#is the name of the story

[icecreampizzer]

Sudden stroke of inspiration and motivation made me finish this band of digital misfits. MD.ZIP and X3.RAWR were made much earlier this year, but I decided to lump them in a story with three other fellas based on different filetypes (and internet phenomena)!

Little note: DR.HTML's first name was HREF, which is still on her fullbody ref. It's outdated now.

You can take a peep at their profiles here: https://toyhou.se/icecreampizzer/characters/folder:1392720

[yeepof]

I understand that tall men are our POV characters, but surely being like a foot taller than everyone around them would have some occasional consequences

[liquidstar]

Yes, Greece still exists, we didn't all die 2000 years ago. Yes, people speak Greek. You people are so fucking stupid for real. So many of you claim to love ancient shit but can't even acknowledge the actual living culture of the people whose mythology and classics you romanticize. You keep leaving annoying comments about how you just forget Greek people still exist, thinking you're being quirky because you love ancient stuff soooo much that you forgot about the people it came from. You think about it so little you don't even realize that an actual Greek person has to read this shit, making it clear how little you actually care about the culture beyond the romanticized (and westernized) mythology. Don't claim you love Greece, don't use our mythology anymore if you can't acknowledge that we're still around without making it about how little you think about us. It's mind boggling that you'd think a Greek person would read this and think you're anything but obnoxious. Explode.

[orcboxer]

those first couple weeks after escaping a time loop have gotta be disorienting as all fuck. all those little cues that used to tell you what's about to happen are now triggers that cause you to brace for something that isn't coming. you have to relearn the permanence of death -- hell, you have reacquaint yourself with the entire concept of finality altogether. everything keeps changing but it never changes back and you keep having to remind yourself that this is normal. "it won't reset anymore," you echo to yourself, over and over and over, like a broken record, like you're still trapped in a loop, like someone who escaped the time loop but was doomed to bring it into the future with them

[chloesimaginationthings]

This is Scott Cawthon’s biggest regret in FNAF..

[sickfreaksirkay]

yes im still thinking about gawain’s stupid names

[azulhood]

DPxDC crossover but, instead of Danny being his ghostly-horror self, the justice league believe that he's just some guy.

Danny: *glowing eyes, sharp teeth, aura of eldritch being*

Villain: You're seeing this right?

Justice league: *turns around to find all the ghostly stuff gone* oh that's Danny *waves* hi Danny!

Villain: ...are you being serious right now?

It's not even that he's doing it on purpose, it's just anytime he does ghost things none of the heros are looking, and when they do have him in their sights he's just a normal person.

It probably wouldn't work for batman and his thousand cameras, but let's just say that it never got his attention cause no one in the league thought to mention it and the one time he did check it was just regular dude hours.

To the Justice league Danny is the humanist human to ever human.

Which is why they are so confused as to why this small branch of the government (mad scientist parents optional) is so sure he isn't.

[evercelle]

orv bookmark draws, pt. 3! chps 226, 254, 310 - [ part 1, part 2]

[hugs-and-stabbies]

The self-awareness on this guy 😞 someone pls send him an "are you bi?" quiz STAT

[inkskinned]

no, actually, where is the whimsy?

my ex had a best friend named larry who asked me once: what do you think comes after irony?

we were at the bar where larry worked. it was a quiet night, and he'd hopped over to sit with us on the patron side. i swirled the lemon around my limoncello martini.

earnest positivity, i said, while my ex said, art self-destructs.

i stared at my ex. he stared at me.

his argument was the cinemasins argument: look how bad media is becoming! look at the loopholes and the dumb shit!

it was roughly 2011. galaxy print was still in. at the time, i had a favorite shirt that was a wolf howling at the moon. it got ripped in half in the wash and i honestly still mourn it. i dressed like effie stonem, because everyone did. and irony was the name of the thing. men liked MLP "ironically." the internet liked the kind of crass, "anti-mainstream" vibes of things like fuck romance, touch my butt and buy me pizza. we put cats in sunglasses everywhere, which was because we only liked things in irony.

and media had the same vibe in it: anti-hero white men would be "hard to love" and then storm off the scene. nobody was just earnestly trying to save the world: they were jaded, angry, unoriginal. mad you even asked them to try to help.

my ex ends up not being wrong. cinemasins becomes super popular. a lot of people start viewing media with this lens that is the cruelest, most jaded depiction. it's wrong for your character to have unexplained powers, even if the entire movie is about how strange it is she has unexplained powers - that is still considered a "loophole." characters make thoughtless, panicked choices? loophole. characters are actually kind people, despite hardship? loophole. features a woman doing literally anything without assistance? loophole. movies become hyper-aware of scrutiny, and now irony rules the media.

which means you go to a movie, and the character has to turn to the screen and say "beats me!!" or one of the side characters has to have some kind of quip like "are you seriously telling me that you think this is normal?" because nothing can happen in earnest. like a sitcom laugh track, we now anticipate the fourth-wall break: the moment that the media acknowledges it is telling a story. the media has to apologize for itself, or else someone like my ex rolls their eyes.

but here's the thing: i wasn't wrong either.

the difference might be that i am (and always have been) so soft-hearted that any crack in the light of this world will spear me into the ground. and i was the poet in the relationship. (he thought that was the same thing as being naïve and stupid). i was making things daily. i knew how all of us artists are driven by some strange desire to evolve. he notably liked to critique art, not to create it.

