#humorous cocktail napkins

[kristipetersenschoonover]

Writer in your life? Unique gift suggestions

Writer in your life? Unique gift suggestions

[mostmagical]

Pairing: Stranger/Stranger (Adrinette, but they don't know that) Words: 4k Summary:

“Can I kiss you?” It's costume theme night at the local bar, and Marinette finds herself a bit entranced by a pretty stranger wearing cat ears. She thought she would be content just watching, until Alya suggests she asks for just a little bit more.

Marinette chewed on the edge of her fingernail, trying not to be too obvious as she peered across the bar at the stranger on the corner.

They had met on the dance floor not too long ago, and she had been having trouble looking away ever since. He was attractive, despite the obnoxious cat-eared beanie tight over his blond hair, drawing her towards him in a way she really hadn’t felt in, well, ever. At least, not towards someone she barely knew. Not since the breakup.

The liquid in his delicate cocktail glass was dyed pinker by the spotlight he stood under, so she couldn’t tell if he was actually drinking anything as passion fruit-flavored as the color, or if it was just straight liquor. Her breath caught as he removed his hand from the water-beaded surface, lifting it to adjust the thick-rimmed specs he wore and reminding her of the sparkling green eyes she’d spied earlier.

Blond hair. Green eyes. 

She wondered if it was some cosmic joke that this always happened to her.

Even the cat ears were suspect, but she was trying her best not to acknowledge that.

A hand landed on her arm, and she jumped before realizing it was Alya returning from the bathroom.

“Still staring?” Alya asked. She had forgone her eye glasses that night for the sake of ‘accuracy,’ providing Marinette a clear view of the humor glittering through her friend’s hazel eyes.

Marinette sputtered, readjusting the skewed heart-shaped sunglasses over the bridge of her nose. “Wh– What? Staring? Staring at who– I mean— Staring at what? Because obviously I’m not staring and even if I was I wouldn’t be staring at anyone, certainly not anyone handsome and charming and—”

Alya interrupted Marinette’s spiral with a laugh. “Right, right, right.” She shook her head, the red curls bouncing across her bare shoulders. “You weren’t staring at the guy you danced with earlier, and you haven’t been nervous and jittery ever since. I imagined all of it.”

“Yes.” Marinette nodded sagely. “Thank you, exactly. It was all in your head.”

Alya simply hummed, turning to get the bartender’s attention and ordering the two of them another round. With her friend distracted, Marinette couldn’t help but let her eyes wander again. The stranger was now scrolling through his phone. Oh no. Was he calling a taxi? Checking train schedules? Was he leaving?

Pain blossomed over her thumb and the taste of metal hit her tongue as she bit down just a bit too hard.

“Marinette!” Alya hissed, pulling Marinette’s hand away from her mouth and quickly wrapping it in a cocktail napkin. “What are you doing to yourself? Do you want to get kicked out?”

She was sober enough to feel the embarrassed flush cover her cheeks. “Sorry.”

Alya’s barely concealed eye roll was colored with humor. “You should just go over and talk to him.”

Marinette blinked owlishly. “And say what?”

“Ask him for a kiss.”

“What?!” She knew her shriek was loud enough to disturb the patrons on either side of them at the bar, but all she could hear over the pounding of the bass was the blood roaring in her ears. “Why would I do that?”

Alya just laughed. “Look at you” —she waved a hand at Marinette’s napkin wrapped finger— “biting through your nails because you can’t stop thinking about how hot you are for him.”

“I– I–” Marinette faltered, her mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton the more she tried to move it. “I am not.” At Alya’s raised eyebrows, she tried and failed to come up with another reason why not. “I– You know I’m not like that!”

“Normally, yeah,” Alya replied, shrugging, “but there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun, just this once.”

Marinette swallowed.

“And have you ever been so attracted to a stranger in your life?” Alya continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this wound up. Not since Adrien, or Luka, or– actually–” She stuck a finger in the air as if the thought had just struck her from above. “No, not Luka; it’s more like with Chat N–”

“Stop stop stop!” Marinette cut her friend off, throwing a hand over her mouth to stop up the words.

Alya licked her palm in objection.

“Ew! Hey!”

“You are so silly, M,” Alya laughed as Marinette pulled her hand away and dramatically wiped it on her shirt. “It’s not weird to have a crush on a superhero.”

Marinette chewed her lip, traces of the watermelon drink she’d had hours ago still tasting in the corner of her mouth. “You know it was more than that.”

A hand patted her shoulder. “Of course I do, but the point still stands.” Alya grinned, as sly as her own superhero persona would imply. “You deserve one night to not care. Treat yourself. You need to cut loose after, well, you know.”

Marinette couldn’t deny that since she had presented it, Alya’s idea was sounding more and more appealing. Though maybe that was the vodka talking. Or the desperation.

“He sure seems like your type after all,” Alya pressed, squinting her eyes as she studied him. “Tall, pretty, charming... blond.”

“Green eyes, too,” Marinette added, despite herself.

“What?” Alya laughed. She reached out a hand, flicking the frame of Marinette’s sunglasses playfully. “You could tell through these bright pink abominations?”

Her face warmed in embarrassment. “I may have, sorta, practiced discerning colors on my posters of Adrien with them before,” she admitted. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “His eyes look the same.”

Alya laughed again, full and delighted. “Marinette! Oh, there’s no one like you,” she said, grinning. “Now you really have to do it. I’m convinced it’s fate.”

It did feel almost divine.

Alya squinted once more, and Marinette wished her friend had listened to her when she told her to wear her glasses anyway. “He even kinda looks like—” She cut herself off with a hum, shaking her head. “You deserve to get out there again anyway. It’s been ages and I kinda think you need a rebound.”

Marinette wasn’t sure if she fully agreed with that statement, but she wasn’t exactly in the mood to broach the subject and down the mood.

“What if he laughs in my face?” she asked instead, sticking her lip out in a pout. It was meant to look cute, so maybe Alya wouldn’t push so much, but the fear was very much real. Sure, she and the stranger had had an amazing conversation, and their chemistry had been more intoxicating than her drink, but he was still that— a stranger. There was no telling what might happen if she walked up to him and asked for something so daring as a kiss.

“Marinette, look at me,” Alya said, placing both hands on either of Marinette’s shoulders. “You are hot. You are cool. And he is totally into you.”

Was there any explanation for the way her heart leapt straight out of her chest?

“Into me?” Marinette repeated. “What makes you say that? Are you sure?”

Alya smirked dangerously. “Well, don’t look now, but I may have caught him taking a few glances over here while your back was turned,” she explained.

Marinette, of course, looked. Her head turned at just the precise moment to catch his gaze in her own, and sure enough, the stranger’s jaw momentarily dropped upon making eye contact. He recovered quickly with a sweet smile, raising his glass in a cheers motion from across the bar.

Alya sighed, shaking her head. “Well, at least there’s another sign for you,” she said, amused. Grabbing Marinette’s shoulders again, Alya turned her back around to look at her face-to-face. “See? Repeat after me: I am hot.”

A bit dazed from the encounter, Marinette could do nothing else but exactly what Alya asked. “I am hot,” she repeated.

“I am cool,” Alya continued.

“I am cool.”

“He is into me.”

She choked, the last phrase a little rougher on liftoff than the others. “He is, guh– into me.”

“One more time, all together.”

Marinette closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. She regretted it, as the smell of sweat and hops stung her nose. But the intake of air managed to ground her, all the same.

“I am hot. I am cool,” she chanted. “He is into me.”

“Yes!” Alya cheered. “Good job!”

The mantra was like a magic spell. Marinette opened her eyes, suddenly energized. Her stomach pitched a little, but it was full with excitement.

“Two cognacs,” the bartender announced, jolting Marinette from her reverie.

“Merci!” Alya picked up a glass, pressing it into Marinette’s hands with cool insistence. “Drink this, and then get over there!”

Marinette obliged, downing the drink in two big swigs. The alcohol no longer burned the back of her throat, settling in her stomach with a pleasant warmness. She replaced the glass on the bar with a firm clink, then sucked in another deep breath, wiping her upper lip with the back of her hand.

“Okay,” she said under her breath, hyping herself up. “Okay!”

“Go!” Alya gave her one more push, spinning Marinette around and pressing the heel of her hands into her shoulder blades. “Your prince charming awaits,” she sang.

Marinette stumbled forward, unsteady from Alya’s shove, but she quickly regained her bearings. Her blood pumped faster in her veins as she approached the other end of the bar. She swore she could feel every fingertip throbbing with her own pulse as she got closer.

Just a little kiss.

Plenty of people did that.

(Although, it wasn’t something she had ever considered doing herself.)

It wasn’t... weird to ask.

And like Alya had said, he was into her. The stranger probably felt the exact same magnetism she had. He would want to kiss her.

Right?

Steeling her nerves, she stood behind him, watching him swirl the liquid around in his glass. His head tilted towards where Alya stood by her lonesome on the other side of the bar, and Marinette’s heart skipped a beat in her chest as she wondered if he might be looking for her.

She smoothed down the synthetic purple wig as best she could, and adjusted the collar of her leather jacket. She almost wished she could dart off to the bathroom for a final appearance check, but she knew she would lose all her built-up confidence if she did. With butterflies brushing the insides of her tummy, she reached out a hand, tapping him twice on the shoulder.

The stranger turned, and she thought she might let herself believe his face really brightened when he saw her.

Nervously, she waved. “Hi.”

“Hey, Clara,” he said in a soft voice, somehow still audible over the loudspeakers. His smile was sweet and reserved. Her throat tightened up. “I was hoping you’d want to talk again.”

Marinette felt like the breath was stolen right out of her lungs. “You– You did?”

A hand reached behind the back of his neck in what must have been a nervous tick— yet another similarity to more than one of the loves of her life, oddly enough. “Yeah, I mean—” Was that a hint of red on his cheeks, or were her glasses fogging up again? “You– Uh, I loved dancing with you.”

The smile pinched her cheeks. “I loved dancing with you, too,” she said. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Wait a second,” Marinette said, her mind finally catching up to the last 60 seconds. “You called me Clara. I didn’t—?”

His mouth twitched into a grin. “Your outfit,” he pointed out. “Inspired by Clara Nightingale, right? From the ‘Heartbreak Disco Baby’ video?”

“You recognize it?”

The stranger’s face seemed to light up, even in the darkness of the bar. “Of course!” Marinette watched agape as his eyes scanned up and down her body, dare she say, appreciatively. “I’ve only watched that video about a million times and this is a perfect recreation.”

Pride swelled in her chest at the praise. “Thank you,” she replied. “I do take my costuming very seriously. My best friend even dressed to look like Sonia Auclair from that video.” She gave her loose hair a flip over her shoulder as she took the moment to seize up his outfit as well. “And you are—”

“Dressed at the very last minute,” he supplied bashfully. “I wasn’t exactly planning to come out, but luckily I had this beanie.”

“It suits you.”

His smile seemed genuine at her compliment. “You really think so?” he laughed, playing with the edge of the material. “Thanks.”

He was adorable. She bit her lip against the rising heat on her face.

“Heartbreak Disco Baby,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That doesn’t mean you’re a little heartbroken, are you?”

Adorable and considerate.

Now or never, she thought.

“Can I kiss you?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, her chest seized up. She said that. Oh god. She really said that.

The stranger’s face blazed a delightful shade of red, and Marinette wondered if they would match or clash were someone to compare the two of them. “Sorry,” he coughed. “I think I might have misheard you?”

She could run away. Back out right now, and save herself the mortification. Unfortunately, a flash of movement on the other side of the bar caught her attention, and she was met by Alya fluttering her fingers across the way. Marinette forced down a swallow.

“I asked to kiss you,” she repeated clearly.

When he only continued to stare at her, face crimson and eyes wide, Marinette slipped dangerously close to panic mode.

“Forget it!” she practically screeched. “You don’t have to do that—” She cut herself off with an awkward laugh. “I just— whew! Is it hot in here? I just— My friend over there told me I need to cut loose, and she told me to just go for it because I, well, I mean you’re very pretty— and we had chemistry…? Oh god, I said that— I mean, no, I stand by that, we do—” She covered her mouth, eyes wide in horror over her spew. “I swear I haven’t had that much to drink,” she admitted, rubbing her temples. “Sorry, I’ll go.”

“Okay.”

Marinette froze, slowly drawing her gaze away from the floor and back to the stranger’s face. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck again, the redness of his face having faded to a lovely pink that blended with the colored shades of her glasses. “Okay,” he said again. “I’ll kiss you.”

“You- You– uh. . .” Words didn’t seem to want to come to her rescue.

Luckily, the stranger did. He eased off away from the bar, facing her fully as he took her limp hand in his. With a gentle tug, he guided her to step closer towards him. “Is this okay?” he asked, his warm tone sending her heart fluttering.

She nodded almost too vigorously before she finally managed to rouse her tongue. “Yes, yes, it’s okay.”

This close, she could smell his cologne, a cluster of warm linens and nutmeg that sent a pang of recognition down her spine. His chest was firm and radiated a comfortable warmth that Marinette felt she could fold into. She followed his eyes as they dropped down to her mouth and back up again. Goosebumps raised over her skin as his hand glided up her arm, his face an image of patience. Until it changed to panic.

“Wait, oh no,” he gasped. “You’re not–”

“What?” She tilted her head in confusion, not really sure where this reaction had come from.

His mouth was a worried line. “Have you been drinking?” he asked. “Because I’m sober, and I don’t want to be taking advantage of you–”

Marinette cut him off with a snort. “I promise you, I am completely of sound mind, when I do this.”

Riding the sudden wave of confidence, Marinette mirrored his earlier movements, allowing her hand to trail up his arm and over his neck, warm skin beneath her fingertips. As she gently cupped his cheek with her palm, she pressed up on her tiptoes, rocking forward to sear her lips to his.

His breath fanned her mouth as he gasped into it, truthfully without a hint of the taste of alcohol, and his lips were pleasantly warm and plush against hers. She found herself quickly sinking into it, especially as a hand landed on her lower back and held her steady. Her other hand dove into the hair at the back of his neck, teasing the soft strands in rhythm with the glide of their kiss.

It was more than sparks and explosions and fire— all things she never expected she would feel while kissing a complete stranger.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something achingly familiar— comfortable, her mind supplied— about the pressure of his mouth on hers, and the little hums she could feel vibrating over her skin. Despite herself, she cracked open her eyes and studied his face as he continued to kiss her.

Green eyes. Blond hair. Cat ears, puns, those lips. Her heart almost seemed to stop as she realized she knew exactly why the sensation was so familiar. She had felt this kiss before. It could only be Chat Noir, she realized, warmth flowing between her shoulder blades.

She pulled away, just a centimeter to breathe between them. “Mon Chaton?”

He blinked open dazed eyes, blinking at her as if waking up from a dream. “Chaton?” he repeated. His eyes widened. “My Lady?” His voice was breathier than she was used to hearing it, and it sent a thrill up her spine.

“It’s you.” She almost wanted to laugh. “No wonder we fit so well together.”

It only took a few seconds for her partner to recover from his dreamlike state. He grinned his cat-like grin. “We’ve always been the purrfect team, after all.”

“Oh my god,” Marinette groaned, pressing her lips to his once more to shut him up. However, his mouth remained shockingly slack against hers. She pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

Seemingly dumbfounded, he replied, “You kissed me again.”

Oh god. Oh, god. He didn’t want to kiss her now that he knew. She was such an idiot.

“I’m so sorry.” Hastily, she tried to push away from his chest, only for him to grab her wrists and prevent her escape.

