexes in response. “You’re funny. Seriously, they all think I’m a big bore.”

“Yeah, I highly doubt that. I bet they all have crushes on you.”

“Why? Did you have a crush on one of your teachers in high school?”

She says this in a very flirty way and yet I still can’t help shuddering a bit. “Ah…no. I went to a very private school, so there weren’t a lot of hot teachers.” I smile. “Unfortunately.”

“Hmm…I see. Well, to answer your question, I only do the nude modeling for the money. I’m very free with my body, so it doesn’t bother me and it’s easy cash.”

I want to say something gross and creepy, but I refrain. “That’s great,” I say instead.

“And what do you do, Five?”

“I’m an ex-CIA agent, but right now I’m just playing the stock market and acting as babysitter to my six siblings.”

“Six? Wow. Are they young?”

I shake my head, taking another drink. “No, older than me, actually.”

She pauses and then starts laughing again, leaning forward to put a hand on my leg. “Sexy and funny. I like that.”

“Sexy, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Bella answers breathily, squeezing my knee and making it jerk before pulling her hand back. The smile she is giving me is playful and exciting and thank god the wine has loosened me up a little bit so I’m not having to hide another tent in my pants.

I make sure my leg brushes against hers again, this time very obviously and I let it linger there. With my own flirtatious smile, I answer, “Ci prendiamo un tavolo?”

I hear her suck in a sharp breath and she bites at her bottom lip a little. “What does that mean?”

I raise one eyebrow, standing up and holding out my hand. “Shall we get a table?”

After a moment of hesitation, Bella nods and lets out a soft laugh, taking my hand, and letting me help her off the bar stool. On our way over to the main dining area, I steal a glance back at the jealous bartender who is now looking rather sad. Maybe you should have brushed up on your Italian, asswipe.

Over dinner, the conversation comes easily, especially as we go through a couple more drinks. She is definitely flirty, and not shy about it, either. She is constantly reaching across the table to touch my hand or let her foot graze across my calf under the table. I try to play it cool; pretending that she doesn’t have me dying to throw her down on this table right here in the middle of the restaurant.

If her weapon is her touch, mine is my tongue. And by that, I mean I try to sprinkle in a little Italian for her here and there. Even the smallest phrases are getting a rise out of her, and it’s just fueling my appetite. I’ve gone from nervous, stammering weirdo to a cocky, self-assured man that knows what he wants. When I ask for the check,” Posso avere il conto, per favore?”, she is practically drooling.

We leave, huddling under the awning because it’s started raining, Bella is smiling at me and I’m just standing there with my hands in my pockets, not knowing how to end this. I should ask her out for a second date. Or give her a kiss goodnight, maybe. But I’m not quite sure and I don’t want to do the wrong thing, but she quickly makes my decision for me. Leaning in, grabbing my suit coat by the lapels, and whispering in my ear, she says, “Come home with me?”

My first instinct is to freeze up in terror because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but then I remember she’s the one coming on to me. She’s the one that is rubbing her leg on the inside of mine and breathing fast next to my ear. I’ve got her in the palm of my hand and fuck if that doesn’t feel so damn good.

I bring a hand up to the side of her face and caress her cheek while gazing into her eyes. “Sì, tesoro.” When I can see she doesn't understand that, I get closer so that my lips are just inches from hers. “Yes, darling.”

We decide to take a cab to her place since we’ve had a few drinks, she slinks closer to me in the backseat to throw her leg over mine. Her dress rides up her thigh and I place my hand on her knee, rubbing it lightly with my thumb. She turns to me, lacing her fingers into my hair at the back of my head. When I lean in for a kiss, I push away the insecurities that are threatening to burst forth in my mind. I have no idea what I’m doing but I’m really good at faking it until I make it.

Her lips are soft and warm when they meet mine. I give a few more hesitant kisses until I can’t stand it anymore and I pull her closer with a hand on the back of her neck, pushing my tongue into her mouth until I hear her whimper softly into me. 

“Say something hot again,” she whispers against my lips before tightening her leg on mine.

“Like what?” I ask with a smile, pretending I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“Anything,” she whines, crashing her mouth onto mine again.

“Qualunque cosa tu desideri, Bella, te la darò,” I respond while brushing my lips gently down her neck.

“Oh shit,” she moans quietly and I see the driver give us a look through the rearview mirror. “What was that?”

“Whatever you wish, Bella, I will give it to you.”

With another sharp inhale of breath, she pulls back to look me in the eyes; her lust so apparent I can see it in her blown-out pupils. “I want to fuck you, Five.”

My eyes close for a moment while I try to get a grip on reality. This amazingly gorgeous woman, that is sweet and intelligent, and asked me back to her place, just told me she wants to fuck me. I might be in trouble here, because I maybe came on a little too strong and now I’m going to have to perform at a level I’m not sure I can uphold. But I’ve also never backed down from a challenge.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I am definitely fucking you,” I groan out, before diving back in for another hot and urgent kiss, not caring that the driver just cleared his throat to remind us of his presence.