so yes, i've made things that are bitter and angry and even ironic. i've made long, sharp poems with all capital letters, and i've made poems about how the silence stretches out like a song. someone wrote once that we will spend our whole lives just circling the place we grew up. i think it's more that we spend our whole lives trying to remake a home. i think it's that as we age, it becomes less exciting to build the castle on the beach - we become aware of erosion, of windforce. we realize what we really want is to come home to our dog, castle or not.

and while art in the foreground is mired in white male violence and irony, and aggression, and not taking anything seriously - i don't think that's true of all art. i think more and more artists are leaning in to the things we love. the world has changed so much. they have taken so many things from us. the only thing we have left is love. at the bottom of the moving box - all we get is the faint sense that we have to appreciate what little we've got. i can't enjoy this stuff ironically anymore: what room do i have for irony? if it makes me happy, that is an amazing thing. there are so few happy places left for me. i want to be happy because of how leaves shiver beside each other like nestling birds. i want to be happy because of the color pink, and how magenta doesn't exist. i have spent so much of this life suffering, i have earned my right to a gentle ending. if nothing matters, i get to assign meaning to the nothing. i get to create meaning. i am an artist first and foremost, which means creation is my thing.

where is the whimsy? wherever i fucking put it. because if this is my last fucking chance to do any good in this world - i want to do it earnestly. i want to write things that make you happy. that make people feel heard and seen. what comes after irony has to be positivity.

it was close to my 21st birthday. in 7 years, i would end up writing a book about this relationship, which is hopefully coming out somewhere around May 2024. i come back to this bar scene in my memories a lot. i keep thinking of how pale my ex was. the look that crossed his face. how i looked back at him. how for a moment, both of us couldn't recognize the other person. like the gulf between us was a suddenly wide and cavernous thing. like we were alien to each other. he never took my opinion seriously, and he always seemed surprised whenever his manic-pixie-dream-girl ever broke free of the plot. like in the whole time we were together, i wasn't human enough.

this knowledge: where he said nothing comes after, my only instinct was what comes after is love.

[andresmounts2]

Normalize letting trans kids live.

Every trans child on this planet deserves to be safe & supported.

[stil-lindigo]

the fox god.

a comic about a trickster.

--

creative notes:

–

all my other comics

store

[bixels]

Scary Sunset.

I'm concepting things way outta order in this story, but I'm sure you can piece things together. Context is for a storybeat where, after defeating and capturing Adagio (thus having all three sirens in her possession), Sunset enacts her revenge plot to release the sirens on Canterlot as Thea discovers she's been manipulated. In a confrontation, the two scuffle and fight over the siren orbs while Sunset struggles with her conflicting wants and emotions.

[shiny-eyed-corvid]

things found on the ground during my California road trip

favorite finds: a stone dolphin pendant found at the San Diego Zoo and a mysterious charm reading “Three Potato Four” from the streets of San Francisco

[ja3yun]

Sweat for Me | P.JS

stranger! jay x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, alcohol consuption, tipsy ynjay (all consensual), strangers to lovers, creepy men in clubs, but jay saves the day, not proofread anything else lmk! w.c: 7.8k synopisis: after a stressful week you go to the club to let loose and forget your problems, and jay is there to lend the perfect helping hand

a/n: hi! this is pure self indulgence because i saw jay at the prada event and went feral so, this is for my jay girlies! also, please do not have sex w strangers in clubs !! take it to a hotel and save yourself the embarrassment of getting caught. as always, comments, reblogs, and feedback is all appreciated! i love you guys, and see you at halloween for serial killer!jake <33

Walking into the club, the heat envelopes you first, thick and heavy, clinging to your skin like a warm, damp cloak. Fog from a nearby smoke machine waves across the air, softening the strobe neon lights above, and the bass from the DJ pulses right through the building, shaking the floor under you and setting your heartbeat to a new rhythm.

Every breath you take is a cocktail of scents - alcohol, sweet perfumes, musky cologne, with faint notes of sweat and cigarettes threading through. Ahead, bodies sway and stumble, arms flung over each other’s shoulders, laughter and shouts lost and misinterpreted in the pounding music. Faces are flushed, eyes are glassy, and heads are thrown back in abandon. 

And you need to catch up.

For a lot of people, this is their place of hell and you completely understand why; it stinks, people are rude, and alcohol turns people into caricatures of themselves that are less than flattering. But for you, this is the perfect way to unwind after a stressful week. 

You feel at home here, because it’s the one place where everyone is allowed to embarrass themselves and no one will bat an eye. You can let loose and just forget who you are, even for a minute. Sure, you need to avoid the creeps who think they’re entitled to touch you just because you exist and it’s a dark club, but just escaping reality for a night? It’s worth it in your opinion.

You weave through the crowd, brushing past clusters of people lost in their own worlds, and head straight for the bar with your two best friends, Yuki and Dosie. You’re already rehearsing the orders in your head, knowing exactly what they'll go for. Tonight’s plan is simple: drink hard and fast, percentage over pallet, because if there was ever a week that called for it, it’s this one. 

Dosie’s been grinding through double shifts as a nurse, Yuki’s buried under her endless university schedule, and you…well, work’s a whole mess you’re not about to think about right now. All you need to think about is forgetting every bollocking from your boss and get fucked up.

Reaching the bar, you lean against it, the girls just behind you as you order three double vodkas and cranberry - a dash of lemonade for Yuki since she hates the tang of the cranberry. You always ask her why she orders it if she hates it, but she insists that she needs to get more fruit in her diet, that and the other reason every woman drinks cranberry.