“Wait, no. I just–” His mouth worked wordlessly, endless green eyes searching her own. “Are you sure you want to be kissing me? What about—”

“Adrikins!”

Marinette froze in place, the familiar voice sending a chill up her spine— one that was cold and bruising, rather than warm and thrilling tingles that her partner had sent up and down her back all night.

Her hands went limp, still caught in Chat Noir’s hold, as the spray-tanned arms of Chloé Bourgeois wound around his neck.

Chloé, dressed in a flowing gown that did not at all match the whimsical costumes in the bar, immediately launched into complaints, current company left unnoticed, or rather ignored. “Thank god, I finally found you,” she cooed. “I can’t believe you left me there with that cousin of yours and Tsurugi. Ugh.”

A pained expression flashed Marinette’s way before her partner turned his head to meet Chloé’s powder blue eyes. “You had Zoé, too, didn’t you?” he asked her.

“Ugh, you know I would rather it be just us two.”

Marinette was rooted to the spot. It felt as though her brain was misfiring in about a billion directions. And yet, somehow all those directions ended at the exact same destination: the stranger before her.

A stranger, she was realizing, that was not so strange after all.

In fact, this was probably a person she knew better than she ever thought she had.

Because if she added everything she knew up, carried the two, and multiplied by three, well...

It seemed like Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste and the two (three...?) loves of her life were actually just one.

Nervous green eyes peeked at Marinette, as if to check that she was still there. The redirection of his— Adrien’s, oh god— attention finally drew Chloé’s eyes east, and if Marinette thought she could make it out of this easily, she was quickly corrected when an appalled groan filled the air.

“Dupain-Cheng?” Chloé stuck her nose up in the air, somehow glaring at Marinette through only the corner of her eye. “What are you doing with her? I thought you two broke up.”

“It’s complicated,” Marinette said, at the same time Adrien burst out “Marinette?”

She took one look at his face before immediately casting her eyes away again, an angry red blush overtaking her cheeks.

What the hell what the hell what the hell.

She found herself almost wishing for an akuma alert to save her. Except, no. No, she didn’t, she realized, because she would still have the same man right there with her.

“Marinette?” Adrien repeated again, voice sounding almost far away, even in a room where her ears were already blocked from the loud music.

Shyly, she met his pleading eyes, pushing her sunglasses back up and onto the top of her head. His jaw all but dropped open as he watched her, recognition flitting through his eyes.

They were quite the pair, weren’t they? Marinette could have laughed. A pair of glasses and neither realized that they were talking to their own ex. And the fact that she had recognized Chat Noir’s kiss, but not Adrien’s... No. Nope. Not going to unpack that.

Chloé glanced between them, a look between disgusted and bored plastered across her face. “What’s with that reaction?” she asked. “Listen, if you’re getting back with this weirdo, I–”

“Chloé!”

Marinette had no idea where Alya had appeared from, but she had never been so happy to see her best friend throw an arm over the other girl’s shoulder. Chloé physically recoiled under Alya’s touch, attempting to lean away, but to no avail.

“Césaire,” she grunted.

Alya grinned, unbothered by the less-than-enthusiastic response. “Oh my god, it really is you! I could barely tell; forgot my glasses, silly me. How’ve you been?” she asked. “I want to hear all about the new campaign.” Over her shoulder, she threw Marinette a wink.

The realization that Alya was providing her a way out burst across Marinette’s skin. In a flash, she had wrapped her hand around Adrien’s wrist, bodily dragging him through the crowd and away from their classmates. He came along willingly, only slowing down to dodge around drunk patrons that stepped between them.

Eventually they found themselves comfortably alone in a quiet hallway leading to the bathrooms. The hallway was much brighter than the main floor, illuminating all of Adrien’s features in a way that she couldn’t believe she had missed before. Marinette looked up at him in question, squeezing his wrist tight between her fingers. “When did you get back?” she asked, too desperate for the answer to pretend like she wasn’t.

He looked worried. “Just tonight. I– I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.”

“Of course I did,” she murmured. She realized she had said it too quietly to be heard over the speakers when Adrien kept going.

“Everyone was asking questions.” He pressed a hand against his forehead, twisting her heart with it. “And just talking so much about my dad and England and... I don’t know. I– I had to get out.”

Her breath caught. She began running her hand up and down his arm to try and soothe him, saying, “I know, kitty, I know.”

“Zoé mentioned you and that’s when I realized I had to make a break for it.” He ducked his head shyly. “I should have figured I’d run right towards you.”

Marinette huffed out a laugh, her earlier conversation with Alya about fate and divinity seeming oh so relevant now. She let her hands rest on both his cheeks. “Yeah, seems like we’ll always be in each other’s orbit, doesn’t it?” she asked. “I just can’t seem to ever let you go.”

His eyes went shiny, and she wondered if he was about to cry. “Do you really mean that?” he asked, covering her hands with his own.

Her shoulders dropped with the tension she had been carrying. “Of course I do,” she replied, running her thumbs over the dark circles beneath his eyes. “I’m sorry about that night. I just didn’t want you to leave and I didn’t know how to say it.”

“I didn’t want to leave either,” he said with a watery smile. “Are you disappointed you didn’t get to kiss a stranger?”

She used her thumb to brush one errant tear away from his eye. “Considering I’d rather be kissing you, anyway?” she teased. “No, I’m not disappointed at all.”

His mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Not even about...?” He glanced back and forth down the hallway, as if checking for any listeners, only to look back at her with just an eyebrow waggle to voice his concerns.

Marinette giggled again. “Come here, kitty.” With a gentle tug, she guided his face down to hers, kissing him all over again.

If you enjoyed, consider dropping a kudos or comment on Ao3! <3

[myth-blossom]

For the ask game: "Drink Me" for 47/Diana :D

The ICA valued discretion above all else. There were strict protocols in place that prohibited “inappropriate” communications between staff, most especially with agents and their handlers. They were to exchange only the necessary information needed for their work and nothing more, a safeguard to keep relationships professional and never too personal. It was a rule all employees were expected to follow, and no team did better to elude discovery and punishment of its dismissal like Diana and 47. 

They would meet occasionally and in secret, their topics as sensitive as target intel or as innocuous as Diana’s plans for a summer holiday. It was a habit they formed to defend against Soders and his challenges to their careers, but it also served them well in the Agency’s moments of crisis. They continued to survive on the use of codes they developed over the years, valuing their privacy and safety enough to remain covert even on Agency grounds whenever necessary. 

Most common of their codes were through the use of drink orders. They would arrange a time at a location of Diana’s choice for the next exchange of information. She preferred to keep a clear head for delicate matters such as Agency parties or contract discussions, so when she ordered something, she made sure to make it count. If 47 arrived and she ordered an Aperol Spritz, for instance, that meant it was safe enough for him to be seen with her publicly. If she had ordered champagne, that meant he would receive an item drop at the usual place to help with his next mission. Or if he arrived to find her drinking a gin and tonic, then he knew the location was compromised and he would wait for her call the next day. 

47 didn’t mind the various tricks of their trade. He came to enjoy the fleeting moments and secrets they shared two or three times a month, drifting through various cities around the world in establishments that were grand or even grungy. He didn’t care where the distance took him so long as it brought him closer to her, and it even gave him enough strength to endure the annual company celebration for the ICA.

The Agency spared no expense for the grand event’s catering and entertainment, with many of their colleagues indulging in fine alcohol and fairly loose conversation despite the clandestine nature of the business. Diana was ever the stunning vision in her blue evening dress, catching the attention of many agents and analysts around her. She received numerous requests to dance from her potential suitors, but it was only 47’s hand that she accepted to guide her to the dance floor. He expected her to speak in code as they glided to the music, knowing they were being watched by all eyes in the room. Instead, she simply talked as if they danced together often, smiling and chuckling at his dry humor, him complimenting her outfit, she appreciating his, and so on. The song ended far too quickly before a brave analyst approached to request her next dance, forcing 47 to walk away reluctantly to avoid making a scene.

He watched Diana visit the open bar sometime later, expecting that to be the moment she would address her invitation to him with one of her classic drink orders. But she surprised him once more when she ordered a Tequila Sunrise, its name and lively color missing from their repertoire of coded messages. He waited until she was nearly finished with her cocktail to approach the bar and order the same, indicating his acceptance of her invitation despite having no idea what the new order meant. She dabbed her mouth gently with a napkin before setting it down and walking away, leaving behind a perfect imprint of her painted lips on its material. He retrieved the napkin when no one was looking and discovered the small matchbook she hid underneath, recognizing the logo advertising a luxury hotel downtown.

47 waited long enough after her exit to make his own, making sure no suspicions would be raised at the possibility of them leaving together. He visited the hotel and found a keycard and message waiting for his alias at the front desk, letting him know that his wife had already checked in and was expecting him in their suite on the top floor. When he entered the room, he found the lights set low and Diana looking out over the sparkling city from the balcony. She seemed unbothered by the cool night air as he appeared in the doorway behind her.

“You came,” she said, smiling over her shoulder.

“You asked,” he replied. He breathed in the alluring scent of her perfume when she approached, reminding him of the pleasant dance they shared earlier that evening. “Is everything alright?”

“You tell me,” she whispered, pressing her lips ever so slowly to his. 

He flinched slightly from surprise, but it quickly melted away as he relaxed and returned the kiss he had long dreamed of giving, his arms embracing her tightly as she melted happily against him. He reveled in the taste of Diana, of her drink, of the message he now realized she was trying to send him that evening.

“Stay with me tonight,” she begged, her wish a breathless plea against his lips. He answered with a tender message of his own as he guided her through the threshold and into their bed, sharing secrets and sighs well into the night until they welcomed a beautiful sunrise.

Prompt Meme

[lovelyvogrincic]

I know everything about you

Enzo Vorgincic x fem! Reader

Warnings: Jealousy and mention of alcohol drinks but minor, mostly fluff.

Note: This prompt has taken ages to be here! So enjoy it, also it’s a dialogue stolen from Teresa 🫣 pardon any mistake!

malesanchezw

Liked by vogrincicenzo and 21,788 others.

Doble cita con doble shots con estos tres. @matiasrecalt @yn.yln @vogrincicenzo

View all 231 comments.

yn.yln: cual doble cita? 🙄 cállate.

santivacanarvaja: gracias por la invitación a la doble cita.

vogrincicenzo: @santivacanarvaja que no es una cita!

matiasrecalt: te amo guapa ❤️

-Es una cita entonces- you say as you kept the napkin on your purse- Me aseguraré de escribirte.

-Perfecto, esperaré tu mensaje- the guy you’ve been taking to said as he winked and left you to return to the table you were sharing with your friends.- Chao.

You arrived to the table smiling and feeling more confident in you and your looks, a little materialistic? Probably, but still felt good.

-Ah pero estás muy sonriente- your best friend told you as you sat down next to her.- ¿Que pasó con ese chico?

-Nada importante, me dio su número para hacer una cita y seguir charlando.- you said couldn’t hiding your excitement- No puedo creerlo.

-Parece que alguien está teniendo buena suerte hoy, ¿ah?- another of your best friends said seeing you blushing and excited.

You nodded and turned to see the other friend you were with.- Y, ¿vos que opinas, Enzo? Estás muy callado.

He simply returned to sip his cocktail and didn’t looked at your direction.

-Eh, ¿Por qué te ponés de mal humor, Enzo?- you asked looking for his sight, trying to make him look at you.- ¿Hice algo?

-No, solo estoy cansado, es eso.- he said after a few seconds, and returned to drink.

-Todos lo estamos, por eso decidimos venir acá, a tomarnos unos tragos, platicar y bailar, ¡Disfrutá!- Malena, your best friend told him as she cheered her drink with her boyfriend.

-Si Enzo, relájate, y sonreí, igual es temprano para irnos- Matías, Malena’s boyfriend told him, and the last words made Enzo roll his eyes.

-Tenes razón Mati, yo voy por un refill, ¿alguien queré?- you asked while getting up with your glass.

-Yo, cariño, por favor, lo que sea- Malena answered as giving you her glass too and you walked to the barman.

-Enzo, conociéndote como lo hago, digo que estás celoso- the mentioned one just clicked his tongue and looked to other side, trying to ignore his friend comment- ¿Ves? Estás celoso, ¿por qué no lo decís?

He sighed at the thought of telling you, one of his closest and best friends, that he was dying of jealousy, even though he didn’t had any right to, or that he wanted to rip apart that napkin with that dumb guy’s number, he couldn’t, he could’ve lose you and that was something he wouldn’t bear to.

-Nah Matias, estás equivocado, (yn) y yo solo somos amigos, no estoy celoso, y si lo estuviera, no tendría derecho.- the couple turned to see each other, it was a superpower they had perfectioned with the time, talk without saying a word.

-Pero, ¿qué decís? Si es obvio que vos gustas de (yn) y ella de vos, ¡deberían confersalo!- Malena said rolling her eyes at how absurd he was being.

-No, no lo haré, ella solo me ve como un amigo y eso está bien, no espero más, así que basta, esto se queda entre nosotros- Enzo said while looking at his friends searching for commitment of them to not say another word; they lift their hands, surrendering on the topic.

After a few more seconds, hardly, you made your way to the table with just had lost a little of liquid from the drinks, put them on the table and sat down.

-¿Y,de qué me perdí?- as you said that, the three people with you looked at each other.

-De nada, (yn) nada interesante.- Enzo answered, looking directly at your eyes for the first time in the evening.

-Ah, pero por fin me volteas a ver, ¡milagro!- you told him in between laughs making him roll his eyes funny.

-Eh, pará, es que ya te veo borrosa, intento enfocarte- the Uruguayan answered also laughing, making the couple sitting near you, smile at seeing you both like that.

-¿Ya se te pasó el mal genio?- you asked him, getting near him, so you didn’t had to scream, he returned to finishing his drink- ¿Que significa eso?

-Yo creo que es un no- Matías told you- Ya sabes cómo es Enzo, el mal genio le dura un buen rato.

Everyone continued to tease him about him being a grumpy old man, making Enzo more grumpy, but the thing that annoyed him more was that a lot of guys were stealing glances at you, he was the only to notice, of course.

-Eh, para, para- he asked- si fuera un abuelo con mal genio, no me levantaría a bailar- he said while leaving his drink on the table and getting up.

-Probalo- you dared him; one thing was that he got up, another was that he actually took courage to go to the dance floor, because he was shy and dancing wasn’t his forte.

-Bueno, ¿me acompañás?- he finally asked, while reaching out his hand for you to take, you looked to Matias and Malena who were in shook and also trying desperately to convince you to accept.

-Hagámoslo- your hand met his, and got up, both smiled as you headed to the dance floor- no me pises mucho, ¿si?

He nodded and arrived to the dance floor, the songs playing were jazz, everyone agreed to go to a calm place but with good drinks, your hands didn’t knew where to land, so Enzo took initiative, one of his hands went to your waist, and yours went to his shoulder and the free hands, intertwined, as you followed the rhythm of every instrument, moving side to side or forward, even adding a little turn in a while.

After a few songs,Valentine by Laufey was playing, you both had gotten closer, your both hands on his neck and his in your waist, practically hugging and smelling each other’s perfumes, much haven’t been said, but the body language was talking for itself, and finally Enzo broke the silence.

yn.yln

Liked by franromerofran and 25,600 others.

'Cause I think I've fallen in love this time 🩷 @vogrincicenzo

View all 1,235 comments.

malesanchezw: 😻🥺 los más preciosos!

blaspolidorii: QUE TIERNOOOS 🤧

franromerofran: Shippeo hasta el infinito !

vogrincicenzo: Vos y Laufey>>>>

-No estaba cansado, ni de malas- he confessed looking at you.