When we get to her place, she is pulling me by my tie through the door as I work on ditching my jacket, letting it fall off my arms onto the floor. I follow her, leaning forward as she drags me through the small living room of her apartment and into the bedroom. As she stops to pull her boots off, I work on the knot of my tie, yanking it over my head before kicking my shoes off and tackling her onto the bed, laying myself over her.

For the second time now, she is making me as hard as a rock, only this time I don’t care if she knows it. The tight crotch of my suit pants drags over her thigh; my erection obvious and impressive as I eagerly suck and bite at her lips and jaw. She is breathing loudly as she clutches at my hips, her fingers clawing at my belt loops to pull me closer.

“Five,” she gasps before wrapping a leg around my waist.

The short skirt of her dress is riding up all the way to her hips, exposing the thin string of her panties. My hand automatically slides up her thigh, pushes her dress up all the way to her waist, and makes its way around to her spectacular ass. She must be wearing a thong, because it’s completely bare and even though I’m busy kissing and humping her leg at the moment, the memory of that perfect ass is burned into my brain and I moan out loud.

I murmur softly between ragged breaths. “Bella…damn it.”

“What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, squeezing her ass hard and then giving it a loud slap that has her hips jolting upward. She makes a short squeaking noise that I cut off with my hungry mouth.

When I pull away again, I look down on her with a vicious smile. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about your beautiful body and all of the things I want to do to you.”

Her already full lips are swollen from all of our passionate kissing, and she matches my smile with her own. “Oh, I think I know. You’re not as good at hiding things as you think you are. Even with a coat over your lap.” 

I blink down at her and then my eyebrows raise off my head when I realize what she’s talking about. “Wha–?”

She lets out a giggle and then presses her body up, making sure to grind her thigh against my cock until I have to close my eyes. “From the feel of it, you should be the one posing naked for the class.”

I let out a breathy laugh at that, relieved that she’s not making fun of my little faux pas from the other day. “I don’t think our teacher friend would agree.”

“Hmm..I bet she would.” Bella reaches down between us and cups the hard bulge between my legs, making me hiss through my teeth. “I think anyone would be impressed by this work of art. Even the old bag.”

“How about we don’t talk about her while your hand is on my dick?”

“Good idea,” Bella agrees with another pass of her palm over my groin and I swear this woman is going to be the death of me. She pulls me down to her again, covering my lips with her own. Her fingers are raking through my hair before she moves both hands down to my belt buckle. It suddenly hits me like a brick to the head that this is actually, really happening. I am going to fuck this dream girl of mine. “Five,” she whines as she tugs at my belt and tries to undo my fly.

I can’t help but laugh a little at her desperation, only because I am the one that should be whining pathetically right now, not her. I see her adorable little pout from being made fun of, and damn if that doesn’t make me want to just flip her over and do some major damage to her. I don’t do that, but her obvious need for me right now is fueling my naturally egotistical nature.

I sit up on my knees, pushing her hands away while I give her a lop-sided smirk. She’s not sure what to think, I can tell, so she just lies there looking so cute and fuckable while staring up at me with her big eyes and her dark hair fanning around her. I unbutton my vest, taking my time while she watches me. Next I pull my shirt out from my pants and undo that, too, shrugging it off my shoulders and down my arms until I throw it off somewhere to the side. I make sure her eyes are on me as I reach down to finish the job she started; slowly unzipping my fly and opening my pants.

When she bites at her lower lip and her hips jerk up, I pull my cock out and give it a long stroke. “Is this what you want, Bella?”

“Oh fuuck…” she whimpers, her tongue swiping over her lips. “Yes.”

I nod, like I’m not surprised, but really I’m dying inside and all I can think about is ramming my dick deep inside of her. “Dress off,” I tell her.

This little act of confidence seems to be working because she’s scrambling to pull her clothes over her head. Once the dress is off, she props herself up with her elbows and looks up at me. The black, see-through lace bra pushes her impressive rack up and together, while the miniscule matching panties she has on barely covers her crotch.

“Oh shit, honey,” I breathe out, stroking myself a couple more times because I can’t help it. “You are gorgeous.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” she says with a sly grin.

“No, but I didn’t have you lying beneath me, dying for my cock before. So, this is better.”

When I lay over the top of her again, my hand comes to rest in her hair while I nestle my straining dick between her legs, rubbing against the thin swath of fabric of her underwear. She makes a gasping noise when I do that, so I make sure to do it again while I trail kisses up and down her neck.

“Bella, tu sei tutto ciò che stavo aspettando,” I say softly, letting my lips brush lightly against her skin with each word.

She pushes her hips up harder, her fingers scraping down my spine as her back arches into me. Her voice catches in her throat as she begs me to tell her what I said. I love having this power over her, so I almost deny her that. But I want her to know what I am thinking.