When they arrive, you dunk the black paper straws into each glass and pass them back, clinging to yours for dear life. It takes you all your strength not to down it right there and there, but you’ll be civilised since it’s your first one. You’ll leave the chugging for your third or fourth drink.

As you weave through the crowd, following your friends to the dance floor, someone brushes against you. It’s not a hard bump - thankfully not enough to spill your drink - but it’s just enough to bring you to a halt. Your pet peeve is people who push past without so much as an “excuse me,” and you’re definitely not about to be that person. So, you look up to apologise…

And that’s when the world around you slips away.

The man is beautiful, stunning, shaggable, and every other adjective for hot that your brain can muster, which right now is not a lot because you’re stuck in a trance.  The dim light catches on his features, casting soft shadows on his face. His black hair is parted and finger-brushed out of his face in a way that seems effortless but perfect, framing his sharp jaw that you’re sure is only obtainable through the hands of Michelangelo himself. His lips, pink and oh-so-soft looking, curve into a smile, showing deep lines and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He must smile a lot, you think, suddenly taken by this unexpected warmth, by the friendliness in his expression. If you were to bump into anyone else in this club, you’d be hit with nothing but arrogance and pissy attitude.

The flush on your cheeks deepens from mild embarrassment to a warm, undeniable craving of lust. You’re stuck, words caught in your throat as you realise you’ve been staring a bit too long. His expression shifts, his friendly smile turning slightly puzzled, as though he’s caught you mid-thought.

“Uh - sorry,” you finally manage, forcing out a small, sheepish laugh. 

“For staring or for bumping into me?” He says it so casually, his eyebrows raised and lips smirking.

You swallow hard and laugh again, shaking your head to set yourself straight and form a coherent sentence, ridding your mind of the Boggle-like state it’s in. “For both, sorry.”

His eyes flick down and then back up, trailing over you with a calm, easy confidence. It’s the same gesture you’ve seen from at least five other men in the past 10 minutes you’ve been in this club, but somehow with him, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. There’s something about his gaze that makes your pulse quicken instead of setting off your usual alarms. 

You pray to the heavens that he isn’t a creep.

But before you have the chance to find out, you’re yanked by your arm, stumbling as Yuki pulls you toward the centre of the dance floor. Her smile is innocent, and to be fair, she’s just here to have a good time with her girls, she doesn’t know that she’s just ripped you away from the possible man of your dreams.

Yuki drags you deeper into the crowd and you look back over your shoulder, your eyes finding his one last time. He’s watching you, hands casually in his pockets, a small smile playing on his lips. With a faint nod, he raises a hand in a playful salute, a silent goodbye as he lets you slip out of sight as if you were just a passing thought to him. But that look - the way his eyes linger for an extra second - stays with you as you’re swallowed up by the pulsing lights and music, unable to shake the feeling that this won’t be the last time you see him.

_____

As the hours fly by, you lose yourself exactly the way you’d hoped. Your arms sway above your head, a massive grin stretching across your face, every bit of stress and worry vanishing with each beat of the music. Adele’s beautiful and should-not-be-remixed-voice pulses around you in an EDM beat, but honestly? You’re having the best time, the way you intended to.

Tipping your glass back, you drain the last drop of your fourth drink tonight. You’re careful with your limits, always pacing yourself just enough to feel the buzz without going overboard and even though you wanna get plastered to the point you can’t see straight, you’re lacking right now.

“I’m gonna head to the bar,” you announce, raising your voice far too loudly over the music, alcohol dulling your sense of volume along with everything else. “You guys want the same?”

Yuki and Dosie nod eagerly, eyes gleaming with the effects of the night. They’re much faster than you with their drinks, and you can tell by their happy, slightly unsteady grins that every percent is hitting them. While this will be drink number five for you, they’re well into their eighth rounds, but you all seem to be on the same page, perfectly balanced in your shared state of i don’t give a fuck vibes.

Making you’re way to the bar, you slide into an open spot, nudging your way in beside a guy to your left and a girl to your right. You’re barely settled when you feel someone lean closer, just a little too close. You glance to your left, and sure enough, the guy next to you has turned his full attention on you.

“You good?” he drawls, his voice low and dripping with a forced charm. He’s got a smirk on his face and it’s obvious he’s had one too many. “Haven’t seen you around here before. You here alone?”

You try for a polite smile, keeping things neutral as you shake your head. You hate that you developed the habit of being nice even when uncomfortable just to avoid conflict. “No, I’m here with friends.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad.” He’s unfazed, his eyes roaming over you, lingering a little too long. “You know, a girl like you shouldn’t have to stand here waiting for a drink. I could get the bartender’s attention for you,” he offers, leaning even closer. His breath smells faintly of ciggies and rum, and you have to fight the urge to lean away.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” you say, keeping your tone light but firm.

He doesn’t seem to take the hint. “Come on, don’t be shy. A girl as gorgeous as you? You must get free drinks all the time.” His hand drifts to rest on the bar near yours, his fingers brushing too close for comfort.

The interaction is setting off all kinds of alarms, but you keep your cool, just begging the bartender to come over. “I appreciate it, but I can handle it.”

Still, he persists, his eyes flicking up and down like he’s sizing you up. “You know, you should really give a nice guy a chance. Not everyone out there’s gonna treat you as well as I would.”

It takes every bit of patience to keep from rolling your eyes. Luckily, just as he opens his mouth to say something else, a man stands impossibly close behind you, dragging you away from the burden to your left.