-¿No, entonces por qué estabas tan mala onda hace rato?- you asked him, really intrigued.

He swallowed before answering- Porque me moría de celos- finally he told the truth, trying to not break the eye contact, you stopped swinging.

-¿Cómo, vos estabas celoso, por qué?- you couldn’t believe what you’ve just heard, probably, you thought, he was jealous like a brother could be or jealous that you flirted and he hadn’t- ¿Por qué yo conseguí un número y vos no?

He laughed and sighed.

-No, muerto de celos porque alguien más te va a llevar en una cita, porque él cree que te merece, porque vos lo viste como a mí no, y porque…sentí que debía ser yo, no él- he told you and broke the contact you had, stepping a few centimeters away.- sé que no tene sentido y yo no debería sentirme así, pero eso fue lo que pasó, (yn), no fuiste vos.

You took some sweet seconds to process what he just told you, it was huge what he confessed and with caution, you got near him again.

-¿En serio estabas celoso?- he nodded looking down like a little kid who was just scolded.-¿Por qué decís que él no me merece?

His shoulders lifted and you giggled.

-Porque yo te conozco muy bien, y él no, porque mereces algo bueno, no a cualquiera que se te acerque en un bar- your hands went again around his neck, at first, he was shy to put again his hands around you.

-¿Ah si, me conoces mucho?- he nodded again- ¿cual es mi flor favorita?

-Los lirios blancos- he said without hesitation, making your eyes wide open.

-Esa era fácil, ¿cuál es mi álbum favorito de Taylor Swift?- he laughed at the question but he knew the answer.

-Lover y me atrevería a decir que Red compite por ahí también- you nodded shocked at how many details he knew about you- Tu película favorita es Orgullo y Prejuicio, de chica jugabas futbol y hacías ballet, preferís el chocolate blanco, y claro, tu cantante favorita es Taylor Swift, a la cual seguís desde 2010.

You couldn’t believe all the facts about you, he just said, how could he remember all that?, it must’ve been that he really, really liked you, and what a wonderful new, because you happened to liked that Uruguayan guy so much.

-Podes hacerme mil preguntas sobre vos, y todas las sabré, porque me gustas y mucho (yn)- he confessed smiling, with a shine in his eyes.

-No lo sabes todo- you told him making his eyes open wide- Te faltó algo.

-¿Que me faltó- he asked you laughing, while you were serious.

-Que vos me gustas…, y mucho, también- you confessed as the blush on your cheeks appeared and he cubbed one of your cheek with his hand.

-Todos los días se aprende algo nuevo.

And he took a deep breath to finally, after wanting it for a while, kiss you.

vogrincicenzo

Liked by yn.yln and 143,000 others.

eres lo más bonito que he encontrado.

my valentine… 💌

View all 5,449 comments.

yn.yln: My lover and valentine 💌

vogrincicenzo: @yn.yln ❤️ te adoro.

Matiasrecalt: no puedo con lo cursi que son! Igual, felicidades !

pipegonzalesotano: Aaaaay que ternura uds dos. Los quiero !

[ironclawallosaur]

I'm not even sure my word on this is worth two cents but:

I feel the big issue with "AI art" isn't the stolen artwork per se—yes, it's annoying, but there's functionally no difference between this

and this

This, too, is stolen art, used by the internet for humor. (the original appears to be by artist Joaes Kleine) It took the original artist 15 hours of work, and the memester probably about 15 second.

And, y'know. If we banned Object Labeling memes, the internet would be a poorer place. Deepfaking US presidents riding a giant rollercoaster, using AI to generate sexy victorian catgirls, and making relatable memes (who hasn't gotten up in the middle of the night Big Thirsty?) is all fun and games.

(what I wish is that we had a way to credit the artist easily without wrecking the joke that people could also notice, I'd use it all the time)

(maybe put the link in the alt-text?)

The problem is that I'm seeing more and more signs of "AI art" being the next autotranslate.

where it gets out into the professional world and turns everything to shit.

This is a social ill, yes—instead of a skilled translator getting paid to translate what I presume to be a hair salon, no one has gotten paid except maybe a few cents spread around in click revenue. But... I feel that's not the heart of the matter. Sometimes jobs—like lamplighters or buggy drivers—dry up, but translation is nowhere near replacement

There's something fundamentally wrong about using a blind, stupid machine to crunch all the work for you and then not even bother to go double-check it. Anyone who's explored a foreign language website with these services knows how stupid and frustrating autotranslations can be. It's fine for a private citizen (who will notice most of the blatant errors), or for people showing the translation of foreign-language memes, but companies use them because they're cheap or free, and don't even bother to slide them to a friend who speaks a little English to say "hey, does this say something about hair".

It's something that degrades everyone's experience, it makes the world stupider. And it's just... lazy, and cheap. You can blame capitalism but the same sorts of cheap shortcuts turn up in socialism (see: Chernobyl) so I don't think the attitude is strictly linked to economic system. I don't know what to do to solve it—and I know people have disapproved of me trying to do things the good and thorough way instead of the quick, cheap, and lazy way.

So, use AI art for funneh memes, as a jumping-off point for art, or to make something pretty. Try to source the material ethically if you can. Professionally, maybe early-stages concept art? Concept artists do important work, but it beats a crude cocktail-napkin doodle for commissions and whatnot. But the idea of people using AI art for making video backgrounds in paid products makes me sick, and it will have consequences.

Anyway, I'll leave off with a meme that's basically both:

[noisycowboyglitter]

We Hiss You A Meowy Catmas Funny Design - Unique Holiday Apparel

"We Hiss You A Meowy Catmas" is a playful twist on the traditional Christmas greeting, designed to delight cat lovers and pun enthusiasts alike. This humorous phrase combines cat-related wordplay with holiday cheer, creating a whimsical and memorable message.

Buy now:19.95$

The slogan typically appears on various products, including t-shirts, mugs, greeting cards, and home decor items. These products often feature cute illustrations of cats in festive attire or holiday settings, adding visual appeal to the clever wordplay.

The design might showcase cats wearing Santa hats, tangled in Christmas lights, or playfully batting at ornaments. The color scheme usually incorporates traditional Christmas colors like red and green, sometimes with a touch of cat-inspired elements like paw prints or whiskers.

This funny cat-themed Christmas saying is perfect for gift-giving among feline fanatics, as stocking stuffers, or as a way to inject some humor into holiday decorations. It's ideal for those who appreciate a good pun and want to celebrate the season with a nod to their feline friends.

Buy now

"We Hiss You A Meowy Catmas" captures the spirit of the holidays while acknowledging the special place cats hold in many people's hearts and homes.

Cat Christmas Ugly Xmas apparel combines the popular ugly Christmas sweater trend with feline-themed humor. These festive garments feature bold, over-the-top designs centered around cats in holiday scenarios. Expect to see cartoonish cats tangled in Christmas lights, wearing Santa hats, or knocking ornaments off trees.

The designs often incorporate intentionally garish color combinations and patterns, staying true to the "ugly" sweater aesthetic. Text elements might include cat-related puns or phrases like "Meowy Christmas" or "Feline Festive."

Buy now

Available in various styles including sweaters, t-shirts, and hoodies, these items cater to cat lovers looking to add some whimsy to their holiday wardrobe. They're perfect for ugly sweater parties, casual holiday gatherings, or as gifts for cat enthusiasts.

These Cat Christmas Ugly Xmas items offer a fun way to celebrate both the holiday season and feline appreciation.

Christmas hostess gifts are thoughtful presents given to show appreciation for holiday entertainers. These items are typically festive, practical, or indulgent. Popular choices include seasonal candles, gourmet food baskets, or artisanal chocolates. Elegant serving platters, holiday-themed kitchen towels, or festive cocktail

Buy now

napkins make useful additions to any host's collection. For a personal touch, consider monogrammed coasters or a custom ornament. Wine or specialty liquors are classic options, while luxury hand soaps or lotions offer a pampering element. The best Christmas hostess gifts balance holiday cheer with functionality, expressing gratitude for the host's efforts in creating a warm, welcoming celebration.

[theheirloomist]

Scot and @morganmann had been building a life together for 14 years before becoming engaged. Their love was never in question—but the long courtship provided endless opportunity for jokes from friends and family.

One morning in 2022, moments before boarding a flight to Napa, it all changed. Scot proposed. 

With little time to share the exciting news, the newly engaged couple boarded their flight, settled into their seats, and logged on to the airplane’s wifi.  That’s when the engagement announcement texts started flying—and the replies from their loved ones kept the couple laughing for the entire flight.

“Morgan, are you sure you guys aren’t rushing into this?” their friend Steve replied.  “So you aren’t just roommates?” their friend Jeff asked.

The texts and humor were pure love, a reminder of all the people pulling for them. 

At the couple’s wedding, Morgan acknowledged this in style—she put all their texts on the cocktail napkins. 

“It was a conversation starter for all guests,” Morgan said. “And now they will serve as a conversation starter for anyone that walks into our home,” she said. We photographed the napkins for the couple not just to preserve them for time to come, but to celebrate that special day and outpouring of spirited love.

Morgan and Scot, congratulations….FINALLY.

#theheirloomist #celebrateyourstory #makeitpersonal #personalizedart #handmade #custommade #modernsart #photography

[switch2pr]

"From Sales to PR: The First-Time Flair to a Hilariously Confident Journey into the World of Public Relations"

Chapter 1: The Great Escape

Once upon a time in a land of aggressive sales targets and soul-sucking meetings, I found myself longing for a change. So, I hatched a daring plan—I would leave my sales job behind and embark on a whirlwind adventure across the country, of India. Cue the dramatic music!

Chapter 2: Rickshaws, Revelations, and Rambunctious Rides

Picture this: me, a clueless explorer armed with a rickshaw as my trusty chariot, careening through the delightful chaos of India's streets. From dodging holy cows to out-negotiating street vendors, every moment was a laugh-inducing adventure. Amidst the vibrant festivals, aromatic spices, and questionable dance moves learned from enthusiastic locals, I realized that PR was the perfect match for my eccentric personality. So, with a belly full of curry and a heart full of laughter, I returned from my Indian escapades ready to conquer the PR world with a comedic flair that would leave even Bollywood stars in stitches. Get ready for a comically chaotic journey filled with PR prowess and an abundance of hilarious tales from my Indian travels!

Chapter 3: Puns, PR, and Pizzazz - Unleashing My Inner PR Comedian

As I stumbled into the world of Public Relations, armed with nothing but a quirky sense of humor and a bucketful of puns, I discovered a hidden talent that would become my secret PR weapon: comedy. With zero experience and a tendency to crack jokes at inappropriate moments, I quickly realized that my unique approach to PR had the potential to make waves. I found that laughter could open doors and captivate audiences. Join me on this hilarious journey of PR self-discovery as I navigate the world of puns, press releases, and PR campaigns that will make you giggle, groan, and question my sanity. Get ready for a rollercoaster ride of comedy, chaos, and PR pizzazz that will leave you wondering if I'm a PR genius or just plain delusional!

Chapter 4: Unconventional Wisdom and Outrageous Outcomes

In a world where textbooks and industry norms ruled the PR realm, I proudly embraced my lack of experience as a gateway to unconventional wisdom. Armed with a wild imagination, a zest for the absurd, and more than a few offbeat ideas scribbled on cocktail napkins, I set out to challenge the status quo. With each audacious campaign, I defied expectations and achieved outcomes that were nothing short of outrageous. Join me on this exhilarating journey as we push the boundaries of PR, transforming industry conventions into comedy gold. Prepare to be amazed as we witness the magic that unfolds when an inexperienced PR novice dares to dream big and unleash the power of unconventional thinking. Get ready for a wild ride of unconventional wisdom, unexpected twists, and outcomes that will leave even the most seasoned PR pros in awe. Together, we'll rewrite the rules and prove that sometimes, the craziest ideas are the ones that make the biggest impact!

[chiwhorei]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭

cross-posted to Ao3!

pairing: issei “horse cock” matsukawa x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~4.4k

tags: stripper!issei, stripper!seijoh, roommate!oikawa, tendoukawa (bc @heauxzenji said it an it’s now the only ship in my head) dry humping, lap dance, a little corruption, spitting, public, alcohol and recreational drug consumption (weed and coke), spanking, degradation, hardly edited

a/n: howdy! this is my contribution to the smut pile’s western collab and it is so incredibly late but what the hell else is new. the masterlist for the collab can be found here! @messwriting and myself, in true chaotic duo fashion, built an absolutely depraved multiverse of seijoh strippers: the lawbreakers. lee, i love you so much. this journey we’ve been on the past few months has been chaotic and beautiful, and there’s plenty more to come. 

the multiverse: hanamaki || iwaizumi || kyoutani

hymn: save a horse (ride a cowboy) by big & rich

and all the girls say— save a horse, ride a cowboy

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head.

How the fuck did you get here?

***

You shift your weight on either foot, arches aching already. The pair of jeans and top you had planned on wearing tonight were all but ripped off of your body, casual boots thrown down the hallway with sadistic glee and replaced with heels that are taller and a dress much too short.

“Damnit, you’re walking too fast.” Your appointed captor turns around dramatically, stopping in his tracks to watch you catch up. The cigarette pressed into his mouth cards in two fingers and extended towards you as a peace offering. You take the half gone stick and bring it to your lips.

Tendou’s mission was simple, drag his boyfriends roommate and best friend-- possibly kicking and screaming-- out for a night she won’t soon forget. 

“Were those really necessary, Satori?” You point with the remnants of his cigarette and he feigns a kicked-puppy expression, looking down dramatically at his all black outfit contrasting drastically with a flashy pair of brownish-red cowboy boots. 

“I am being a supportive partner. Plus Tooru and I wear the same shoe size.” His hair is bright outlined by the neon sign above the building.

You inhale smoke and nicotine, eying him over once again before continuing. 

“Does it bother you when he’s dancing on all of those horny women?” The cigarette butt falls to the ground, you snuff it out while exhaling remnant smoke from your nose, the bachelorette party walking towards the door in a parade screaming emphasizes your question.

Tendou pulls you close, mouth pressing against your neck to bite against the skin. You jerk away from his embrace, with a feeble push against his chest to match the scoff scratching against your throat. The tall red head above you, currently leaned into the dip on your neck, always has an air of vulgar humor and zero personal space. 

“Watching my pretty little boyfriend grinding on women that would never stand a chance with him,” he pulls away just in time to catch another eye roll before grabbing your wrist to pull you inside, “I think it’s hot as fuck.” 

You stumble behind him, the doorman recognizing your friend immediately and lets the pair of you through tacky saloon doors. You catch a glimpse of the tattered sign standing right next to the entrance. 

Lawbreaker’s Presents: The Guys of the Wild West

The club is drastically warmer than outside, the chill in your barely covered limbs thaws in a mixture of stage lights and body heat.

 You sigh deeply as the sound of country music fills your ears, seemingly in rhythm with the squawking of drunken hens sipping on tall flutes of champagne. Thinking back briefly to when you first signed the lease with Oikawa, you remember he wore glasses and a sweater vest. 

He said he worked as a “fitness instructor.”

“Ah, my two favorite people in the whole world,” Tooru’s ears just have been burning at your recollection, as your roommate appears in front of you in nothing but white spandex shorts and a pair of shiny boots to match, a tray of drinks is placed to the side on an unoccupied table. The white cowboy hat on his head gleamed in the low light of the club, rhinestone star shimmers-- you want to shy away from the bright refraction hitting your eyes.