“You are everything I’ve been waiting for,” I whisper as I move to the other side of her neck, nuzzling my nose into the crook next to her shoulder.

“Oh god,” she moans. “Tell me more.”

I smile against her skin before placing a long, sucking kiss to the same spot. I want to see my mark there, and I watch with satisfaction as a faint bloom of purple rises to the top. My teeth scrape across the area as I deliver a small bite that makes her buck into me again. When I reach around to unhook her bra, I am momentarily worried I might not be able to do it. But I work the clasp with no issues, and toss it over the bed. She is already trying to wiggle out of her panties, so I help her pull those off, as well. 

Once she is fully naked and sprawled out underneath me, I can’t believe I am getting to touch the very same body I was losing my mind over and beating my dick to just a few days prior. I squeeze her breasts together, running my thumbs lightly over her erect nipples and watch her squirm beneath me.

I can hardly wait much longer, but I force myself to take my time. After shoving my pants the rest of the way off, I grab her thighs and drag her roughly to me while positioning myself over her again, slotting my diamond-hard dick into the slick folds of her pussy. I don’t enter her yet, I just slide my cock back and forth, taking note of every little movement and gasp of air she makes.

“Five…” she whimpers again, and fuck if that isn’t that sexiest sound I have ever heard in my life. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?” I tease, leaning down again to suck on one of her tits, letting my teeth graze her nipple. “Tell me.”

“You,” she whines, her fingernails raking over my shoulders. “I want you.”

“Is that right?” I ask, like the giant asshole I am before moving over to her other perfect tit and doing the same thing there. “What part of me do you want?”

I love the huffy little noise of impatience she gives me, and I hold her hips steady with my hand so she can’t rub against me. I want full control of her right now, and if she wants to use me to get off, she’s going to have to play by my rules. I take the head of my cock and tease it against her opening, but I don’t let myself give in to my urges quite yet. I want to hear her answer me.

She must know exactly how to play this little game and get exactly what she wants, because all of a sudden she is grabbing the back of my neck, forcing me to look at her while she grits her teeth and uses her other hand to squeeze my ass. “I want you to fuck me with that big thick cock of yours, Five.”

There is no way I can hold out after that, so in another second I am doing just that; lining my cock up and easing it in. Even just sliding my straining head inside is enough to make me want to come and I stop what I’m doing for a moment. I am trying to take my time so that I don’t completely humiliate myself by blowing my load before I even get one good pump inside of her, but my mind is scrambled a thousand different ways and she is moaning and clutching at my ass, trying to shove me in faster.

I bury my face in her neck again, closing my eyes in concentration. I continue to push inside, the hot wetness of her silky cunt engulfing me. I hear her wanton moans next to my ear but I try to block them out for the time being so I can figure this out. When I am finally all of the way inside her, buried to the hilt, I stop again.

“Are you ok?” I pant out, trying to cover up my hesitation.

She nods desperately and rocks her hips upwards. “Fuck me, hard, Five…please.”

I want to give her what she wants, but I also don’t want to be the reason she’s laughing with her girlfriends tomorrow morning. I start to thrust into her, slowly at first to get the rhythm down and then I pick up the pace. I keep my face hidden while I work through everything I’m feeling right now. Everything is amazing. Her body writhing under mine, her perfect tits pressed against my chest, her nails digging into my back, and her warm breath rushing over my shoulder. I cannot let myself come until I make her come first. I cannot.

I start to think of unsexy things to occupy my mind. Baseball. String theory. Luther’s ape body. Derek in a skirt.

Nothing is really working, and I’m starting to slow down again so I can pace myself, but she is ramming her hips up into me and grunting into my shoulder. “Five, please…” she is begging me. “Harder.”

Then, like a bolt from heaven, I know what I have to do and that’s to regain all of the control again.

I raise myself up on my palms so that I can look down on her, my hair falling into my eyes. “Ti fa sentire bene? Does that feel good, baby?”

The cry she lets out is all I need as an answer and I slam my cock into her so hard her body is shoved back from the impact. She reaches behind her to brace herself with her hands flat on the headboard. 

“Oh, fuck,” she whimpers.

I thrust myself into her, over and over, fucking her rough and hard as she moans beautifully with each penetration of my dick. Her legs come up to wrap around my waist, her ankles hooking over one another and trapping me close to her body. I let her stay like this for a little bit, but I can’t drive into her like I want, so I smack the side of her thigh and stop my movements.

“Legs in the air,” I order, my jaw clenched tight.

She does exactly as I say, opening her legs wide so I can have full access to her tight and slick pussy.

“Good girl,” I praise softly. “Brava ragazza.”

Her desperate noises are growing louder and higher-pitched as her fingers press harder into my back and her neck arches. I can’t resist the urge, so I lean down, biting at her smooth, olive skin that is fully exposed to me. She gasps loudly and I chuckle at her reaction.