“Why are you talking to my girl?” the boy behind you says, voice low and dangerous, clearly warning the man away. His hips are placed respectfully on your waist and you can feel him hover just slightly, a little sign to show you that he’s just trying to help you and not add another dick to your problem.

Scoffing, the man eyes your saviour up. “Yeah, like I’d believe that. You’re punching, mate.” 

Honestly, you feel a flicker of offence on behalf of your unexpected saviour, but he doesn’t flinch, no reaction whatsoever; his entire stance relaxed as he stares the other man down. “I think you’re the one out of your depth, mate,” he replies mockingly. “You look like a fucking rodent that’s been flushed down the toilet.”

You bite down on your lips, fighting to hold back a laugh. The last thing you want to do is rile this man up, but the person grabbing your waist seems to be doing a good job of that already. 

The creep’s face flushes in anger, stepping an inch closer and you instantly take one back, your backside colliding with the boy behind you. Only then do his fingers dig into your hips, that protective instinct coming in full throttle. Considering he’s someone you’ve never met before, you’re surprised at his actions; no, you don’t expect every man to turn a blind eye when a woman is uncomfortable, but you don’t expect a stranger to step in as hard as this.

“Look, mate,” the creep sneers, trying to regain some of his earlier bravado. “You think you can just play hero and get laid? That doesn’t work, ain’t that right, kitten?”

He’s directly talking to you and your skin crawls with dread. First of all, the kitten has thrown you off and made you gag internally - if you had maybe one more drink and two shots down it would have been actual vomit. Part of you wishes you did so it would get this creep away.

“Um-”

“You’re arguing with me, not my girl. Don’t speak to her.”

The creep’s eyes darken as he takes another step forward, puffing his chest out to look bigger. “You want to go, then? You think you can take me?”

“Is that what you want?” your saviour replies, not backing down an inch, his stance firm and unwavering. “Because I’d be happy to show you just how far out of your depth you really are. You clearly can’t handle rejection, buddy.”

“I’ll fight you right now.”

“Try. Me.”

The next thing you know, the boy’s arm is instinctively shielding you, pushing you back and stepping in your place. His height finally comes into focus…in fact, you recognise him. It’s the guy you bumped into earlier, the one with the stunning smile and eyes that seemed to sparkle even in the dim light of the club. The heat of the moment makes your heart race, but not from fear. It’s a mix of adrenaline and something more exciting.

The invasive man glares, but you can see uncertainty creeping into his expression as he comes to terms with the fact that he’s not dealing with an easy target. He only signed up for a little back and fourth with you, seeing you as lesser than him. “You think you can just walk around like some tough guy? You’re nothing,” he spits, his bravado faltering slightly.

The boy in front of you rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “And you’re just a pathetic loser trying to hit on girls - my girl - if I need to repeat that. Seriously, just walk away before you embarrass yourself any further.”

The creep’s fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, it looks like he’s going to throw down. But as he glances between the two of you, you can see the gears turning in his head, weighing out his options. Finally, he huffs out a frustrated breath, taking a step back. “Whatever, man. She’s not even that fucking pretty.”

With that, he turns and pushes his way through the crowd, leaving you and your unexpected knight standing there. You’re still processing what just happened when he turns to you, his expression shifting from fierce protector to something softer.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and genuine, the protective intensity still lingering in his gaze. 

Again, just like earlier, you’re stuck for words, that pretty face sucking out any form of capacity you have. You open your mouth, but the response you intend to deliver is swallowed by the rush of heat that floods your cheeks.

You manage to nod, your voice barely above a whisper, your answer probably being swallowed by the music. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks to you.” The words feel inadequate, a mere echo of the gratitude swelling inside you. God knows how long you would have had to endure that man’s presence if it wasn’t for… “What’s your name?”

“Jay. You?”

“Y/N.”

He nods, humming and trailing those beautiful eyes across your features. “Suits you.”

You laugh, not fully understanding what he means by that but thankful as you accept it as a compliment. 

He flashes a grin, a bit of mischief sparking in his gaze. "Do you get that often?" he asks, leaning in slightly to be heard over the pulsing music.

You shake your head, still feeling a touch flustered. "No, actually…"

"Good," he says, his smile softening. "Then I’m glad to be the first."

He is so good at catching you off guard, leaving you with a warm glow that tingles down to your fingertips and toes. For a moment, there’s only the two of you, his steady gaze holding yours as if trying to memorise every detail.

Finally, you find your voice again. “So, do you always swoop in to save strangers?” you ask, a small smile playing on your lips.

He chuckles, shrugging a little. “Only when they look like they’re in need of a rescue.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And I looked like I needed rescuing?”

“Not exactly.” His eyes flicker over you again, a hint of admiration there that he doesn’t bother hiding. “You look like you could’ve handled him just fine. But, you know...couldn’t hurt to step in.”

Something about the way he’s looking at you makes your heart beat a little faster. Before you can stop yourself, you reply, “Well, let me buy you a drink as a thank you, yeah?” you ask but you’re already back to facing the bar, waving down the bartender. “What’s your poison?”

Jay chuckles and puts his hands back in his pockets. While you find the action hot, he actually does it so he doesn’t place his hand on the small of your back and make you feel uncomfortable. Last thing he wants is you comparing him to that fucking weirdo who can’t read a room. 

“How about you dance with me instead?” he suggests, tilting his chin up to the bartender as he grabs his attention and speaks to him. “Aperol spritz and a vodka cran, please.”  

The order surprises you, causing you to tilt your head in wonder. “You know my drink?”