He looks in his element, completely confident and cocksure as he walks around in only underwear and body oil. 

“Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.” Oikawa melts into Tendou’s side, he looks just as content in the current atmosphere. Tendou seems at home in any ecosystem he wanders into.

“The show starts in 15, go get yourself a drink and try to pull the stick out of your ass. I’m going to, uhm, wish Tooru an extra special good luck.” 

“I really didn’t need to know that, thanks. Tooru, break a leg.” You turn around at the sight of the wandering, tattooed hand on it’s journey south on Oikawa’s abdomen and retreat to the bar. You aren’t shocked by the display, not hardly, not with the two of them using almost every surface in your apartment as a debauched playground.

The space around you is emptier than you imagined it would be, but there is still time before the night actually starts. The bartender approaches just as you sit down on one of the wooden stools, every fixture around you is designed to look like an old saloon-- save for the strobing lights and dj booth.

You order something strong and amber, partially to stay in-theme, partially for the nerves settled in your stomach that draft beer wouldn’t be able to curb.

The woman smiles brightly and turns to pour your liquor, leaving you to pick at a cocktail napkin and await your friend’s return.

“You’re Shittykawa’s roommate.” A stranger's voice is deep and bellowing, sounding high above your ear. You swivel in your seat, gaze meeting a tanned chest instead of a set of eyes. Trailing upwards past thick black tattoos and an unavoidable pair of silver nipple rings.

You can feel the muscles in the back of your neck as they strain to meet his chocolate brown stare, he looks amused as you all but gawk at him.

“Yes, uh, I am. And you’re, uhm--” the train of thought you try to hang onto derailed completely by a devastating smile, “one of Tooru’s co-workers?”

If his smile wasn’t enough, his laugh could level the building around you. Your new friend taps the black Stetson against the bar top before putting it back on his head. He gestures broadly to his attire, or lack thereof, with another disarming and smooth chuckle. 

“What gave that one away, darlin’?” You realize how stupid your question sounded, mentally kicking yourself but trying desperately not to show it on your face.

Long, thick legs are wrapped in a pair of leather chaps, the tight fabric hides nothing even if it covers most of his lower half. A matching vest hangs open on his chest, the muscles in his arms look bigger than your head. He seems huge in presence and physique, your own form is a shrinking violet below him.

“Your drink, dear. Double Jack n’ Coke.” The bartender slides a glass towards you, and you accept it with a gracious smile. The distraction is definitely appreciated, any excuse to break the eye contact that has you dissolving like lye.

“Jack n’ Coke, a gal after my own heart.” You choke, a coupling of small coughs break out of your chest. You curse your bodies reaction, you don’t even know--

“You’re name, uh, w-what’s your name.” Casual conversation seems like the best option, because it’s only been two minutes with the almost-naked Casanova and there’s a gnawing feeling that you don’t want him to walk away.

You blame it on the alcohol not yet even running through your veins. 

“Call me anything you want, pretty girl, but my name’s Issei.”

A smile creeps from one end of your mouth to the other. His presence is jarring to say the least, but there’s something about the way his teeth peek out past curled lips that makes you want to lean in instead of away.

Tendou calls your name, effectively pulling you out of Issei’s orbit and reminding you where you are. Heat flushes in waves on your face as Tendou wraps his long arms around your shoulders from behind. Acknowledging your new friend with a pointed, “Howdy partner,” before turning to order his own drink.

“Something sweet please, and strong.” You hear his voice singing to the bartender but still face Issei, having his attention is more intoxicating than whiskey. You want him to talk to you, to ask you questions, to grace you with that smile over again.

You feel the ability to breathe escaping when Issei leans into you impossibly close, his hand enclosing around your back and pulling you in so slightly you could swear you imagined it.

“It was nice to meet you. Make sure I hear ya’ out there, darlin.”

You’re left almost falling from the bar stool, watching as Issei strides toward the back. The way his hips sway is unfair in every--

“Hey,” Tendou’s fingers come up to snap in front of your face, “Didya hear me? Let’s go take our seats.” 

That’s right; you feel like you’ve just run a marathon, heart beating erratically at the briefest interaction, your night hasn’t even started yet. 

You’re dragged directly towards the front of the stage and sat in a small two person table. You agreed to the night out between gritted teeth, hauled to the uber with absolute defiance; but most of your protest has fizzled away-- definitely not due to a pair of deep brown eyes and planes of perfectly tanned skin-- as you get comfortable next to the boisterous bridal party. You can hear their idle, drunken chatter at your back. 

“I heard they call one of the dancers ‘Mad Dog’. Apparently he’s totally feral.”

“One of them is nicknamed the ‘Big Tease’, he really likes the pretty little brides~” 

“Oh yeah? Well there’s one dancer called ‘Horse Cock’. I’m going to go home with him.” 

The women behind you howl with laughter, enjoying their friend’s last night of freedom. The straw in your drink twirls idly, thoughts drifting with each turn of the plastic against your liquor. Surely, Issei had just intended a friendly introduction, he wouldn’t be raking in tips by being unapproachable.

Friendly, you decide, repeating it to yourself until the lights drop and a black curtain is pulled up, he was just being nice. 

* * *

The show starts out mostly how you would expect. Through a few sets, toned, beautiful guys take their clothes off and fling articles at the screaming, panting crowd. The table next to you gets the most attention, bridal parties, you assume, would be the prized cash cow.

Oikawa comes out in the most obnoxious, white and teal outfit and strips into nothing but a thong and boots. Every inch of his skin sparkles, the cause becoming obvious when he jumps down to the audience and swivels his hips and ass right into your lap. Your hand comes up to his hip reflexively to brace yourself-- of course, body glitter.

You watch on at the sweaty writhing of the most beautiful men you have ever seen in real life. The atmosphere around you is absolutely contagious, it’s impossible not to fall into the rhythm, losing inhibitions with every stray piece of fabric as it’s tossed into the sea of women.

Just as you lean over to Tendou to admit that you’re enjoying yourself, the next song blasts loudly from the speakers. The beat vibrates your table, soaking into every nerve, but is almost drowned out completely by the shrieking from every patron around you. They must know what’s coming. 

 Looking back up front, you realize why the crowd is losing their minds. The man that commanded your attention at the bar is even more alluring now. His strut to center stage is deliberate, flashing smiles and winks to no one in particular and hypnotizing every person in his reach.

Issei is stunning in his element, soaking in the reaction with a humble tip of his hat. You could swear, though you’re sure that it’s just your imagination, that he’s looking right at you.

His performance starts out like the rest of them, but each movement of his tattooed hands as they travel over his chest is spellbinding. 

Issei discards his leather vest and tosses it to the side, it feels like you’re watching him in slow motion. He’s gorgeous, skin tanned and tight over thick muscle, arms wrapped in black ink and shining with sweat.

His chaps are next, ripped from his legs just as music behind him picks up. The wedding party next to you so loud you swear the laundromat next door can hear.

 All that’s left is a thong that’s barely covering his cock. You try desperately not to, but all your eyes can focus on is the bulge under a tiny piece of black leather. Your thighs rub together in search of any relief to the feeling growing hot and slick in your stomach.

He moves like liquid platinum, every long, deliberate swivel of his hips and overt palming over his crotch is enough to cause delirium. He soaks in every whistle and shriek of his name, vibrating on the high of squelching attention. 

Issei is a natural. He’s a wild animal, and, along with every other woman there, you wish he would tear you apart with his canines. 

He descends the short staircase with a quick stomp of his boots, now making rounds through the crowd. He stops in front of tables at random, invading the space between strangers and collecting wrinkled one dollar bills.

Why does something so blatantly performative feel voyeurous?

All you can do is gawk, ignoring how every time another woman’s hand runs down his abdomen you heat with envy. As he turns away from the bridal party neighboring you, your blood turns ice cold.

Issei has you, unmistakably, in his sights. His eyes pin you, holding you down tightly in your chair as he struts forward. Tendou whistles loudly as the brunette approaches your table. You wonder, in your last moment of cognizance, if Saroti and Tooru had planned your evening in more detail that you originally thought.

“Long time no see, darlin’,” Issei stands over you, and all you can do is stare dumbly up at him, “do ya trust me?” 

You don’t answer, not with words, not like he would even hear your quiver over Big & Rich booming through the speakers. His question is stupid, to trust someone you just met so vaguely?

You do. Against any better judgement, you do. 

He doesn't give you the chance to ask what he means, stuck in the gooey feeling of his attention. Issei reaches behind you, picking up your half empty glass. He swirls the drink with an almost evil smile before bringing it up to his lips and draining the last bits of whiskey and coke. 

Your face reads confused, not putting his intentions together until you feel his thumb pressed against your chin. Issei’s eyebrow quirks, eyes trained on your reaction. You’re options are to shy away, turning back in your seat, running for escape in the bathroom, or--

The gloss on your mouth is sticky as your lips part in obedience. Issei tries to hide his elation, but it’s difficult to remain aloof as your tongue lulls out and your eyes beg him.

Issei’s hold on your chin tightens, nudging you to lean in so he’s only inches away. Your eyes shut lightly, the shouting surrounding you sounds little more than a whisper with the blood rushing in your ears.

You swear you can hear him groan above you as the sharp taste of liquor hits your tongue. Willing your body to cooperate, you swallow the drink with only a small cough. 

His face dips down, it seems like a habit now, to brush his promises against the shell of your ear once again.

“You’re an agreeable little thing, I think you can take it.”

His hands are on either side of your chair in a flash, lifting you up with trained, bulging muscles. You fall forward in your seat, bracing against Issei’s chest. Every cell in your body is tight with tension, if you lift your head up to meet the audience’s eyes, you’re sure you’ll crack like glass.

He steals you from relative comfort, shifting your weight in his arms as he ascends back onto stage. You’ve gone limp in his hold, pliant to his will. The unfamiliar presence at a dusty bar top has turned into more than a front row seat to depravity.

You’re thrown off balance as he sets you down, eyes adjusting to the white hot stage lights. You’re exposed to every set of eyes in the building, even if you can’t see him-- you know Satori is smiling from one sharp cheek to the other. Wherever Tooru is, he’s most likely sitting in the same satisfaction.

Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.

Issei rounds the back of your chair so his actions are hidden from your view. The brim of a leather cowboy hat breaches your field of vision, much too big for your head.

His hands come down onto your shoulders, snaking down your bare arms. His touch leaves a scorching fleet of chills. Issei runs his finger tips upwards, tracing against your collarbone before wrapping his grip lightly around your neck. 

He can feel it, he has to, the racing pulse right under the surface of your skin.

The music transitions effortlessly, going almost unnoticed. The next song, still sharp with a cheesy country twang, is slower, deeper.

Issei’s thumb brushes against your cheek, your body wants to relax into the touch before it remembers how public the gesture is.

You hold in a shaky breath as he comes to stand in your eyeline again, you might as well be bound to your chair with rope. He looks larger than life-- in both stature and presence-- in front of you. His skin is glistening, refracting from the harsh lights with sweat and oil. 

He is an unstoppable force against your will. Your desire to hide from the blinding attention is nothing compared to the desire to please. To please a stranger, to please the man you met only an hour ago. 

To please Issei.

He flashes you another wink, taking a moment to rake his stair down your body. He memorizes the outline of your cute little dress, red is definitely your color. 

Issei slides across the smooth surface of the stage to meet where you’re perched. The barreling, almost naked body now impossibly close to where your knees are pressed together.

He starts at your ankles, tracing the soft skin of your legs until his palms press flatly against your lower thigh. Issei savors the moment for a beat longer before prying your legs apart.

The crowd below you is loud and hollow in your ears, the shame bubbling up against your cheeks and nose is nothing compared to the pressure between your legs. 

Issei’s hands wander up and under the hem of your skirt, scratching his nails on the vulnerable skin before they find his prize in the form of thin lace.

The “Wait” and “Stop” sitting on your lips shrivels up and dies as your panties are ripped off. You see the bright color, the last remnants of opposition twirling around his pointer and middle finger.

The crowd goes wild, watching as your body is made a fantasy that they can all live vicariously by. all you can do is watch as the fabric is stuffed into the side of his thong to accompany fistfuls of singles.

* * *

You’re still in shock by the final dance, still under a trance as Tendou pulls you towards the back. Stumbling behind him to catch up, you’re given no time to think about what you’re about to walk into. 

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head--

“I didn’t go too far did I?” Snapping back into reality, you hear Issei call to you. You’re vaguely comforted by a familiar voice before remembering the man attached had spat whiskey into your mouth and stolen your panties just 30 minutes prior. You heat up at the tips of your ears at the recollection of two things you had let him do, that you had wanted him to do. 

Your eyes find Issei sitting on the couch on the opposite end of your freshly showered roommate, seemingly unbothered as Tendou flops down against the middle cushion and drapes both arms across the back. 

“Don’t worry partner, our girl doesn’t startle easy.” Oikawa laughs, adjusting to sit across his boyfriend’s lap.  Issei’s all leather outfit is replaced with a pair of grey sweats. He looks relaxed, effortlessly handsome. 

What was it like, you wonder, before you knew how it felt to look at him? Life past the single night feels grey around the edges. 

When was the last time you felt this alive? 

He takes a sip of a water bottle, wiping off his chin with the large rose tattooed on his hand. You can’t stop staring at them-- the ones that roamed your body in front of a club full of drunk bachelorettes, the ones that traced your skin like he already had the map. 

And now you watch those same hands, so new but so inviting, as two fingers curl inward. They pull you as if tightening a rope around your waist. You wade past tall sweaty men and freshly caught audience members as they tangle across dusty furniture.

You scoot by your best friends from where they sit next to Issei, ignoring the slap to your ass and the following laugh from Oikawa in between loud, sloshing kisses.

“Well, little one,” He pats his thigh, inviting you to the spot on his lap rather than the empty seat next to him, “you’re not gonna run away are ya?” 

Every nerve in your body is twitching, you’re not sure if you could run if you wanted to.

You don’t.

Issei takes in your small nod of confirmation, pulling you into his hold. The position is awkward at first, perching on his knee as you try to keep your balance. He laughs, his arm snaking around your back so you relax into him. You fidget with your fingers as they lie against your lap, watching the bustling around you. A cloud of smoke settles in the air, you wonder if it’s a permanent haze of tobacco and pot-- the scent is probably painted into the walls. 

“Is this what you expected?” Issei’s voice is low and close to your ear, you can feel the smile curled into his question. Your eyes are fixed forward, watching as Tendou pours a small white line into Oikawa’s collarbone and dives in nose first.

“Honestly,” you adjust, kicking your legs up over his other knee, “I’m pretty used to this kind of stuff.”

Even if your usual scene doesn't include a drug filled almost-orgy, you can’t say you’re fazed much. Not with the company you keep.

Even with the circus revolving around you, Issei is the only thing you can see. Everything else falls away but the smell of his body wash and the soft material of his sweats where they meet your naked legs.

His hand rests against your thigh, fingers just above then short hem of your party dress. The metal rings on each digit are cool against your burning skin. You’re sure Issei can feel the heat rising in your stomach as it spreads through your blood. 

You feel him lean back, fishing something out of his pocket to set in your hands. You feel every hair stand on edge as the thin cotton drops into your grip, heavy as an anchor.

“You know what I think, darlin’?” Your breath hitches, the room around you squeezing tight against your shoulders, “I think you’re a natural on stage. I bet you would have let me do anything up there.” 

A hand wanders down the path of your spine, rough fingerprints stroke past each vertebrae. You arch at the feeling, his skin is like a narcotic. The liquor still swimming in your mind is no match to this, to the heady smell of sex and sweat as it cuts through your senses. 