“You are so fucking sexy, Bella. But you’re even sexier when you let me take control.”

“Yes,” she pants, even though I didn’t ask her a question. “Do anything you want. Oh god!” she screams out when I slam into her again. “Fuck, Five, yes! Keep going!”

I am starting to sweat now, the muscles in my arms and thighs straining with the effort of fucking her hard and fast. Taking a brief pause, I grab both of her wrists in one hand, pulling them together and holding them tightly over her head while I slam them down into the mattress.

“Stay,” I tell her and she nods, her eyes wide and her lips parted. 

As I pound away on top of her, swearing and sweating like a fiend, she’s still not finishing. I’m not sure how much more I can hold out. I’ve shown great restraint in my life and had to prove my resolve in a number of different ways, but this tops them all. 

Fuck, if I don’t come inside this girl in the next few seconds I’m going to lose my damn mind.

I free one of her hands. “Finger yourself,” I hiss as I look down on her, my hair plastered to my forehead. 

She does exactly that and when I peer down between us I see my hard cock pistoning in and out of her, coated in a thin layer of her slick. I watch as her hand starts working her clit, rubbing her fingers in a hard circle as she cries out even louder and moans my name.

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath. I lean in close to her again, grazing my cheek against hers and letting my mouth roam softly under her jaw. “Vieni per me, Isabella,” I tell her. “Come for me.”

I’m not entirely sure she even heard me, but it doesn’t matter. She is suddenly screaming and bucking against me wildly, clutching at my shoulder blades and biceps and biting at my collarbone. I can feel her tight pussy contracting around my cock and that’s all I can take. I spill inside of her, not caring about the potential consequences of our actions, shaking and shuddering on top of her. The long, low groan I let out is lost in her neck as I cling to her like my life depends on it. I have never experienced an orgasm as intense as this and the waves that are washing over my body feel like they may never end.

They start to subside eventually, and I let my muscles relax. Sinking down so that I am flush with her body, I kiss her softly and she circles her legs around my waist again, resting her heels against my ass. I can’t stop trembling as she strokes my back with her hands, running them up and down gently while I try to catch my breath. I bite back the urge to say something stupid like “I love you” or “Don’t leave me”, so instead I hold her tighter to me and kiss her sweat-damp shoulder.

“Five,” she breathes out, running her hands through my hair. “That was amazing.”

I nod into her before raising my face to look her in her eyes. She looks absolutely ravaged, with her lips swollen and red, and her hair a tangled mess all around her. We smile at one another and then we start laughing quietly. It’s nice and it’s comfortable. 

Adjusting ourselves so that I am holding her from behind, her back pressed against my chest, I run my fingers through her messy hair and kiss the back of her neck. I have never felt so relaxed and at ease in my life. I’m not sure how these things usually go, but I don’t want to leave her or this bed. I realize that she may be waiting until it’s socially acceptable to kick me out, however, and I start to brace myself for the inevitable.

“Bella,” I whisper.

“Hmm?” she answers dreamily, tracing her fingers over my arm.

“This feels good.”

She nods and squeezes my hand. “Yeah, it does.”

She doesn’t say anything else, so I’m still not sure what’s going to happen. Then she flips around to face me, placing her hand on the side of my face. I close my eyes and press into her hand.

“Five,” she says softly. “Stay a little while?”

I nod. “SÌ, Bella, Io resterò. As long as you want, I will stay.” 

When I walk into the bar the next day, I’m whistling “Walking On Sunshine” to myself and the cocky smirk I usually reserve for special occasions is plastered on my face.

I see Derek in his usual spot, so I stride over, slapping him on the back hard enough to make him fall off his stool. He whips his head around with a scowl before hoisting himself back up again.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“Nothing at all,” I answer, plopping myself onto my own stool. “Why do you ask?”

“Jesus, you’re acting weird.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, you’re smiling. And not in a way that makes me think you want to murder me. Like you’re actually happy.”

I shrug, grinning even wider as I flag the bartender down, ordering my usual whiskey.

“Holy shit,” Derek exclaims, turning his body towards me. “You got laid, didn’t you?”

I give another shrug and he punches me in the shoulder. “Fuck, you stupid asshole! Why didn’t you tell me? I want to hear all the details.”

I frown. “I’m not telling you shit, you creepy bastard.”

“Come on!” he pleads. “At least tell me a little bit! I deserve that much for having to listen to all of your whining for the last few months. Spill it, Hargreeves.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop smiling, so I decide to humor him. “Ok, fine. Yes, I got laid.”

“Ha!” He bangs his palm on the top of the bar. “Yes!”

The bartender brings me my drink and I take a sip, still grinning like a fucking Cheshire cat. “Four times.”

Derek spits out part of his drink, spraying my lap with his spittle. I wipe it off with an irritated swipe of my hand, but honestly I don’t even care. “Four times? With the same girl?”