Shrugging casually, Jay picks the wallet from the back of his pocket and fishes out his bank card. “Not many red drinks out there,” he leans down to your ear, eyes still focused forward and not on you, “plus you smell sweet, just like it.”

Your pussy might as well be a mouth with the way it’s drooling all over your panties. It’s not what he said, but how he said it. So much control, his words barely above a murmur, each one landing with a precision that sends a shiver down your spine. He’s so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath near your ear, but he maintains just enough distance to keep things respectful. His subtle confidence makes the whole interaction feel like a slow burn, igniting something electric between you two without crossing any lines.

As he straightens up, the bartender holds out the card machine and he doesn’t even glance at it before tapping his card, his gaze finally meeting yours not caring about anything or anyone else but you. The hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips shows he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you, yet he doesn’t exude any arrogance at all. 

"So," he says, handing you the drink once it arrives, "is this good enough for a dance? Saving you and buying you a round?"

You raise the straw to your lips, letting the drink cool you as you take a sip, hoping it’ll calm the heat simmering inside you. "I’d say it’s a solid start," you reply, managing to hold his gaze even as your heart thumps in your chest.

Placing his hand out in front of you, Jay waits for you to accept his offering and guides you to the dance floor. You completely forget that you’re supposed to get your friends drinks and leave every thought of them behind, your sole focus now on the man who has your fingers locked in his. 

The music comes back into focus as he twirls you around to place you in front of him, a grin reaching from ear to ear as he watches you get into the beat of Levitating by Dua Lipa. 

Jay’s eyes glimmer with excitement as he matches your rhythm, moving in sync with you as if this moment was something you’d both been waiting for all night. He keeps his touch light but undeniably close as his free hand finds its place on your waist as the beat pulses around you. You sway together, laughter bubbling between you both as he smoothly guides you through each beat, his own moves filled with the same easy confidence that’s had you hooked from the start.

You learn one thing about each other in this moment is that while Jay can dance and hold a beat, you absolutely cannot. Whatever you want to call the poor attempt of a hip sway, causes Jay to chuckle.

With his smile stretching wide as he watches your attempt at swaying, it’s obvious he’s clearly amused, but there’s nothing mocking in it; instead, he seems genuinely charmed. Shaking his head with a playful grin, he downs the last of his drink, tipping it back in one smooth motion, his eyes rolling back and making you think the worst thoughts before he reaches for your empty glass. With a quick, appreciative nod, he hands them both off to a passing floor staff member, barely glancing away from you.

Now with all his focus back on you, he gently takes your hands in his, guiding them around his neck. “Here,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing softly over yours as he brings you closer, “maybe this will make it easier.” He settles his hands on your waist again, the warmth of his touch grounding you as he guides your movements with steady confidence.

Your arms are now wrapped around his neck and the space between you all but disappears. He’s close enough that you can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong against yours, and his gaze holds yours, unwavering. “Better?” he asks, his voice low, just loud enough for you to hear over the music.

A little breathless, you nod. “Definitely.”

He chuckles softly, his eyes flickering down to your lips for just a split second before meeting your gaze again. “Let me lead you, yeah?” he murmurs, swaying gently to the beat, guiding you with such ease that you can’t help but fall into the rhythm with him. The room around you fades once more, and all that exists is Jay’s closeness.

Jay is so fucking good looking you could almost pass out in his grip. There are so many beautiful men out there, yet you can’t rhyme off a single name that compares to him. Granted, you cannot trust club lighting with anyone - even you look like Bella Hadid in dim light - but there’s no denying that if the lights came up and blinded you from your alcohol-induced haze, you would still be awe-struck by him.

But you’ve been so busy with his face that you’ve failed to notice his outfit, the softness of his cardigan tickles your fingertips and it makes you want to explore further.

Your fingers graze over the fabric of his Prada cardigan, marvelling at its dip against his firm chest beneath. The subtle luxury of his outfit stands out even here; the cardigan, perfectly fitted, highlights the breadth of his shoulders and the line of his torso, while his straight-cut jeans hint at his natural, laid-back confidence. And then there are his shoes - a little too fancy for the club you would say, but somehow just right on him, adding a touch of elegance to his casual charm. 

Maybe that sums him up as a person. You don’t know for sure, but you suddenly want to. 

"Aren't you warm?" you ask, your hands sliding down from his neck, fingers trailing over his chest as if drawn by some magnetic pull. The cardigan might be fine for any other occasion, but under the club lights, it seems almost criminally hot. Both figuratively and literally.

Jay shakes his head, his gaze darkening just a little as he leans in, his voice dropping to a low murmur, the musk of his perfume making you dizzy. “It’s okay,” he says, his eyes holding yours with a spark of mischief. “I’ve got nothing on underneath.”

The words, paired with his subtle smirk, hit you just as Sweat by Zayn begins to blare through the speakers, almost as if the song has been queued up for this exact moment. The sultry beat wraps around you both, amplifying the tension in the air, the lyrics speaking directly to the spark between you. You let your fingers trail along the fabric at the collar, testing his words, the barest hint of skin underneath sending a thrill through you.

It’s either the alcohol or the need that pulses through you that drives you to do what you do next, but your hands slip underneath his cardigan, palms splayed over his chest as you feel around his electrifyingly warm chest.

Jay’s breath catches just slightly, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of your hands exploring his chest. The smirk from earlier is gone, replaced by something deeper, more intense and daring, as he watches you with hooded eyes. He doesn’t say a word, but the way he leans into your touch, his body instinctively pressing closer, speaks volumes. 