Issei’s right, you’ll let him do anything to you. You’ll beg for it like you’re trying to pass the gates of heaven.

Your body moves of its own volition, legs swinging to straddle his waist. The material of your dress bunches over the curve of your ass, completely exposed to the room around you before being eclipsed by steady palms.

You would be, should be, embarrassed by the display of public depravity. No one around seems to notice, half naked is still more modest than most everyone else. Tendou and Oikawa have dissolved into a pile of spit and clashing teeth next to you, saving you from any snide quips. There’s nothing but Issei, face an inch away from you and lips tempting you to lean forward.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I don’t usually do this?” 

Glassy eyes flick dumbly at the man below you. He sees the wobble of your lip, the glaze in your stare as you memorize every feature on his face. Any reassurance sitting on his tongue dies when you crash your lips against his, hips rolling down into him and knocking him off guard.

Your kiss is searing and drips with finality. You’ve decided what bed you’ll wake up in the morning with your tongue tracing against his molars.

“No, not really.” Foreheads pressed together, it’s your turn to laugh. If you’re honest, you probably made this decision while still sitting at the bar.

You dip back in, emboldened with the bruising fingers digging against the fat of your hips. The feeling of your cunt pressed against his crotch could bring a man to his knees.

He’s not opposed, he’s just gotta get you home first.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[randomitemdrop]

d100 Table of Mediocre Treasure (value: $0-10)

Roll of antacids

Asparagus tongs

Bagel

Ball of twine

Bent paperclip animal

Bezeling planisher

Book of matches

Bottle of hand sanitizer

Bottle of lemon juice

Bottle of Sovereign Glue with the lid stuck on

Bottle of vinegar

Box of toothpicks (x30)

Breath-freshener strips

Bust of local ruler (pocket-size)

Can (roll d6: Beans, Corn, Chicken Soup, Tomato Paste, Dog Food, Treasure)

Celery-vase

Chapstick

Chalk

Cherry-pitter/olive-stoner

Chopsticks (one pair, reusable)

Chicken bones (2d4)

Clipboard

Coffee mug (boring)

Coffee mug (humorous/novelty)

Coin: brass farthing

Coin: double-headed quarter

Coin: lucky dime

Coin: rare nickel

Collectible figurine (roll d10: 1-7 common, 8-10 slightly rare)

Condom (still in wrapper)

Cool feather (not magic)

Cool rock (not magic)

Coupon for half-price at local tradesperson (see Table of Tradespeople, https://randomencounters.tumblr.com/post/631120108774948864/)

Date stamp

Decent pen

Decorative gourd (inedible)

Doorknob of unknown origin

Ear candle

Ear plugs

Edible mushroom (non-psychedelic)

Egg slicer

Empty vintage soda can that collectors insist is valuable

Fake gem

Fake mustache

Five dollar bill

Fly whisk

Garden-haxby

Guitar string

Hair pick

Handful of paper napkins

Handful of sauce packets (roll d6: ketchup, mustard, mayo, BBQ, zesty ranch, Goodberry)

Hard-boiled egg

Horseshoe

Humorous novelty headband (roll d4: cat ears, unicorn horn, demon horns, Beholder eyestalks)

Incense (see Table of Scents & Flavors, https://randomitemdrop.tumblr.com/post/631160696571314176/)

IOU from local Orc

Jar (roll d8: spaghetti sauce, salsa, sofrito, dry pasta, marmalade, cocktail onions, glitter, empty but it’s still a pretty nice jar)

Library card

Lint roller

Lunchable

Makeup mirror

Makeup brushes

Nail clippers and file

Novelty rubber dog doo

Opera glasses

Orange Circus Peanuts (3d6)

Packet of gum

Packet of instant oatmeal

Packet of spices

Pad of sticky notes

Pair of socks (roll d10: 1-3 plain white tube socks, 4-6 black dress socks, 7-9 poorly-knitted homemade socks, 10 amusing novelty print socks)

Peanut butter wrench

Political button for locally popular candidate

Political button for locally unpopular candidate

Pop Tart

Protractor

Reading glasses

Replacement shirt button

Runcible spoon

Safety razor

Scrunchie

Selfie stick

Silly-Straw

Slap bracelet

Small wooden crab-mallet

Smelling-salts

Snoring strips

Souvenir hat (roll d12: local harvest festival, local fertility festival, famous traveling musician, famous traveling morality-play, obscure cult-classic traveling morality-play, faraway city, enemy empire, tourist attraction two towns over, local funfair, local baseball team, local rival baseball team, Outer Planes)

Squeaky rubber hot dog

Squeegee

Step-stool

Tape gun

Teabag

Tooth of unknown origin

Tube of acne ointment (roll d4: 1-3 anti-acne, 4 pro-acne)

Turnip-twaddler

Universal ten-silvers-off coupon

Wax flower

Wig (roll d4: Fashionable, Unfashionable, Clown, Rave)

Yo-yo

[handshakesake]

🩸 This is an idea I’m running with on a whim, it’ll probably be smutty in the next part, but the premise is Vampire Sukuna 🩸

[Mentions of alcohol and cigarettes, our Satoru makes an appearance and probably will make more]

New Years parties never caught my eye, so I assumed when I was invited to one by a coworker this year wouldn’t be any different. A knee length black cocktail dress was forced upon me by her, insisting it wasn’t some rave type event, but one worth dressing nice for.

“Where are we going exactly?” I asked in the car on the way there, giving her a raise of the brow as we neared the inner city, skyscrapers growing closer and closer.

“Club Yokoshimana. You know the one owned by that handsome-“ She was cut off when I visibly panicked, raising my voice just a tad.

“You’re not SERIOUS! How the hell did you get us into that place?! I’m not gonna fit in there at all!” She laughed at my protest, shaking her head.

“I was invited, one of the bosses really seems to like me, and I guess he’s a regular there. So I told him I’d only come if I brought a friend.” She wasn’t reassuring, but we weren’t going to be turning around on my account, and the thought of drinking fancy champagne in a ritzy establishment had me curious.

Taking an elevator up to the club, we were surrounded by floor to ceiling windows that gave a pristine view of the surrounding city. I suddenly felt nervous again, but my coworker tugged me along, pointing out a man with stark white hair and round jet black sunglasses.

“Look, my friend is over here. Let me introduce you!” I followed her, feeling eyes on my back as we made our way to our seats, a small chill rattling my spine.

Sitting in a round booth, my coworker and her friend, who I learned was called Satoru, were chatting up a storm as we shared some drinks and appetizers.

“So, my buddy Yuuji’s older brother is the guy that owns this place. Since you asked, oh pass the bread please?” Satoru was an odd guy, but he seemed nice enough and had a great sense of humor, so I tried to relax and do what my friend had said. Enjoy the evening. A few minutes after I made that demand of myself, there was a waiter placing a glass of red wine over a napkin on our table.

“For the lady, courtesy of the boss.” He said before traipsing off leaving me stunned, my coworker and Satoru giggling at my flustered expression. I got the feeling they knew each other better than she’d claimed, and the hint of a setup was in the air.

“What the hell?” I muttered, picking up the glass and noticing something was written on the napkin, ignoring the other two as they cracked a few jokes. They saw my face go a bit red and Satoru snatched the napkin, reading its note out loud.

“Come sit with me? Ohohoho, looks like someone caught our hosts eye! He’s over there.” Satoru pointed and I tried to look over subtly, but the moment my eyes caught those maroon orbs glinting over the rim of his glass as he sipped it, I knew he knew I was looking. The way his lips curled into a devious grin and his hand came up to run his rosy hair back through his fingers nonchalantly had me swallowing nervously.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, don’t pass this up!” My friend ordered, and I stood, grabbing the glass of wine and giving a sigh to my companions before making my way over to the handsome man in such a well fitting suit. His smile grew as I came up and once I was in arms reach he’d pulled me into his booth, making me sit right beside him.

“Glad you accepted my offer, I was beginning to wonder if I spooked you.” His voice was low and gritty, starkly confident. He was close, much too close, and my face was surely flushed. He smelled of cologne and cigarettes, and he felt taller up close.

“I don’t scare easily, I guess.”

I should have known the moment those words left my lips, I was totally screwed.

[tobesobri]

Nervous

the one where Y/N might be insane but Harry is definitely a shy nervous idiot. (~7k) 

thank you @ anon for requesting this! I tried to do it justice, but I’ve honestly never written Harry this way so 😬hopefully it’s decent. Apart from this being probably the only request i’ve ever done, this is also my first piece of one-off writing i’ve posted in a long time, so I do really hope yall enjoy it as much as I do! Thank you to @fromyourstrulyh​ @aileenacoustic​ & @smokeinherperfume​ for beta reading and just generally being incredible ❤️As always, your feedback, thoughts or just a reblog are super appreciated!!

The busy conversation could not overpower the way the sun felt on Y/N’s skin. Sometimes it burned a little too hot, but other times it felt just right and she found herself basking in it, ignoring all her friends a few times too many. She knew if they were any further inland from the beach, the hot L.A. sun would be completely unbearable, but the breeze that swooshed through the courtyard every so often was enough to make the weather practically perfect. 

She no longer regretted going for one of her summer dresses that had straps and a shorter hemline. Her other options had been one with sleeves or a midi skirt, but either of those would have left her boiling, even if she only had her bathing suit on underneath. The last thing she needed when seeing all her friends again was to be sweating buckets. 

Especially in front of Harry. 

She couldn’t remember when he’d first joined their ever-growing group, but she wasn’t going to complain about it. He was nice to look at, which was just about all she ever did because he wasn't a man of many words. All of their conversations burnt out within a couple minutes. She never had any idea what to say to him because frankly, he intimidated her. All of her friends had various connections to Hollywood, but he was most definitely the most famous person she knew. So knowing what to even say to Harry was a whole other obstacle than just simply being acquainted with him.

But she did like to look at him whenever she could get away with it. Particularly when he was chatting with someone else and she obsessed over the way his dimples went in and out of his cheeks every time he smiled. If she wasn’t staring at his face and admiring the freckles or how green his eyes were in the sun, she shamelessly watched his hands. Whether it was while he articulated them in conversation, or while he picked up his sandwich to take another bite, she couldn’t take her eyes away from them.

She wanted nothing more than for him to just have a normal fucking conversation with her like he did with everyone else.

“Hey.” Mel nudged her elbow into Y/N’s side, forcing her eyes away from Harry for the first time in the past three minutes. “Do you want to share a slice of chocolate cake?”

And for the first time since they’d sat down, something other than Harry piqued her interest. With enough sparkle in her eyes to blind someone, Y/N nodded eagerly. “That shouldn’t even be a question.”

Mel shrugged and looked over the dessert menu again to pick out the right slice of chocolate cake between a plain one, one filled with fudge in the middle, and one packed with triple chocolate--whatever that meant. 

Trev, who sat beside Harry and right across from Y/N, folded his arms and leaned onto the table, “So Mel, how’s it going with that guy, uh… Alan?”

Mel rolled her eyes but kept them glued to her options of chocolate cakes, “It’s Adam.”

“Does it matter?”

Y/N bit back a smile and sat against her seat, waiting for the typical show between Trev and Mel where he let his jealousy spew out like boiling hot lava and made fun of whatever dude she was seeing all because he was too up his own ass to just ask her out. It was entertaining for the whole table, though, and especially for Y/N.

It was then, in the heat of Mel’s insults about Trev’s own miserable love life, that Y/N and Harry shared a glance, and only a glance because it was so quick, she thought she was imagining things. Just the familiar green of his irises burned into her eyelids was enough to know it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her. She’d been snickering at the two in front of her when she blinked over at him, possibly because he had already been looking at her. As soon as she did, however, within less than a second he’d looked away. She would take it, and the way it made her entire insides feel like they were being electrocuted, and run with it though. He’d looked at her for the first time all afternoon and she just might gain the courage to try and talk to him again. If he would let her of course. 

She thought about their last conversation and how it seemed like centuries ago, but also may have been the reason he hadn’t said a word to her today yet. A smaller portion of their group had gone to LACMA on an off day so it wasn’t as busy. She tried to talk to him about the Diego Rivera painting he’d been standing in front of which he had humorously mistaken for Frida Kahlo. Looking back on it though, she cringed at the way she’d laughed at his mistake because he probably didn’t find it all that funny. He had still laughed right along with her, as his cheeks reddened with embarrassment and he tried to find a quick escape to avoid interacting with her again on their museum trip--which he had done, successfully. 

He knew Diego Rivera from Frida Kahlo, though, he wasn’t stupid, but whenever she was around and he had to communicate with her, he turned into a big dumb pile of mush who wouldn’t be able to tell his left foot from his right. He had never been so fucking nervous around someone in his entire life, and so naturally, he no clue what to make of her.

The bickering between Mel and Trev died down when their waitress returned to take dessert orders as a busboy collected dirty dishes. Although dessert was Y/N’s favorite part of every meal, she found herself pouting at the thought of their afternoon passing by a lot quicker than she expected it to. 

The topic of discussion shifted once the sweets all arrived and suddenly they were all going on about Tiger King conspiracies that Y/N knew jack shit about, but still listened intently as if she did. She asked a dumb question every once in a while, which made everyone at the table groan in frustration. Eventually, though, they got onto more topics she didn’t understand the references to so she gave up. 

Instead, she found herself eyeing Harry’s sampler of various cookies, particularly his painted fingers as he broke off pieces and popped them in his mouth. He had had black nail polish on at some point, but most of it had chipped off by now. The rings he usually wore to excess had dwindled down to just one on his middle finger. She missed them, even though she was sure his poor hands were in desperate need of a break from all the jewelry. His tattoos were on full display now, soaking up all the sun they could after being under long sleeve sweaters all winter. The black ink stood out against his slightly tanned skin, and especially against the red, floral print flowy button up he wore. She felt like it’d been ages since she saw him in something so casual, but they were all headed to the beach soon after all.

“Do you want some?” When she heard his voice, her eyes shot up to his face, realizing she’d been caught. Realizing he was looking at her and speaking to her because she’d been staring at his fucking hands not the cookies.

Since she couldn’t let him know about that, she nodded, “Uh sure.”

She felt even worse about taking a half of a chocolate chip cookie from him when he reached across the table and his poor, beautiful hand collided with her half-full cocktail glass that instantly dumped all over the table. It caught everyone’s attention when the glass broke and quickly Y/N and Trev grabbed napkins to soak up the liquid before it reached their laps while Val saved their plates. 

Harry hid his face in his hands after placing the half of a cookie down on his plate again, utterly embarrassed by himself. “I’m so sorry,” He mumbled between his fingers after dragging his hands down his face dramatically to see the mess he’d made.

“Literally the clumsiest fucker I know, you know that?” Trev said while sopping up the rest of her drink and discarding the used napkins on an empty plate. Val called over their waitress once she was close enough to help deal with the broken glass.

“Can I buy you another one?” Harry asked, his cheeks flushed red when she looked at him again and it was definitely not from the sun. He looked embarrassed and apologetic and she was positive he felt stupid because she knew she would in his place, but it made her sad that he thought any of that when it was just a silly mistake.

Harry definitely would not have minded sinking into oblivion right there and then.

“No it’s alright, wasn’t that good of a drink anyways.” She shrugged, easing his nerves just a tad, but he still felt horrible.

“I’ll pay for that one then.” He concluded, not giving her a chance to shoot him down this time, however. And when the checks came long after Harry’s incident that gave him plenty of time to recover, she didn’t have much say in it either when he snatched up her check before the waitress could even hand it to her.