“Same girl. Same night,” I state haughtily, like I’m some big, swinging dick pimp.

“Shit,” Derek says with a shake of his head. Then he raises his glass in a toast. “Well, it’s about fucking time. I knew you had it in you.”

I clink his glass with mine and take a sip. “I suppose I have you to thank for part of it.”

“Why is that?”

“Picturing you in a skirt when I was trying not to prematurely ejaculate seemed to do the trick.”

“Oh, fuck off!” he exclaims, but he’s laughing and so am I.

“No, really. Thank you for just…being there.” I start to get embarrassed from my rare show of emotions and look away.

Derek puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

This is why I like Derek. We don’t have to say a whole lot to one another, but we get it. We’re here for each other but we don’t need to cry a fucking river to let the other know.

We sit in silence for a minute, just sipping our drinks. Then I start smiling again and I turn to him. “Tu mi completi.”

“What is that?”

“You complete me,” I tell him with a big grin.

He sighs and nudges me with his knee. “Yeah…you, too, asshole.”

[cjlouwho]

Twelve Christmases

Chapter tags: drunk parent, abusive behavior, physical abuse (slap across the face)

Read below or on ao3

Day 2: 1993

“Before you go today, I have a bit of homework for you all.”

Mrs. Davidson was met with a classroom of groans.

“I know, I know,” she said, “but this is a fun one, I promise. Over Christmas break, I want you guys to write about your dream Christmas when you grow up. If you could choose anyway to celebrate, what would you do? Who would you be with? How many presents would you want under the tree? What foods would you cook? You can write it as a list, or a story, or an essay. However you want. Just make sure you write something.”

She looked at the time on her watch. “Alright, the bell is about to ring, so you can start gathering up your things. I hope you all have a very merry Christmas, and I will see you all in 1994!”

*****

Tommy slammed his door shut, locking it quickly before his dad could reach for the knob.

It had been a terrible day. The worst Christmas of Tommy's life, he was sure.

Michael spent every Christmas out at the bar, drinking the day away. He'd come home at night, usually, and spew out a few angry words before passing out on the couch.

But the bar he always went to decided to close this year for Christmas.

A part of Tommy had been excited. His dad would get to watch him open his presents for the first time!

It didn't quite work out that way though.

Instead, Michael had gone to the store on Christmas Eve and bought two cases of beer. He'd started drinking that night. Turns out, before he got to the point of passing out, he was loud. So damn loud.

Tommy spent half the night waking up up to bottles clanging, or his dad yelling at the TV.

By the time the sun started coming up, things had quieted down. Tommy crept down the hall to see his dad sprawled out on the couch. One arm flopped down the side of the couch, the other halfway down his pants.

He looked over at the tree where, at some point during the night, nearly half their ornaments had fallen off of it. Michael was known to dance with inanimate objects when he got drunk, so that's what Tommy figured had happened.

“Tommy,” his mom whispered from behind him. He turned to see his mom peeking out of the bedroom. She looked as tired as Tommy felt. She had dark circles under her eyes and had lost so much weight that she nearly swam in her size small nightgown. Her smile didn't reach her eyes anymore.

Still, she beckoned Tommy to her. “I kept your presents in here, Baby,” she said as he came into the room. “Didn't want to put them under the tree last night with your dad.”

She shut the door behind Tommy and locked it. “You sit on the bed,” she instructed, going into the closet.

He did as he was told, still feeling just as excited to have his presents in the bedroom instead of in the living room next to the tree.

She came out of the closet with three gifts in her hands, smiling as she handed them to him. “I couldn't get everything you asked for,” she said, kneeling down on the floor to watch him open, “but I think you'll like it.”

He smiled back at her, taking a deep breath. He always needed a moment before he opened his gifts. He'd get so happy it sometimes felt hard to breathe.

The first gift was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas. Tommy had seen them at the mall one day and begged for them, but Vicky had told him no. He'd been so upset, having no idea she already had them stored away for Christmas.

The next gift was a remote controlled monster truck. His eyes had gone super wide with that one! He hadn't expected it at all. He couldn't wait to get outside and play.

The third present was an art set. Tommy had gotten into drawing dinosaurs and zombies lately, and Vicky wanted to make sure he kept drawing.

As soon as he was done opening his presents, he wrapped his mom in a big hug, thanked her, then asked if he could go outside and play.

“Just make sure you're quite when you're in the living room, okay? Shut the door gently.”

With a promise, and one more hug, Tommy had been on his way.

Everything was fine until Tommy got back home. He was smiling up until he reached the top step and heard his parents arguing through the door. He wanted to turn around. Leave for a few more hours and come back.

It was too late though. His dad saw him through the window and came straight to the door, tossing it open and all but yelling for him to come inside.

“I was here for you, Tommy!” he exclaimed, his words slurred as usual. “Here ta watch you and you didn't even let me!”