His hands grip your waist tight, taking your exploration as mutual consent to feel one another. Even if he asked, you would have given him it in a heart beat. You need this man in more ways than you care to admit right now. Call it the vodka talking or your heart, you need this man.

The intensity between you builds, the space between you shrinking until there's nothing left but expectation. You’re close enough to see the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker between your lips and your gaze, as though he’s searching for confirmation.

His hand moves from your waist to cradle your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your skin, sending a shiver through you. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady, and before you realise it, you’re both leaning in, meeting in the softest, most tentative kiss - like a promise whispered against your lips. It’s gentle, exploring, with the hint of a smile on his lips as he pulls back just a fraction, eyes meeting yours as if to say, Is this okay?

You answer by closing the gap again, lips pressing against his, melting into the warmth of him. The kiss deepens, but neither of you rush; it's a slow, consuming pull that leaves you both breathless, savouring every second. His fingers slide into your hair, your hands still resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch as your nails dig in just enough to pinch him. Every shift between you is perfectly attuned to the other, until the world beyond the two of you fades completely, leaving only the feeling of being right here, lost in him.

The rhythm builds gradually, his lips parting slightly to fit with yours in a way that feels like a perfect match, every movement is crafted to fit yours. Your fingers curl against his chest, caught between pulling him closer and steadying yourself, and he responds by shifting his hand out of your hair and to the small of your back, tugging you flush against him. Each tilt of his head, every brush of his lips against yours, feels effortless but charged, growing warmer, more assured.

Eventually, you break away, both of you a little breathless, foreheads nearly touching as you stay close, neither willing to fully pull back. You look up into his eyes, dark and filled with a quiet intensity that mirrors the rush in your chest. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you murmur, “Do you want to go somewhere…quiet?”

Dosie and Yuki would hate you for this recklessness. But then they would also hate you for not at least trying to bag a man as fine as him so, you can’t really win, and no winner means endless roads to take -  so you’re choosing the one that gets you laid.

Jay’s lips tug into a small, understanding smirk, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, dragging it down as you see him contemplate whether to kiss you or give you a verbal answer. But obviously, he’s a gentleman - at least for now - and just simply nods.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he breathes out, letting you pull him from the middle of the dance floor.

You have no idea where ‘somewhere quiet’ could possibly be in a club in the middle of the night on a Friday, but you’re determined to find it. All these passing moments without him on your lips are torture; now that you’ve had a taste, you don’t ever want to stop.

You spot a secluded nook tucked away from the pulsating lights and eyes of the clubgoers. The dim, almost non-existent lighting creates a sense of intimacy and secretiveness that beckons you both. As you manoeuvre through the throngs of bodies, your heart races with anticipation, each beat echoing the exhilarating moment.

Once you reach the corner, you take a moment to catch your breath, your back pressed against the cool wall, a slight rush of adrenaline coursing through you. Jay stands close, his presence magnetic, and you can feel the warmth radiating off him as he leans in, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“This works,” he murmurs, a playful smile playing on his lips. His gaze flickers down to your mouth, and you can’t help but feel a rush of heat as you lean into him, closing the gap that feels impossibly charged. His lips are more of an addiction than the sweet treats you help yourself to after every lunch break.

You reach up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, relishing the feel of his soft skin against your fingertips. His breath hitches slightly at the contact, and you can sense the tension building, a heady mix of desire and uncertainty hanging in the air. As he tilts his head, giving you an inviting look, the moment feels suspended, filled with unspoken possibilities.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low and husky, laced with a hint of mischief. You nod, emboldened by the intoxication running through your veins and the undeniable chemistry crackling between you.

With a swift motion, he closes the distance, capturing your lips with his. The kiss ignites like a spark in the dark, deepening as he pulls you closer, the rest of the world slipping away. You lose yourself in the sensation, the taste of him simmering, sending electric thrills through your body. 

The kiss intensifies, his breath hitching as your hands grip his neck, thumbs brushing softly over his adam’s apple. The sensation of your touch there sends chills all through his body, and he lets out a deep, throaty groan that vibrates against your lips, raw and hungry, almost desperate for all of you. It spurs something inside, making your pulse race as his hands slide down, settling firmly on your hips before curving around to your lower back, guiding you even closer.

He presses his hips against yours, his mouth on yours fierce and wanting, as if he can't get close enough, as if this kiss is just the beginning. 

“Is it fucking awful for me to want to fuck you right now?” he laughs out into your mouth, the scent of his multiple Aperols brushing over your vodka-induced state. Is the question warranted? Yes, because it is silly to try and fuck a stranger in the back of a club. Will you tell him that? Of course not.

“It’s not,” you begin, pecking his lips multiple times just to keep his taste on your lips, “I think it’s actually perfectly acceptable.”

He genuinely laughs as he presses his forehead to yours. His hands wander, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, lingering at the line where your top meets your skirt. Each peck you steal from him seems to make his restraint fray, and you feel the muscles in his arms tense as he holds back, as if he's balancing on the edge of control.

"Perfectly acceptable, yeah?" he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your jaw, inching towards the hollow below your ear. He nips gently, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver, and then he kisses the spot softly, relishing in every second. The hand at your hip shifts, sliding over the curve of your backside, fingers splaying possessively, pulling you firmly against him. You can feel his heartbeat racing under your fingertips where they still rest at his neck, matching your own, quick and hungry.