Y/N could easily pay for herself, but if Harry insisted she wasn’t going to argue. It was his way of feeling better about the situation and she’d leave it be, even if it did bug her that he said he’d pay for her drink, not her entire bill. She kept her mouth shut, however, and just gave him a mean look so at least he knew she wasn’t happy about it, even if she had no intentions to stop him.

She escaped to the restroom while everyone wrapped up, knowing she’d have to go the second she got near the ocean later and she did not want to use the disgusting public bathrooms at the beach. They were always full of sand, salty water, and smelled ten times fishier than normal.

Her confidence was at an all time high when she looked in the mirror, wondering if it had been the sun or Harry to do it to her, but either way it really didn’t matter. She felt like she was on a cloud and like nothing could touch her or bring her back down.

Except, of course, when she walked back out to reality and realized everyone had already made their ways to the Malibu coastline. Sighing, she pulled her phone from her little crossbody bag and walked towards the main entrance. Before she got too far into her Uber app, she glanced up at a familiar shade of bright red floral print standing near the doors and instantly floated back up to the clouds. 

“Did everyone leave?” She asked once she walked up to Harry. He held onto a cardboard box of leftovers in one hand and his keys in the other. His sunglasses, that were previously perched on the neck of his shirt, had made their way to the top of his head, pushing his hair back from his face.

He nodded. “I, um… I didn’t know if you had a ride, or...?” He stumbled and she wasn’t sure why, but it was cute nonetheless, especially since she initially had the impression that Harry would be a little more self-assured than he was turning out to be. That was what she liked best about him though, that he tripped over his words and confused artists and spilled drinks. 

She held up her phone in her hands and smiled, “I’m getting an Uber.”

He furrowed his brows, but she didn’t notice when she resumed picking out the cheapest option on the app to take her down PCH as she maneuvered around him and stepped back out into the warm summer afternoon.

He followed quickly, nearly tripping over himself and then cleared his throat, “Well, um, I’ve got a car.”

She paused, glancing at him over her shoulder while she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What kind of car?” 

He had no clue why she’d asked him that, but given the little smirk on her lips, he had an inkling that if he didn’t have the right kind of car, she’d prefer to stick with her Uber options. What he was positive about, however, was that he’d never liked her more than he did right there in the parking lot as she planned on roasting his choice of transportation.

“Uhm...” He glanced around the lot until he found his car and then pointed it out, “that one.” 

Her eyes fell to a bright yellow, convertible 1972 Ferrari Dino and she tried her best to not let him see the way her jaw practically hit the asphalt beneath their flip flops. Instead, she swallowed, stood up straight, faced him, and put her phone away.

“That will do.”

The surface streets were quiet, even though she’d forced him to put the top down while they drove. They were boring, too. She wanted to throw her hands up and feel the air between her fingers and flowing through her hair. Instead, they were stuck at every single red light imaginable on the short trip it took to get to the highway.

“How long have you had this car?” She asked once they’d stopped again, making herself at home in his passenger seat as she rested her elbow up on the door where the window would normally be if she hadn’t rolled it down the second he started the engine.

“Mm,” He thought, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger while his other hand clung tightly to the top of the steering wheel, enough so that she could see the whites of his knuckles. Was he nervous? Did he not like to drive with the top down? Or did he just not like to drive with her constantly staring at him?

“Couple years probably,” he answered finally while adjusting the radio to turn some music on and she took that as her cue to leave him alone. Maybe he was nervous because he liked to focus on the road while driving and not on her silly questions. 

They got up to about twenty-miles-an-hour now while he flipped through stations, his eyes bouncing between the console and the road. He tuned the radio until she wrapped her hand around his forearm.

“Sorry, I just,” she let go of him after he gave her a look, one that she couldn’t quite read. He could have been mad at her for touching him for all she knew. “I really like this song.”

He moved both hands to the steering wheel as he sat back into his seat. He’d never heard the song before, but if she liked it then he’d leave it on. They drove for a bit longer until he heard her softly singing along and glanced over at her. He’d only meant to look for less than a second, but when she met his gaze, he got a little too distracted. 

Her eyes darted out the windshield and her sudden, “Harry!” caused him to slam on the breaks, luckily just seconds before he managed to rear-end a Honda Civic. He was positive his hunk of metal would have done quite some damage.

“Shit,” he muttered, running his hand through his hair to shift it back into place as his heart raced a million miles.

Then, of course, it was racing for other reasons when he heard her giggling from beside him and once he was done freaking out, he joined in. He was such a fucking idiot but it apparently had made her laugh, so… silver lining?

Once they were on the highway, he no longer felt as tense. The wind from the ocean beside them blew his hair in every direction as he got up to the speed of traffic and she watched his hands as they shifted gears. She let her eyes, and her mind, wander while staring at his tattooless arm and the way the muscles flexed under his skin. It gave her that dangerous self-confidence all over again. 

He heard her seatbelt click and immediately shot his eyes over to see what the actual fuck she was doing taking it off while he was going over sixty miles an hour. An all new reason to be anxious filled his entire nervous system as he watched her, through various quick glances, standing up in his passenger seat with no care in the world about flying out. As if he hadn’t already nearly caused an accident, here she was trusting him enough not to do it again.

Her skirt flew up in the breeze but she didn’t really care too much about that either, and neither did Harry. When she finally managed to peel her hands off the windshield, she threw them up and shouted at the top of her lungs, forcing nothing but a huge cheesy grin onto Harry’s face even though he wanted to pull over and kick her out for doing what she was doing and nearly giving him an aneurism.

She sat back down within seconds though, and his blood pressure settled at a more normal pace when she had her seatbelt secured around herself again.

“Wouldn’t have offered you a ride had I know you were going to do that!” He shouted over the sound of the wind.

“I’m in a Ferrari on PCH, you should have expected it!”

He shook his head at her as he glanced over his shoulder to switch lanes and make his off-ramp. She was fucking nuts. And he was a fucking idiot.

They sat in the parking lot together for a moment, staring out at the ocean, after he put the top up, closed the windows, and cut the engine. She was still coming down off of whatever high possessed her to stand up mid-freeway and he was trying not to act like a complete fool being alone with her again where it was quiet and they weren’t moving anymore. 

“How come we never talk much?” She asked him before either of them could even think about getting out of the car and joining their friends down on the sand.

He stared straight ahead at the waves for a moment as he thought about why they weren’t as close as he wished they were and that it might be his fault. He just never knew what to say to her to not completely embarrass himself. Within the past hour, it was clear he still hadn’t figured it out.

He sighed, “Probably because you stand up in cars and make me nervous.” He didn’t realize, however, how his words would be twisted until she did so.

“Oh, so we don’t talk because I make you nervous?” She teased with a smirk but she clearly had no idea how right she was about that. Or maybe she did have some idea about it. 

Either way, he tensed up realizing he had, yet again, said some dumb shit and went and embarrassed himself again.

“I’m kidding,” she assured when he remained quiet, “I just think we should talk more.” She fidgeted with the hem of her dress and it most definitely did not go unnoticed by Harry. “Then maybe one day you’ll let me drive your Ferrari and you can stand up.”

The breeze dropped several degrees as they walked through the sand to their friends, who were already set up with a few chairs and an ice chest full of wine coolers. It was a nice relief from the burning afternoon sun, but Y/N still regretted not packing a sweater.

As they walked together, someone made a whistling sound at them as if suggesting something had happened with her and Harry between the time it took them to get from the restaurant to the beach. It made him uneasy when everyone looked at them like they were amidst a walk of shame, and even more so when he glanced down at her to his side to see she was also slightly uncomfortable. 

“What took you two so long?” Trev asked the second she and Harry reached their little set up. Everyone was already either taking their clothes off to run into the ocean, or securing their spots in the warm sand, nursing a bottle or two of alcohol.

Y/N squared her shoulders, “Harry almost caused an accident.” 

His head whipped towards her so fast, he was sure he pulled a muscle in his neck. It was one thing for her to know about his dumbassery, but everyone else didn’t have to be in on it too. 

A couple of their friends giggled, making Harry scratch at the back of his neck nervously, shaking out his curls and hoping they didn’t all think he was the biggest imbecile alive for not knowing how to drive a car like that. Especially since he did know how to drive, his brain just didn't function the way it was supposed to when Y/N was around. 

“Or maybe,” Trev leaned in suggestively glancing between the both of them before settling his eyes on Y/N, “Harry finally won you over with his Ferrari.”

She scrunched her face, trying to figure out what the fuck Trev meant by finally? Harry never tried winning her over at any point in the past. Hell, before today she had been afraid that he hated her, wondering tirelessly what she did to get on Harry Styles’ bad side. 

When she glanced at Harry, she was relieved to find that he seemed just about as confused as she was. So it was just Trev being a slimy asshole as per usual.

She rolled her eyes and shoved Trev’s shoulder as she walked past him, eliciting an overly dramatic response as he held his shoulder like a ginormous baby and called her a bitch under his breath.

Both Harry and Trev watched as she lifted her dress over her head, tossed it and her purse into a chair full of other people’s clothes, and flashed Trev her middle finger while she glanced over her shoulder at him. Before she ran off to the water, however, her eyes found Harry just in time to see the way his eyes flickered back up to her face. She smiled knowingly at him just before taking off, hoping his gaze would find its way to her backside again as she did so.

And frankly, her bathing suit didn’t leave too much to the imagination. It was all held together with strings that could come undone with just a single tug from Harry’s hands. Her bottoms were definitely cheeky and her top… Harry should not be looking.

But he was, he constantly found his eyes gravitating towards her as he sat beside Trev on land while she played in the water with the others. He also found his fists clenching whenever one of the other guys in their group got a little too close. He should also not be jealous. 

“You know,” Trev began, sitting back against his seat and resting his wine cooler on his knee, “we all know you’re infatuated with her…” Harry turned to look at Trev like he was insane, “except for her of course. Probably because you act like an idiot around her and she thinks there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

Harry really couldn’t disagree. He did act like he only had a handful of brain cells sometimes, but in his defense, he didn’t do it on purpose. He had no clue why he couldn’t operate properly whenever she was around. No one had ever done that to him, not a single person he ever found remotely attractive turned him into a helpless ball of nerves the way she did.

Sighing, Harry stared out at the horizon through his tinted sunglasses and mumbled grumpily. “Maybe a little bit.”

“Knew you were too good to be true,” Trev teased, assuming Harry was referring to there being something seriously wrong with him rather than being maybe a little bit infatuated with her.

Harry shook his head with an exasperated smile on his lips, “You’re a cunt.”

“Listen man,” Trev sat forward again, taking a swig of his drink, “She’s fucking insane sometimes, but if you like her…” He shrugged.

“How insane is she, exactly?” Harry asked, although he already had an inkling given her earlier actions in his car. 

Trev snorted out a laugh, “Not like that. She’s just like… I don’t know. Does crazy shit. She was the first one to jump off this huge ass cliff when we went diving a few summers ago.” Trev reminisced fondly before laughing again when he recalled something else Y/N had done. “She got drunk off her ass at New Years and did a handstand in the middle of Gasolina.”

Although Harry didn’t know what Gasolina was, he still imagined how fucking hilarious that party must’ve been. She was the good kind of crazy, he assumed, not the kind that might chop off his fingers in his sleep.

“Besides, all she does is work and hang out with her dog.” Trev added, leaving Harry to wonder profusely about what kind of dog she had. He considered a dachshund at first, but maybe a chihuahua was more her speed. 

“Anyways,” Trev sighed, settling into his seat again, “I just think you should stop acting like a twelve-year old and ask her out if you like her.”

Harry’s brows furrowed again, “Maybe you should take your own advice.”

He watched as Trev’s eyes landed right on Mel, who had her arms around Y/N’s shoulders as they descended further into the ocean, and he sighed even deeper this time. “That’s way more complicated than the two of you.”

He never would have offered her a ride, no matter how much he liked her, when she’d first came up from the water and threw her dress back on. She was a wet, hot mess for a long while until they all packed up after they watched the sun set and it started getting dark. There was no way he was leaving her there to wait for an Uber by herself, however, once they’d gotten everything packed up into the back of Trev’s Jeep. 

Not that she was pulling her phone out to scroll through the app or asking anyone else for a ride. 

So, she wound up in his passenger seat again, staring at the sky as it mixed through various shades of peaches and purples until it turned a dark blue color and the stars started coming out as he drove. They listened to some oldies station while heading north on PCH and she never stopped looking at how beautiful the world was around her, especially the part of the world that sat right next to her as he drove silently with his sunglasses on top of his head again. He was cute when he focused, she thought.

When he reached her driveway, she really didn’t want him to leave yet. She’d even considered taking him the long way to her house and hoping he wouldn’t notice just to spend more time with him. She stared up at the stars still while they sat idly in her front yard until she looked over at Harry with a smile and he met her eyes curiously.

“Do you wanna meet my dog?”

She shivered as she closed the door behind Harry, locking it before returning her attention back to him. Seeing him planted into the familiar backdrop of her house felt weird, but it also swelled her stomach with a million butterflies.

“I’m gonna change real quick. The living room’s through there,” she pointed and he followed, “you can make yourself at home.”

While she disappeared up the stairs, he wandered hesitantly, removing his shoes before he walked onto the carpet in her living room. He sat down in the corner of her loveseat, taking in all the surroundings. Her house was nice and he thought about what she did for a living, trying to remember if it had ever come up in conversations before. He didn’t get too far lost in his thoughts and his wandering eyes when there was a sudden bang on the back door behind him followed quickly by loud and incessant barking.

When he looked out the windows that faced her backyard he realized she did not, in fact, have a dachshund or a chihuahua. She had a fucking pitbull.

Possibly even more fitting, and slightly less scarier than the chihuahua. 

“Sorry,” she ran in the living room just then, in a pair of lounge shorts and a loose-fitting long sleeve, and went straight to the back door, “I promise Patrick’s not as mean as he sounds.”

“Patrick like… from Spongebob?” Harry asked as she unlocked the back door to let him in.

She grinned like Harry was the first one to automatically get the reference without her having to explain it, “He was a little bit dumb as a puppy.” She shrugged and opened the door and the tan-colored pitbull ran straight towards Harry, jumping on the couch and into his lap like they were already the best of friends.

Patrick got about ten licks to Harry’s poor face before Y/N got a hand in between and tried pulling the stubborn dog away. She apologized again and even though Harry assured her that it was okay, he still seemed highly uncomfortable. When she moved, hoping Patrick would stop molesting Harry with his tongue, she’d been horribly wrong and he went back in for more and Harry was far too polite to do anything about it himself besides making feeble attempts at pushing Patrick away awkwardly.

So, instead, she ran around the couch and pulled him off of Harry, squeezing herself between him and her dog. While Harry wiped off his face, she turned toward him once Patrick had settled down, “I swear he’s trained, he just… forgets boundaries sometimes.” She said the last bit through her teeth, directed specifically at Patrick while petting the dog on the head. He just continued to stare past her at Harry, panting and wagging his tail.

“It’s alright, I don’t mind.” Harry assured her again. He really didn’t mind. Maybe a little, but it wasn’t the end of the world to have too much attention from a dog. Especially if it was her dog. 

It was quiet for a moment before she perked up like she’d just remembered something, “Oh, do you want something to drink? I forgot to ask before.”

Harry didn’t really want her to leave just yet, but on the other hand, he desperately wanted her to. He could feel the nervous sweat on his forehead and his clammy hands and he just needed a moment to collect himself. So he nodded, “Sure,” and she bounced back up onto her feet and left him alone with Patrick.