“Michael, he has no idea what you're talking about,” Vicky replied. Her voice stayed calm, measured... tired.

“Well 'e should! I stay home to watch my boy open 'is gifts an I don't even getta see it!”

“I thought you stayed home because the bar was closed today?” Tommy questioned. He knew right away that was the wrong thing to say.

His dad came over and jerked the remote controlled car from his hands.

Vicky sighed. “Don't break it,” she said, already walking over to get it from him.

He pointed down at Tommy once Vicky had taken the car. “You'll get it back once you apologize,” he said, teeth nearly gritting together.

His day was already ruined, and it was all his dad's fault.

Tommy was angry.

“Apologize for what?” he asked, matching his dad's glare.

“For being dis- dis- disrespectful!” Michael exclaimed.

“I wasn't being disrespectful!” Tommy fought back.

“Tommy,” Vicky warned.

“Hey! I loved you 'nough to stay home and see my boy op'n gifts!”

“You don't love me!”

The back of Michael's hand met his face so hard, and so fast, that Tommy stumbled backward before falling flat on his butt.

His dad had never hit him before.

He'd gotten angry. That happened a lot.

But he'd never hit him.

“Tommy!” Vicky exclaimed, hurrying over to him. Before she could even reach out and check on him, he was flying to his feet and running down the hall to his room.

He heard footsteps behind him. Knew it was his dad. But he slammed the door and locked it.

Michael banged on the door a few times. Begging for Tommy to open it, let him talk to him. The slap seemed to sober him up pretty quickly.

Tommy ignored him. Brought a hand to his face, touching it gently. His cheek felt like it was on fire. He moved his jaw around, trying to loosen it up a bit.

Once Michael gave up at his door, Tommy walked over to his desk and sat down. His eyes stung as he grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper and started on his homework.

One day I will have my own house. I will have a family. We will celabrate Christmas. We will be happy. Maybe mom can come be at my house with me. We will have lots of food on a big table. We will laugh and play games. My dad will not be there or he will be there but be diferent. Christmas will be like it is in the movies with people smiling and there will be lots of snow. I just want a grate day where mom doesn't feel sad. I will get my kids whatever they want and tell them it was Santa. I wish I still beleived in Santa. I will also have big monster trucks in my front yard and a big pile of dirt to play in. That is a prefect Christmas.

He stayed in his room the rest of the day, using his new art set to draw a make believe land where the monster didn't win.

*****

On his first day back at school, Tommy overheard a few kids in his class talking about what they wrote for their assignment.

“I said that one day I'd live in a big, huge mansion with like fifty cars and I'd get even more cars for Christmas, and I'd drive them wherever I wanted to go,” one boy said.

“Well, I wrote that when I'm older I will make Christmas a whole month and people will have to give me presents every single day.”

“I wrote about the food my mom and dad cook and how when I'm older they can't tell me not to get more dessert. I can just eat, eat, eat whatever I want! It'll be great.”

One of the kids turned back and looked at Tommy. “What'd you say?” they asked.

“Oh, um, I- I forgot to do it,” he replied. Before class began he reached into his backpack and took out his paper, crumbling it up into a ball and tossing it in the trash.

He didn't care if he got an F. Christmas was stupid anyway.

[straightforthefl00r]

sidekick? more like sidechick!! pt 1, pt 2

There were three main outcomes Tomura had prepared for, when he schemed to attack USJ.

One: the ideal result was that he would succeed in killing All Might with his state-of-the-art nomu, and move onto the next stage of his plan to world annihilation. The world would hail chaos in one move. He would be known to everyone that he was the bringer of fear; the one who destroyed their precious peace.

Or two: All Might would, annoyingly, not die, but would be fatally injured by the nomu. This would still be partial success, as the Symbol of Peace would be out of commission, and this would mean that society would be well on its way to falling without its stability. Not only that, his League of Villains (well two villains right now, counting Kurogiri) would gain traction in the media, and publicity is always a plus. Tomura could use this to expand the League and his influence across Japan.

As much as he wanted his plan to go in any of these ways, Tomura knew he had to be prepared for any scenario — even his failure.

His third outcome was that if All Might defeated his nomu (which should not be possible due to its extraordinary power), then he should retreat and build up his forces again for another attack.

Unfortunately for Tomura, his attack on USJ resulted in the final outcome.

He escaped with three-ish, four-ish, five-ish bullet wounds, no USJ underlings and no nomu, not even its bloody body.

At this point, he was just glad he had the foresight to plan his failure. Not only were his underlings arrested, the nomu was apprehended by All Might, and he proved to be stronger than ever, despite Sensei insisting All Might has been drastically harmed in their last battle together.

He needed a fucking drink.

“Kurogiri, I’m heading out.”

The door slammed shut and Tomura disappeared into the night.

oOo

You, on the other hand, were having the time of your life.

Exams were finally over and that meant you could finally release your inhibitions, in the form of obnoxiously loud music and sweaty clubs.