"Good," he breathes out, his voice husky, a little breathless, "because I don’t think I could stop myself if I tried." His other hand threads into your hair, tilting your head back just enough to capture your lips in another kiss, this one deeper, more insistent. You lose yourself in it, the world spinning around you, each kiss adding fuel to the fire between you, every touch making it harder to remember that you’re standing in a club with the thrill of anyone discovering you at any moment.

Jay’s hands seem to trace their own path, gliding from your hips to your lower back, settling briefly before sliding even lower, each touch sending a thrill through you. His fingers drift to the hem of your skirt, teasing along the edge as if testing your boundaries, watching for your reaction. It’s important to him that you don’t just get caught up in the moment, each of his movements are deliberate in asking for consent.

When you don’t pull back, his fingers dip down, skimming along your bare thigh, igniting your skin. He’s barely holding back, you can tell, and it makes your pulse quicken, knowing that a man so beautiful could want you so badly. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, eyes heavy-lidded, his pupils dark with intent. He lets out a small groan, mouth parting as he presses a lingering kiss to your lips, slow and tantalising, as though savouring each second he’s got his hands on you.

“You really wanna let me fuck you in this place?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours with each word, his fingers inching a fraction higher. The grip he has on you is firm, almost possessive, and you feel him hold his breath, reining himself in, barely keeping his restraint intact until you tell him yes.

Your lips curl into a faint smile as you nip at his bottom lip, voice barely more than a murmur against his mouth. “I would let you do it in the middle of the floor if it meant I got to feel you.”

The last of his restraint crumbles. His fingers dip further beneath the hem, his hand sliding along the curve of your thigh, gripping you with enough urgency to leave no doubt about what he wants. The air between you thickens, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, everything around you melting away as you sink deeper into this reckless, exhilarating moment.

Finally, his fingers brush against the fabric of your underwear, and the sensation is electrifying, a mixture of thrill and pleasure that has you pressing your hips instinctively into his hand. His lips curve into a smile against your neck, feeling your reaction, enjoying every moment of it as he nudges the fabric aside. His fingertips glide over your skin, exploring, teasing, before slipping between your folds, finding you already warm and wanting.

God, you are so glad you didn’t wear your M&S granny panties tonight.

A low groan escapes him, and he shifts his body closer, pressing you against the wall to shield you from the view of others, his free hand bracing beside your head so you don’t wack it against the wall behind you. He’s right there yet the careful control of his movements leaves you on the edge, craving more. His fingers trace a slow, deliberate path, flicking over your clit before moving lower, entering you with a gentle push that has you gasping. He’s watching you closely, captivated by the way your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting in a soft moan as he begins to move.

He works his fingers in slow, rhythmic circles, each stroke drawing a new wave of pleasure through you, His other hand slips from the wall, finding your waist again, pulling you closer, urging your body to mould to his as he holds you in place. The rest of the club feels a world away - there’s nothing but his touch, the tension coiling tighter with each movement of his hand, the low hum of his breathing mixed with your own.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear, voice roughened with desire. The sound sends a pulse of heat through you, your heart quickly matching the lust, and you can’t help but roll your hips in response, pushing yourself against his fingers, craving more of that delicious friction. He shifts slightly, angling his hand, and his thumb brushes over your clit in a gentle, teasing caress that has your knees buckling.

Jay senses it, his hand tightening on your waist, supporting you as he picks up the pace, his fingers moving with more purpose now, deeper, each thrust building you closer to that edge. The rhythm he sets is perfect, each stroke drawing a new sound from your lips, each touch sparking with pure desire. His name slips from you in a breathless whisper, more like a spiritual chant, and he lets out a soft, satisfied chuckle, clearly revelling in the effect he’s having on you.

“Just like that?” he murmurs, his voice a warm rumble that makes you tremble. His thumb moves again, circling over your clit with just the right pressure, and the sensation is overwhelming, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter within you. You don’t know if it’s possible, but if some thumbs on earth are soulmates to a specific clit, but you’re pretty sure you just found yours.  

Your hands grip his shoulders, fingers digging in, clinging to him as he brings you closer to the peak, his fingers curling inside you, finding that spot that makes you gasp, your entire body tensing as waves of pleasure wash over you. You’ve had boyfriends that took years to find your perfect spot, yet this man found it in 0.02 seconds.

With your climax coming in a desperate rush, every nerve tingles and every breath is shallow as he drives you higher. But before you can hear that orchestra in your ears and feel that flutter in your chest, he withdraws his fingers.

The look in his eyes is unmistakable, dark with intent lust, and he swallows hard, his gaze flicking down to his fingers, seeing your essence covering them like a delicious glaze. “I can’t…” he starts, his voice rough, thick with desire. “I need you. Right now.”

Before you can register the rush of frustration and want building up inside, he’s lifting you, pressing your back against the wall, his hands as his hand roam every inch of you, obviously desperate. You taste his need, his hunger, in the way his lips move over yours, the way he presses into you as though he can’t get close enough.

Your heart races in excitement as you wrap your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your hips, positioning you exactly where he needs you. You have never fucked in a club before and you would scold any of your friends who did, but right now, all you care about is Jay. 

And the feeling is mutual on your tango partner’s shoulders. Every ounce of restraint he had is gone now; nothing is holding him back as he lowers his mouth to your neck, murmuring words between breaths that are nearly incoherent but fill you with a thrill.

He shifts, undoing his belt and pushing down his jeans and boxers just enough that he can still pretend he’s clothed and not raise suspicion, his hips press into yours, and the anticipation is electric, his cock throbbing. “Ready?” he breathes, his eyes locking onto yours, waiting for the slightest nod that will shatter the last of the resistance between you, bringing you both into the heat of what’s been simmering throughout the night.