While Harry had successfully wiped the sweat from his face on the back of his shirt and his hands on his jeans--and cupped said hand over his mouth to check his breath-- Patrick scooted right up to Harry’s side, curled into a ball, and rested his head on Harry’s lap. Which was the exact sight Y/N returned to moments later with a couple glasses of water in her hands.

“Guess he likes you, then.” She laughed lightly while handing one of the glasses to Harry and sat down on the other side of Patrick. It was a gap bigger than the one between them previously, but Harry was okay with that. Maybe he’d stop sweating so profusely from just being in her presence. 

They were quiet again, but not for too long that it ever got awkward. Harry was sure, at this point, that Y/N was a professional at avoiding awkward silences with the way she said the most random shit right out of the blue. 

“Do you like stand up?”

He looked at her like he had no clue what the fuck she was talking about, but in hindsight he should have known. In the moment, though, when she caught him off-guard, he literally could not fathom in his brain what she meant by stand up. So he just shrugged and mumbled, “I guess?”

She didn’t seem to notice his enormous brain fart when she reached forward to grab the remote from the coffee table a little too excitedly. And once she turned on Netflix and searched for John Mulaney, it clicked in his head. Maybe Trev had been right. Harry might just have something slightly wrong with him.

He’d never personally seen any of Mulaney’s stand up, but he’d heard the name and when Y/N mumbled that he was one of her favorite comedians, that’s all he needed to know about the guy. Harry would sit through hours of his stand up if it meant spending more time with her.

John Mulaney had already gotten a few giggles out of Harry within the first five minutes of The Comeback Kid and every single time it happened, Y/N glanced at him proudly as if she were the one telling the jokes and making Harry laugh.

She felt even more full of herself when John’s punchline about exes came seven minutes in and Harry nearly laughed his entire ass off at, ‘Anyone who’s seen my dick and met my parents needs to die.’

Actually, she was certain he’d done some damage to his body when Harry laughed so hard that he held a hand to his stomach, doubled over on the couch and choked on his own spit. She tried not to laugh at his reaction as she sat forward and grabbed his glass of water off the coffee table to hand it to him.

Her movements caused Patrick to get up and jump off of the couch, settling for a cool spot on the hardwood floors to stretch out on as he panted. Harry sipped on his water until he could breathe properly again.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, “the dick jokes get me every time too.” Although she intended for it to make him feel better, his cheeks just burned twice as hot from the way she said dick so nonchalantly. 

“Are there more dick jokes then?” He asked.

“There’s always more dick jokes to be made.” She confirmed, making him chuckle again. “So you’ll stay and laugh at them with me?”

He wasn’t sure at what point she’d gotten so close to him on the couch, but when she laughed and he felt her shoulder shake against his own, he quickly tensed up. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her closer, he just didn’t want to act like a complete fool again. And his reaction to just her touching his shoulder was enough to tell him foolery was on the horizon. 

He also wasn’t sure when it became a given that he was staying to watch all of the John Mulaney specials on Netflix with her, but he wasn’t complaining. As long as he got to hear her laugh and imitate some of the jokes and weird voices John did, he was happy staying exactly where he was all night and, in fact, when she announced they’d burned through all of them, he was disappointed. 

Even more so when she flipped the TV off and he wondered how much longer until she planned on saying goodbye and then who knows how long until they’d see each other again. 

It was quiet, apart from Patrick’s snores, but not for long. 

“I’m sorry I stood up in your car and made you nervous.”

He turned and met her eyes and she was very clearly not sorry about it, but he didn’t want her to be either. “S’alright.”

They stared at each other for a moment while he thought about what else she was going to say, if anything at all. But he should have known better than to assume she didn’t have anything else up her sleeve.

It was just that the next time she spoke there wasn’t the perpetual cute little grin on her face. Instead, she met him with a frown. “To be honest, Harry, I kinda thought you hated me before today.”

He scrunched his face, absolutely detesting that she ever thought that at all. “I don’t hate you.” He said it like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

She tilted her head to the side while she looked at him and then gave him a reason why it wasn’t that ridiculous of an assumption on her part. “Then why do you always avoid me?”

He felt bad about the way he acted around her, especially since she had the wrong impression about it. He didn’t avoid her, he just didn’t know how to talk to her when he always acted like a neanderthal around her.

Sighing, he shuffled a bit in his seat as the anxious sweats really made themselves known. “You were right when you said we don’t talk because you make me nervous.”

She grew more confused by that, “You’re literally Harry Styles, how do I make you nervous?”

He shrugged, “Been trying to figure it out myself.”

Although he’d been avoiding her gaze like the plague, sure that he’d never be admitting any of this to her while looking right into her eyes, she still smiled sweetly at him. He was Harry fucking Styles, who got up on a stage more times than she could imagine and sang in front of thousands of people, but she made him nervous.

She took him off guard again. “Are you seeing anyone right now, Harry?”

His eyes quickly panned to her, wide and puzzled by her question. “No… wh--”

She didn’t give him a chance to finish after she’d gotten the only answer she wanted out of him and suddenly she was a lot closer than she’d ever been. In fact, there was no longer a single gap between them as she reached her hand up to his jaw and pulled his mouth down onto hers. Even though he didn’t know how to react at first, feeling her on his lips, his brain swelled with all the good kinds of chemical reactions and he kissed her back, wiping his hand on his jeans again before he touched it to the side of her face, cupping her cheek in his palm softly.

Normally, he’d be the one making the first move, but he didn’t really mind it being the other way around with her. Who knows if they ever would have gotten to this point if they’d waited for him to make the first move, after all. 

He definitely didn’t mind it when she swiped her tongue across his lower lip and positioned herself into his lap. His head had fallen back into the cushions while she straddled him and got a little too carried away, but, again, he didn’t mind it. He fed off of her energy until he was slipping hesitant hands down her waist and on her backside, making her moan into his mouth that both felt and sounded like heaven. 

Heaven. He was in heaven and this completely bizarre angel was in his lap, making out with him on her couch and rubbing herself all up on him in ways that were so very unheavenly.

Neither of their dopamine infused brains registered the sound of Patrick’s collar when it was vastly more important to focus on the way she giggled around his mouth and how his tongue felt swirling around with hers. 

However, when he jumped up on the couch beside them and began licking Y/N’s face, she snapped back to reality for a moment. Pulling away from Harry with a whine, she sat back on his knees and wiped the slobber with the back of her hand while she stared over at Patrick.

“Can I help you?”

Patrick did some whining of his own while he dug his paw towards her, begging for attention. So she gave it to him, petting his head and scratching his ears while Harry watched, still very aware of his hands on her hips and her free hand leaning on his shoulder.

“Crazy dog,” she muttered mostly to herself while Patrick laid down next to them.

“Like his owner,” Harry teased, mostly just to bring her attention back to him.

It worked too as she pinged her eyes back to Harry as fast as humanly possible and faked offense, “You think I’m crazy?”

“You asked me to meet your dog and then somehow hooked me into staying for three hours to watch John Mulaney specials and then completely out of nowhere… ended up here.” He nodded his head down at their current positioning with her still perched on his lap.

It took her a moment, but she fully realized what she had done soon enough. And once she did, she was quick to apologize. “Shit, Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to--”

Before she managed to get much further away from him in failed attempts of removing her foolish self from his lap, he grabbed hold of her wrists and brought her hands up to either side of his head, pulling her as close as she’d been before with just an inch or so gap between their lips this time.

“I think that’s why you make me nervous,” He admitted softly and after glancing between both her wary eyes, his gaze landed on her lips just moments before he stretched upwards to meet them with his again. 

They fell back into place completely, except this time, she’d gone as far as to undo all the buttons on his shirt while she made out with him on her couch. Once it was open and she had full range of his chest, she pulled away from him again and watched his body rise and fall quickly as he caught his breath. She traced her fingertips over his butterfly tattoo, and like magic formed a few of them in his stomach while he watched her through heavy eyelids. 

When their eyes met again, she smiled excitedly. “Does this mean I can drive your car now?”

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

The thrilling saga of Hanamaki, the hero of stench continued well past forty-five minutes. And if the conversation would stray away from the subject, the comments issued by those seated nearby would immediately return the group’s attention to the humorous topic. At this point, the poor male was unsure whether his ego would ever heal from the damage it sustained today. But what swelled the sense of embarrassment colouring his cheeks was the fact it was all because of a bodily reaction he could not control. Truthfully – the absence of understanding was quite rude.

Dejected, the pink haired male sunk into the leather seat, until his chin was nestled against the lower part of his neck.

“Stop that. You’re going to hurt your neck.” Iwaizumi tugged at his shirt collar to dispel the second-hand discomfort he was experiencing as Hanamaki squinted at him, refusing to budge from the stance.  

“Who needs a neck anymore. I don’t. What’s the point of going on like this? I may as well die.” The unemployed male sniffled, allowing his arms to go limp on either side of him. He was searching for sympathy and yet, all you could submit to him was your laughter. If only you could grab a photo – he could easily be turned into a meme.

“Stop being so dramatic. None of these people know you, and I doubt they will remember you after today.” Steadying his elbow against the glass table, the trainer curled his fingers into a fist then supported his cheek against it. “Sorry to break it you, but you’re not that important.”

“But I will remember.” He countered, his eyes now shifting into your direction, where you were seconds from pinching Iwaizumi’s exposed cheek. Pausing mid-motion with your finger’s inches away from his face, a sheepish smile decorated your features.

“What? Maybe this is karma for calling Tooru smelly yesterday.” While the response was clearly aimed at the sulking male, your y/e/c irises remained fixated on the one you deemed your favourite. Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow in partial interest as his attention went to your hovering hand.

“That’s funny, I don’t remember your name being karma.” A low growl rumbled inside of Hanamaki’s throat, earning him a reassuring pat from Matsukawa. He would have interjected more often if he was not preoccupied by the delicious dessert plated in front of him. Dessert took priority over drama when it was the embodiment of heaven. “Look, she’s not even paying attention me anymore!”

“Now, now children. We’re all friends here.” The funeral home attendant offered without much enthusiasm, before sticking a fork coated in cream into his mouth. “Y/n, say sorry so he won’t break his neck and die.” Upon hearing his suggestion, you jutted your bottom lip into a pout in protest.

“I don’t want an apology. How am I supposed to go celebrate with your boy-toy’s business partners smelling like mutated pig?” Despite knowing no one would notice the movement, Makki crossed his arms under the table, mimicking the stance of a stubborn child.

“I’ll buy you a new outfit, cry baby. We still have some time.” After being shot down by Iwaizumi three times, defeat was grudgingly accepted. Your reflexes were no where as cultivated as his were. “Let’s settle the bill and go shopping, boys! Your sugar mama is buying!” As the declarations registered with the boys sat around you, the napkin settled onto your nap was placed onto the table.

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass. I do need to grab something though for work, so I’ll meet you guys at the shop.” The trainer removed his wallet, then began removing some bills as the other two males celebrated your announcement by completing a high-five.

“I’m still buying something for you, Hajime. You cannot stop me if you are not there.” Tapping a single finger on the side of your head, a little ‘hmph’ was blown out.

“I won’t accept it.” He did not bother to lift his gaze, knowing well what silly expression would be adorning your visage. But what he did not account for was the threat falling from your lips.

“If you don’t, I’ll scream daddy at the top of my lungs right now.”

Matsukawa stifled his laughter at your threat, while Hanamaki finally adjusted his position on the chair, grinning ear to ear in amusement. Iwaizumi exhaled a long breath, pressing two fingers against the bridge of his nose. He knew that you were shameless enough to follow through with said warning.

“Fine. I’ll accept it.”

“That’s what I thought.”

**

One of the positives of being a model is that people generally trust your intuition when addressing matters of fashion. It was for this reason that both of your friends did not debate you on any purchases that were made on their behalf. Hanamaki’s only request was that you did not purchase anything Osamu would wear since the cook’s wardrobe consisted only of t-shirts and jeans. Within twenty minutes, both men were dressed in semi-formal attire, radiating a sense of prestige they would not otherwise have. You fit perfectly between them with your chosen ensemble – a black cocktail dress paired with shortcut boots. Heels may have matched far more, but the pain accompanying them was not worth it.

With an arm hooked to one best friend on either side, you felt royal even if they were not your escorts.

“What time is it now? Are we almost there?” The question was hummed out to Matsukawa, who was responsible for directing the trio. His eyes focused on the GPS on his phone before returning to the area ahead.

“It’s 7:25, y/n. We will be arriving according to the GPS at 7:29. We won’t be late… For the tenth time.” Casting a glance down at the shorter girl, he shook his head with a laugh leaving his lips. “So, you’re no longer Ariel, huh? Now you’re Cinderella.”

Hanamaki snickered at the observation, prompting you to lightly dig your nails into his arm in warning.  “I don’t want to mess up and be there late. Nakamura said to be there at 7:30 sharp. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“You’re stressing too hard for no reason. I’m sure he will be surprised if you’re there a minute late or early.” Leaning down, the funeral home attendant rested his cheek against your head in effort to sooth you. 

“You’re right…” The admission was accompanied by a weary laugh. “I just feel kinda weird in my chest. I don’t know.” Instinctively you tightened your grip on their arms, hoping to destroy the insecurities plaguing you with the warmth their bodies provided.

“I’ll text Iwa. We’ll go inside together. You’ll feel better if he’s here.” Hanamaki padded away on the screen, alerting their mutual friend that his presence was needed.

“Mm. Okay.” You were beginning to realize the negative emotions afflicting you was because you missed Oikawa. Celebrating achievements without him placed a hole deep inside of your heart – one that only he could fill with his dramatic facial reactions and goofy laughter. Little did you know the hole would only grow in size very soon. 

“Alright… So. It should be the shop right here.” Matsukawa’s voice led your attention back to the busy street. Blinking to readjust to the light, you paused when your friend did, then instinctively turned to the large windows of the shop. It was a normal reflex, one that your two friends mirrored. But none of you were mentally prepared for the scene melting into view.

Stood behind the transparent barrier was your fiancé, with three other figures. You did not pay any mind to the two men. No. Your focus was on the short blonde woman.

The same woman who was drawing your fiancé into a kiss with a fluidity that conveyed a sense of normalcy. No… She kissed him as if it were the most ordinary gesture in the world.

As if he was her lover and not yours.

Let’s do it again, shall we - human bomb

Masterlist - Previous - Next

A/N: o.o

Taglist: @idiot-juice-enthusiast @vicassa @iloveanime691 @bringmelily @newfriendjen @hikarichannn @anime-simp @tsukkismamagucci @laughingismorefun @astronomyturtle @shegrewupwithoutafather @hyskoa1998 @deephumandragonperson @pretty-setter-bois @raenebalgaire @sugawarabby @justanotherfangirl2 @keijisworld @90s-belladonna @momoinot @sempiternal-amour @cherryblosom111 @yqshirov @haikyuufairy @volleybloop @bloody-bella @sadkaashistan @seikamuzu @namyari @toaster-stick @shakiraisawesome @coconut-dreamz @roseestuosity @prcttylittlcthing @uzumakioden @nerdynstoned @kenmasgameboy @unstableye @ouijaeater15 @aquariarose @fandomtrashpandasposts @helloalex80 @stfucanunot @envyusshades @cuddlesslut

[hologramcowboy]

I thought long before jareds bar incident that he had a drinking problem. However, I do absolutly think he learned from it. He talked about the drinking with his therapist and they why's of it (inside of you podcast), abstained for a long while, then gradually brought it to casual and it seems under controll. His attitude with alcohol seems to have matured.