You had just finished a lovely evening out with your boyfriend and friends. After a night of raving and dancing and (fairly) responsible drinking, you were just coming out of the club and on your way home.

Your boyfriend went to his apartment earlier before you, a few hours ago due to “something”. You couldn’t hear him clearly above the booming music, you assumed it was because of his chronically weak stomach. He always said that, whether it be nights out or dates. You brushed it off like it was nothing because his health mattered first.

He’ll make up for it.

Probably.

oOo

It was around 4am when it happened.

“What the fuck?” You yelped and found yourself sprawled on the floor, outside a closed bar. The street was empty, save for a few stray cats, occasionally yowling into the night.

The mass you ended up being entangled with was wearing a black hoodie. Dishevelled hair could be seen peeking out from the hood - light coloured, a stark contrast to his hoodie.

You sat up straight on the floor, trying to make sense of what was happening, veins pulsing. You could hear shallow breaths coming from the body turned away beside you.

You tried to shake the person awake, he groaned and the stench of alcohol and iron greeted you. His shoulder felt slightly damp too. You raised your hand up slightly to the yellowing street-light. Your hand had a tinge of orange, leaning more to the red side.

Blood?

“Oi, get up,” You frantically whispered into the person’s ear, “You’re fucking bleeding!”

He started mumbling incoherently under his breath. You could make out weak swears and a few mentions of “stupid fucking heros”.

You stumbled to your feet, pulling him up with you, surprisingly warm and pliant against your shoulder. You wrapped his arm around yourself to steady the two of you.

“Come on, we’re off to the hospital.”

As if snapped out of a trance, the man tried to tear himself from you and shook his head furiously. The both of you barely managed to stay standing, leaning against the nearest rough wall.

He was already facing you, when you looked at him, his eyes glaring at you, as if you were the scum of the earth.

Your hand gripped onto his wrist to steady your centre of gravity. His fist was clenched, so tightly that each knuckle looked like they would burst from his skin to reveal blood as dark as his eyes.

His brows were furrowed furiously.

You frowned at him back.

You could make out the dry skin on his forehead and, despite this, his face was surprisingly good-looking. A faint scar trailing from his cheek to his mouth caught your attention. You started to wonder where he got it from, an accident? Or was it a self-inflicted wound from scratching?

You were a bit drunk still, but the situation was causing you to sober up.

You sighed and tried to signal to him that you were only here to help.

“No hospitals,” he croaked, words low and slurred, “h-hate them.”

You agreed as to not agitate him further, “Let’s go to my boyfriend’s then. His apartment is only a street away from here.”

The man’s face contorted into a look of scepticism, as a strained “why” was pulled from his lips.

“First aid kit.”

He stared at you for a moment, debating on something, before mumbling, “I can walk by myself.”

oOo

Tomura should’ve just drank at the hideout. It was a literal bar after all, however he wanted to get away from all the scheming, nagging and his failure.

And so, into the barrel he went.

“I’m hungry.” He mumbled, eyes glazed over slightly as he stared at the head in front of him.

He was met with a hum in agreement.

“We’re almost there,” You took a breath, “but there’s a convenience store on the corner.”

He doesn’t know why you’re even doing this.

Helping him outside that bar and trying to care for his wounds brought you nothing. You looked so soft.

Stupid sidekicks and their idiot saviour complexes. Tomura was starting to get annoyed. It would be so easy to just turn you into dust.

Poof.

He concluded that it was pity driving your actions.

You looked non-threatening enough and you were still slightly buzzed. He would go through with this and then you would part ways and never see each other again. It didn’t seem like you recognised him.

A roll of bandages came into his view. The convenience store lights were harsh white and made the bandages seem brighter than they were. His head was starting to throb a bit.

“The big roll or the small roll?”

“Small.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Out on the dark streets, you couldn't see him very clearly, let alone his injuries, but in the store, it looked like his hoodie was drenched with blood from his shoulder to the middle of his chest. Even his black sweats were glowing in red if you looked at him from a certain angle. You were still deciding whether you should just cart him to the hospital after all.

You chucked the big roll of bandages in your basket. It was already full of a variety of sweets.

You giggled at the basket.

“What are you laughing at?” Tomura accused, miffed due to his answer being ignored.

“You don’t seem like a sweets guy.”

“Anyone can have sweets.”

“Just saying.”

“Right.” He answered dryly.

“Why are you all bloody?”

“Why are you buying bandages?” He shot back, “I thought your boyf had a first aid kit?”

“Because I don’t think he’ll have enough,” you gestured to all of him. “for your situation.”

“Stupid sidekick.” He muttered.

You rolled your eyes and leaned towards him, “So! Why are you head to toe in blood?” You said with a slight lilt in your voice.

Tomura wondered if you were still a little drunk. He was one to talk.

“Because I ripped a few stitches while drinking.”

“And how did you rip them?”