Your heart thuds wildly in your chest as you nod, feeling every nerve in your body poised, waiting and he holds you steady against the wall. He adjusts his grip, his hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you a little higher, and the way his body aligns with yours makes you feel like you’re floating - that could also be the alcohol but quite honestly, you might just be drunk on the idea of his cock right now rather than the vodka. 

Then, in one fluid motion, he pushes forward, filling you completely, and a gasp slips from your lips, the sudden pleasure stealing the breath from your lungs. His jaw clenches as he feels you tighten around him, his grip on your hips firm as he holds you steady. He doesn’t move at first, just stays there, feeling every inch of you wrapped around him, as though grounding himself in the sensation. You’re easily the most perfect pussy he has ever had, he’s tempted to say that you’re made for him, and while his heart might feel that way, it’s far too soon to think it. 

A shiver runs through you, the stretch of him catching you off guard, and you can see it in his eyes too - the struggle to keep himself in check, the restraint that’s quickly slipping away. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he lets out a low, guttural groan. “You feel…incredible,” he breathes, his voice cloaked in nothing but pure lust, with the potential for something else hidden in there. But your mind is lost in a forest of thick and long cocks, wishing you could have had a glimpse of it before he stuck it inside of you.

The first pull back and thrust is slow as he takes his time, savouring every second, while also trying not to get caught. But as he moves, each stroke becomes more intense and that careful control unravels quickly. His rhythm fastens, his body pressing into yours with a growing urgency that matches your own. You’re completely at his mercy, and he at yours, every thrust sending a wave of pleasure through you, building until you’re lost in it, your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close, pulling him deeper.

He kisses you hard, a collision of lips and teeth, both of you too consumed to slow down and make sure no one is watching. His hands roam over your body, fingers digging into your skin with a possessive edge as he moves faster, quick to claim you. It might not be the best spot to prove it, but he wants you to think about him for the rest of your life, each time you have someone else’s cock inside of you, you should just think about how his tip kisses your cervix and bumps against your pretty walls in the most delectable way. Although, with how he’s feeling right now, he will try and make sure that you never have another person inside you again, this spot reserved for him only now.

He breaks away from the kiss, his mouth moving down your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin, and you can feel him fighting to hold back, to make it last. The sounds between you - his heavy breathing, the low groans slipping from his lips, the soft moans you can’t hold back - create their own rhythm, blending with the thump of the club’s bass in the background. 

He shifts slightly, angling his hips, and suddenly, he hits that spot deep within you, sending a shockwave of pleasure that makes you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. He tightens his hold, pressing you harder against the wall, his rhythm relentless as he focuses on that spot, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. Your body feels electrified, every nerve on fire as he pushes you closer and closer to release.

“Jay…fuck, right there,” you moan into his ear, tongue swiping over the shell of his ear.

“You’re driving me mad,” he mutters, his voice strained, breath coming in short gasps. “I’m not gonna last much longer.” But he doesn’t slow down; if anything, his movements become even faster, his need matching yours, both of you racing toward that peak, that release that feels so close, just out of reach.

And then, finally, you can’t hold back anymore. The pleasure curves in a wave that crashes through you, leaving you gasping, clinging to him as your body shudders with the intensity of it. Your core tightens and body stills, a contrast to the people around you who are mindlessly and drunkenly swaying to the beats. You have never been more thankful for people being blottered with booze. 

Jay groans, feeling you tighten around him, and with a final thrust, he follows, his body tensing as he spills into you, his face buried in the curve of your neck, lost in his own release. The spurts of his seed fill you and it’s only then do you realise that no condom was involved. Normally, you would curse yourself out, the stupidity of the act more reckless than driving a gold buggy on the M8, yet, the hot glisten of his cum filling you up feels so right.

For a long moment, you both stay like that, pressed together, breathing hard, the world gradually coming back into focus. His grip loosens, and he leans back slightly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he meets your gaze, a mix of satisfaction and warmth in his eyes. He presses a soft kiss to your lips, gentler this time, a quiet contrast to the urgency that had consumed you both moments ago.

With each of you staring at one another in wonder, the dawning of realisation that you just had sex in a grotty, overpacked club finally hits you both, you just laugh, and Jay follows, placing his head on your shoulder as his move up and down in amusement.

Gently, Jay helps you steady yourself as you find your feet, his arm around you as he watches you carefully, making sure you’re all right. As you both adjust, smoothing clothes and buckling belts, you scan the room to see across the dance floor, Dosie and Yuki are still dancing, blissfully unaware of your absence for what’s been at least two hours now. You snicker, nodding in their direction, and Jay follows your gaze, his smile widening as he takes in your friends, clearly oblivious to your escapades.

“Hey,” he says, pulling your attention back to him, his eyes bright with a glint of hope. “Do you, uh…wanna grab something to eat?”

You raise an eyebrow, amused, feeling that flutter in your chest at his sudden shift from club fling to something more. “Eat?”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “I mean, might as well get to know each other considering I owe you a Plan B, and then maybe a coffee?” He trails off, eyes dropping with a hint of boyish embarrassment and hopefulness.

A laugh bubbles up, and you give him a playful nudge. “Alright, let’s grab a bite…maybe some condoms.”

Jay’s eyes light up at the prospect of more with you, not just physically, but getting to know you, to learn everything about you, to just be with you.

“Sure, let’s go.”

_____

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[darkmuffinstudios]

I’m a little ill for them