Now, it's Jensen that has been worrying me. I see him talk about alcohol allllll the time, see him drinking all the time, telling stories that involve being drunk all the time, see his cocktail napkins making light of an obvious unhealthy relationship with alcohol (shut up liver, from Christmas photo dump) as well as the reply to Alex that the beer was just hydrating between whiskey shots. I could take that as humor if he didn't talk alllllll the time about drinking. Half his podcast with Rob and rich was about drinking.

I just worry that he's headed for his own wake up call and I worry it's going to be bigger then the perminant facial scar earned from a night of over indulgence that he earned a decade ago.

He seems unhappy to me for many of the reasons touched on in some posts here. Marriage issues, big life event change, the rust incident, the way the prequel thing went down publicly and IMO made him look unprofessional, perhaps midlife crisis stuff as the cherry on top.

The only positive thought about this I have access to right now, Anon, is that maybe he is trying to rebrand himself because he is eyeing a certain character role or business deal. I hope it's that and not a drinking issue but yes, it's not looking good at all. :(

[estellaelysian]

It burns (Ethan x MC)

A/N: This is super self indulgent and doesn’t lead anywhere so proceed on your own risk

**********

The alcohol scorched down his throat as he let his mind wander in the memories of the day, which seemed too distant now that it was over. Evening shaded into night beyond the red-brick walls of the bar – which were lined with numerous neon signs, the glow spilling onto nearby tables and people. Ethan chased the shadow of Alishka as his mind jumped from one moment to the next in all those where they had interacted with each other over the day. The image of her deep green eyes, wavy brown hair and full lips remained forever etched into his mind, giving him warmth like an eternal flame would.

It was late when he made it to this bar – Russo and Dale – but it was also when he found Boston the most loveable, shimmering in the glow of night, her streets thrumming with life and beating hearts and cheerfulness. He had taken an unnecessary walk from the hospital to his destination, wanting to feel anonymous in the dull crowd of people who were walking down the street. The permanence of the aged buildings, the restored Victorian row-houses surrounding English-style corners and the glowing yellow street lamps in South End seemed to give somewhat of a reassurance to his bruised and tired soul as he weaved his way among the sea of strangers. Walking wearily past dark shops, while the sky turned to a deep blue-black above him, he tried to find solace in the anonymity.

But now, at long last, when he found himself alone again, the unease returned, stronger than ever. He took a sip of the amber liquid, then another and then a third, but nothing seemed to ease him as he listened to the determined thud of a bass from the neighboring dive-bar. The foolish chatter around him did not drown out the rising voices inside his head – her voice and his, as they had argued in his office long into the afternoon.

That one argument had been enough to disrupt the entire balance he had built with the same woman whom he had disappointed today. But it was a mutual disappointment. She had been irrelevant to.

Shaking his head, he took another sip, letting the alcohol burn down his throat as he stared – quite intently – at the marble counter in front of him. It was amazing really, that the woman from whom he drew his strength could also be one of his greatest weaknesses. That was exactly why he had retired to his old office in the afternoon. He had lost focus, so instead of looking into patient care, he thought drowning himself into paperwork would help.

But indeed, it had not. Did it ever?

His mind, like a blissful dog scampering back to its lamppost, seemed to be stuck at the argument – making assumptions about the way she sounded, acted, spoke – no matter how much he tried to distract himself. Everything blurred around him, as if he had tuned out from his surroundings.

Why, he thought, was it so necessary for her to be insistent about things that did not matter to him? To latch onto one subject and stretch it until his patience snapped?

Or had he been truly unreasonable this time?

Oh dear God…

He swirled the gleaming liquid in its glass slowly before taking another sip, intent on numbing his brain, only that it refused from being so. Over and over again, her voice tortured him from deep inside; calling him out on the stubborn asshole he was before fading, only to return for the millionth time.

But wasn’t that the point of tonight? To get as far away as he could from the hospital, go to a bar in South End, and let the alcohol ease his pain and anxiety.

The door opened and someone stepped in, bringing together a cool Boston breeze and faint traces of wildflowers. Though his senses seemed unnaturally sharpened at this point, his eyes remained glued to his glass. But just a few seconds later, he found the woman right beside him, the scent of wildflowers much more perceptible.

Green flashed in his mind, deep and comforting, as he connected the scent, almost instinctively, to the one person it reminded him of.

Hold yourself, Ramsey.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the woman flag down the bartender and order a rainbow colored cocktail before turning away for a moment or two.

‘Quite the pain-relief, isn’t it?’ she asked in a mellifluous, sweet voice which fell like honey onto his tongue.

He could swear it was Alishka’s voice, but maybe he had dived too deep into the alcohol pain-relief. He had started imagining things.

Sensing that she was probably still expecting an answer, he nodded before looking straight at her.

And almost immediately, thought of Alishka Roy, even though he had put up a boundary between him and those insistent, maddening thoughts.

He didn’t realize it at first, but that smile – he would recognize it anywhere, anytime, no matter how detached he was.

But Alishka?

Nonsense. He was losing his mind.

‘I should’ve guessed my boss would come here after the much-exhausting day he faced at work today. It would’ve atleast saved me the time I spent wandering about.’

He raised his eyes to her face again. This was not an illusion. She was real, he thought, as he glanced at her hot coral lips which now wore an amused smile. He was not dreaming.

But why would she feel the need to wander about for him?

Do you really need an answer for that, dimwit, his mind chided.

‘Ofcourse you’d follow me here too,’ he said bluntly, battling away the sweeter responses, raising the glass to his lips.

‘You are not my boss outside of work, Dr. Ramsey. It is my freewill to do as I want to once I step outside the hospital.’

He looked up at her again, a smirk curling the corners of his lips. ‘Says the woman who bothers me all the same, inside or out.’

She made a dismissive wave, an easy laughter leaving her. ‘You’ve got a horrid sense of humor,’ she said. ‘Perhaps that is why everyone is terrified of you, even now.’

The last two words stung with an unimaginable burn, questioning the character he had spent years to build.

‘What do you mean, “even now”?’ he asked, the words coming out much more defiant than he wanted them to.

She smiled a benevolent smile as the bartender dropped off her cocktail, which smelled strongly of Pernod. Raising the glass up to meet her lips with tantalizing slowness, she said, ‘Even now, when they’ve learned that you can love something, someone more than medicine. Wholeheartedly.’

He choked on his drink involuntarily, but she went on, as if she hadn’t heard him at all. ‘And yet, at the same time, you can manage to be incredibly bitter to that someone.’

She took a long gulp of her cocktail, and again, before he could respond to her grievances, she said, ‘But anyway, I am not here to discuss that.’

Play pretend, he thought.

‘And why exactly, is it that you are here?’

‘Same as you. Pain-relief. My boss can be a real bore sometimes,’ she answered with the faintest traces of a smirk.

Let’s hear it now, shall we. ‘Who is your boss?’ he asked, going along with her little game.

‘Some world class, renowned, grumpy attending diagnostician.’

He liked how she complimented him and got a dig at him in the same sentence.

‘He seems to have a stressful job,’ he said, looking over the glass to her heavenly features, painted in the neon glow of the bar.

‘That he likes to imply. He is good at what he does.’

He nodded, trying to contemplate her answer, thinking that there would be traces of sarcasm in her answer, but found none.

‘Cheers to that,’ he said, clinking her glass with his own, their fingers brushing slightly, setting his body ablaze with the kind of fire that raged through forests. It was the closest they had got to touching that day, morning apart.

He finished the scotch in one long sip under her watchful gaze. Torture or bliss, there was no answer.

Though dulled by the excesses of the alcohol, he felt anger rise inside his body at the men who made glances in her direction, from a distance or even as they passed her. She seemed to draw much more gazes today than she did usually.

What exactly was it? Her rich brown hair, inching down her back, or those emerald eyes that gleamed with cleverness? And why, every time, did his jealousy had him to do things which he shouldn’t have been doing?

He didn’t know.

What he did know, was that he wouldn’t let those men even get near her.

So he raised a hand to her face, smoothing away stray strands of hair and tucking them behind her ear.

If she was surprised, she did not show it, but a lovely blush spread out on her cheeks, spreading down to her graceful neck and uncovered shoulders. She eyed him with a raised eyebrow, and he willfully ignored all the ideas that look gave him. Tonight was different. Even if they left the bar together, they would part ways almost as soon as they were outside, walking down in opposite directions.

Tonight they were fighting, even though it was different.

Even if he had to have his heart tugged and pulled and then torn, tonight was different.

Her emeralds met his sapphires, curious and bewitching.

He wished he could kiss those perfectly painted lips and ruin that makeup.

‘How about we make a deal then,’ she asked, setting down the glass on the paper napkin that was left on the shiny marble counter. ‘Tonight, let’s forget everything. Let’s forget that you are my irritating boss, let’s forget that I am a – what did you call me? – ah, bothersome resident. Let’s forget those men staring down at me from the opposite corner of the bar. Let’s put a pause on this battlefield, even though I am sure I can outwit you in every way, and let’ go home together.’

That was a tempting offer.

The suggestive tone and the desire burning plain in her eyes ignited his need for her.

How could he not resist her, even a single night?

His voice came out dusky when he spoke again. ‘Let’s put them topics to bed, and go fuck on the roof.’

Just to say that we did.

She smiled. ‘I’d rather your body than half of your heart,’ she said, quoting the song back to him, her voice the sweetest he had ever heard it to be.

Ethan blinked. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell her that he was far from fighting or if he wanted to claim those lips, right now, right here.

Then he saw, over her shoulder, a man whisper something to another before looking at her neck. He felt disgusted as his gaze traveled lower and lower. He was suddenly overcome by the desire to punch him in his filthy face, but he kept his expression carefully neutral, not betraying a single of the feelings he was feeling at that exact moment.

‘Let’s go home then,’ he announced, rising at once and reaching for her hand.

He led her outside into the cool crisp Boston night and she only felt justified in flagging down a cab to the way home, though it wasn’t that far away.

They could’ve walked there.

But then he wouldn’t get to do as he willed right in the cab, as he decided he need not waste a single minute of the time he had been gifted, by incidence or co-incidence, all the same. He failed to keep his hands to himself in the darkened cab, momentarily being illuminated by headlights and taillights of the passing traffic, as he crowed her into a corner, evoking soft moans. He watched her, bathed in red light, her sequined top glittering as the light shifted against her profile. Her eyes met his and he lost his sane, his coherent thoughts reducing to a small compass in his brain. Her lips commanded his attention, and he pressed his lips against them, evoking a gentle sigh as their breaths mingled. Her soft fingers grazed his rough beard as her hand rested against his cheek.

The music masked their muffled whispers and moans, but he could feel the drivers eyes, moving with unnecessary regularity, from the road ahead to the rearview mirror.

Even in the elevator, they stumbled, failing from keeping themselves from touching each other. The button to the thirteenth floor was pressed before he felt the soft pressure of her lips against his own. Her tongue was cool and sweet and tasted of Pernod.

‘Alishka…’ he managed to say between the kisses. ‘Why do we fight at all?’

‘Because we are …’ a little giggle. ‘Both … very stubborn …’

A few seconds later they stood at his door, which was unlocked with haste and shut close with a loud bang. The moment they stepped inside, he dipped his head and closed his lips over hers.

‘Nothing makes sense without you…’ he murmured into her ear, proceeding to tug her tight against him.

‘Then accept your defeat …’ she returned immediately, making a quick work of his shirt buttons. ‘But then again, we’ve called a temporary pause on this battlefield, haven’t we.’

Albeit reluctantly, he agreed. ‘We have.’

He led her to the bedroom, helping her out of her clothes before easing her down on the mattress gently, deciding the bitterness and pain had been enough for the day. The night had to be different.

Slow, gentle hands grazed the newly exposed skin with caresses too soft, before he leaned down on her, gazing into her eyes, letting his forehead rest against hers.

‘I love you.’

She giggled again. ‘I love you too.’

**********

Kudos to you guys if you made it out of this chaotic mess my brain put together. I honestly don’t know how this happened, but I guess it’s just me after a full, very real college day with loads of note-taking.

Tagging: @tenaciouslandvoidgiant @choicesaddict5 @schnitzelbutterfingers @starrystarrytrouble

Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

[jennygirl2014]

Birthday Cake~Chapter 3

Summary: Y/N has another embarrassing moment at the restaurant when Steve catches her off guard, which leads to an unexpected chat about that fateful night.  Perhaps Steve isn't as prude or uptight as Y/N once believed. Still, she may be a little too unconventional for such a righteous man, especially after a few drinks. 

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+, language, discussion of sexual activity

You choked.  Literally, you choked on the piece of calamari that was sitting in your mouth. Somehow a gasp of some sort sucked the bite of food into your windpipe and you panicked.  You grabbed your throat and coughed, but when that didn’t work, you started slapping at your chest, feeling the trapped food and air rumbling inside of you.  After a second, Steve sensed what was happening and took it upon himself to intervene, slapping you on the back repeatedly out of concern.  “Whoa, whoa, hey!  You okay?” his volume grew as your eyes began to water.  And then, somehow, by the grace of some deity, you managed to cough up that piece of calamari, and it tumbled out of your mouth and onto the floor. You drew in a deep, grateful breath, reveling in the feeling of being free the breathe, and tried to suppress the urge to gag, or cry.  You coughed and sputtered some more, with red watery eyes and a runny nose, all while Steve continued to rub and pat your back. 

How mortifying.  

“Shit.” You cursed as you tried to regain a normal rate of breathing.  

“Big, deep breaths.” Steve coached you on as he kindly handed you a few napkins from the holder. You wiped your mouth and your nose before blotting at your eyes with a new napkin, trying to dry the tears of panic and embarrassment without destroying your makeup.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snuck up on your like that.  I didn’t mean to startle you.” Steve actually apologized.  You were too busy trying to pick of the pieces of you broken ego to even register that he was apologizing for virtually nothing. He didn’t startle you, you panicked upon the sight of him.  You looked around and saw some strangers looking at you, you even saw one person holding their hand over their mouth, chuckling. “Can she get a glass of water, please?” Steve called out to a nearby waitress who rushed off at his request.

“Fuck my life.” You uttered to yourself as your put your face in your hands and rested your elbows on the table.  Didn’t you used to be smoother than this?  Maybe that was the effect Steve Rogers had on you.  Steve thanked the waitress and set the glass of water down next to you.  You grabbed it and took a sip and made sure to keep your eyes down on the table to try and hide your red face.

“You alright?” Steve questioned you, still standing next to you.

“I’m alive,” you droned, “Unfortunately.”  There was an awkward moment of silence between the two of you. “Why do I keep embarrassing myself in front of you?” you went to take another sip of the water but then found something else to say instead.  “I’m sure this is all humorous for you after…the… you know.” You looked away again as you took a long swig of water.

“That?  No, that wasn’t funny.” Steve spoke about your choking, “But, maybe in a few weeks…” he trailed off.  Clearly, that was his attempt to be humorous, but you didn’t laugh or look at him.  “Can I sit?” he asked, and you simply shrugged.  How could it get any worse from this point?  He slipped into the chair in front of you and rested his forearms on the table, like he was trying to stay close and get personal.  You knew what was coming.  “So…” he started with a slow nod.

“So…?” you echoed him, finally turning your eyes towards him, yet you were still wincing.  Steve’s eyes were on you, and then they darted away. Your actions copied his while you took a large precautionary sip from your cocktail.  There was low chatter in the room around you, the typical sounds of a restaurant that somehow seemed very distracting at that moment.  This was going to be the most awkward conversation of your life.

Check out more here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29568276/chapters/73005855