“Some guys were yapping about how hard ‘All Our Heroics’ was — even when he downloaded the helpers mod for it.” He answered in disgust, “All I did was engage in a conversation with him and told him how stupid he was. And then, we ended up in … disagreement.”

“Clearly.” You deadpanned. “Still. Where did you get your stitches from?”

“Work.”

“Work?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Sue them?”

“Sue them.”

“Annihilate them?”

“Sure, annihilate.” He gave a faint smile.

OoO

By the time you arrived outside at your boyfriend’s place, the sun was starting to rise. A melody of colours took to the skies: swirling clouds painted the perfect picture of peace.

You stopped in your tracks and gazed upwards. Tomura ended up walking into your back. He cursed, as the two of you stumbled.

“This again?” He hissed, “We already knew you couldn’t walk straight at that bar and now you're sending me flying?”

You laughed at him.

“Just look up. Isn’t that pretty.”

“No.”

“Zip it before I push you.”

“Technically, you did.”

“Even more technically, you pushed me. You walked into me.”

“Yeah, exactly, walked into you, not pushed.”

You grinned at him and rolled your eyes.

You walked into the elevator and Tomura followed you in. The two of you were in a comfortable and easy silence.

You were walking to the door before you just suddenly stopped. Tomura prevented himself from bumping into you.

“Seriously? Again, again? I almost dropped our stuff.”

“Sorry about that, but I just remembered, what’s your name? I’ve just been calling you the bloody-hoodie guy in my head.” You questioned.

“I don’t give my name to strangers.”

You stared at him incredulously and gave him your name.

“There, we’re not strangers anymore.”

He was silent.

“People also don’t follow strangers to their homes.” You pointed out, “What’s your name?”

“S-Shimura Tenko.”

“I feel like you just made that up just now.”

“Aw. Shucks.”

You shook your head at him while you opened the door.

The two of you walked in and what greeted you shocked you both. You dropped your plastic bag full of junk food and bandages on the floor and stormed further into the apartment.

Two bodies were on the couch, near the balcony, heads close together and lips touching. Unneeded sounds of pleasure could be heard from where the two of you were standing. They were kissing. Very passionately.

Ouch.

You yelled out your boyfriend’s name in flaming anger.

Two heads turned so quickly to look at you, you could’ve sworn you heard a crack.

It all became clear as you slotted the puzzle pieces together.

“So, you never had chronic diarrhoea,” you sneered, words dripping with sarcasm, “you had a chronic case of cheating scumbag!”

Your boyfriend’s face was flushed when you came in, but it became even redder as you glared at him.

A resounding smack made its way through the room, making you turn your attention towards the other person on the couch.

“I was with you for two years! You fu-“

“What?” You exploded, “You literally asked me out a few months ago. How dare you do that to your partner!” You followed that with curses.

Out of nowhere, laughter echoed. And three heads turned towards Tomura. His laughter was bright and full of amusement.

When he finally stopped, a stunned silence filled the room and he spoke, “So,” he started in the same tone as you when you spoke to your boyfriend, “you’re no sidekick, you’re a sidechick!” He started to laugh again.

You stared at him in pure shock, anger dissipating into slight amusement.

“That was a shit joke.” You said after you managed to dig some words out.

“Who’s he?” Your ex-boyfriend accused, “Were you cheating on me? With that?”

It was your turn to laugh as you told him that you weren’t cheating on him but you were only helping a poor guy out, while he was being scummy.

“I’ve had enough of this,” you frowned, “We’re leaving Shimura!”

You marched over to him and grabbed his wrist.

“No, don’t use your quirk here!” Your ex pleaded, “The landlord is going to have my head.”

You huffed out a self-satisfied puff of air. “Watch me!”

“I hope you don’t mind too much. We’re off to my place.” You muttered to Tomura.

“Oi! What are you trying to-“

Tomura was cut off before he finished his sentence.

He fell through the floor with the convenience store bags grasped tightly in his hands, with your hand gripping his wrist. His pinky was aching and his head ached even more.

He yelled as he found himself on the floor with you once more, legs tangled and things rolling around on the now-dusty ground.

The two of you were laying on the ground, looking at the white ceiling. Tomura could see the walls in the corner of his eye, the colour of it matched your top.

“Sorry about that.” Your voice coming from his right, “My quirk is Rabbit Hole. I can teleport by creating literal holes in the ground. That’s why we are at mine right now and not at that idiot’s.”

“I couldn’t have guessed. Ha.” Tomura replied, oddly calm, “If I touch things with all of my fingers, I can make things turn to dust. That’s why the ground is all dusty.”

You hummed in reply.

“I’m really fucking tired.”

“Same.”

“What’s the time?”

“Shit, if I know.”

“I hoped I left a massive hole at that asshole’s. I hope that it went through all his plumbing and that his apartment is flooding right now!”

“He’s going to sue you.”

“So? Sue me!”

pt 2 here