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iochoventanni · 7 months

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via Victoria De Angelis' Instagram Stories, 07.10.2023

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iochoventanni · 7 months

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via Thomas Raggi's Instagram Stories, 29.09.2023

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iochoventanni · 7 months

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via Victoria De Angelis' Instagram Stories, 29.09.2023

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iochoventanni · 1 year

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Måneskin + Tumblr posts

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iochoventanni · 1 year

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Can i please request thomas + no. 17, maybe with a little bit of angst, fluff and smut?

"We passed 'just friends' about 20 fucks ago."

Thomas + angst/fluff/smut

“And for your girlfriend?”

You look up in surprise at the bartender’s question. It’s not directed at you – rather at Thomas, already nursing his own drink, arm slung around you as he’s standing next to you. He seems surprised, the alcohol already having an effect on him as he turns to you and raises his eyebrows with a smirk. You quickly put an end to it.

“Not his girlfriend. Just friends.”

“Cucciola, we passed ‘just friends’ about 20 fucks ago.”

You don’t have a drink to choke on but you’re sure you would do a spit take if there had been any liquid left in your mouth. Your head whips around towards Thomas at lightning speed. It takes a moment to digest that he actually said this out loud. For everyone to hear. Okay, potentailly only the bartender, who is now trying to hide his grin, but his boldness still takes you by surprise. Without any further explanation, you steal Thomas’ drink, downing what was left, before taking his hand and dragging him away.

The toilets are small, unisex, and far from glamarous, but they’ll do, you think, as you push him into a stall, following him in and locking the door behind you. It’s quiet. The music of the bar is muffled by the walls. No one else is in the room, not many people have ventured out on a Wednesday night. So all you hear is your beating heart and Thomas’ giggles.

“What the fuck was that about?” you ask, pushing him into the wall behind him to make room for your anger, but he’s not impressed.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” His smirk slowly drops from his face. “Not sure what you think we’re doing, but this sure as hell isn’t friends.”

You’re not sure what to say. And if you’re honest, that’s not something that happens a lot.

“Come on, don’t look at me like that.” He’s patting the pockets of his jeans. You know he’s looking for his cigarettes but you’re also aware that Ethan stole them back earlier this evening. “It’s what you do, isn’t it? Get too close, get a few fucks in, then leave them. Hardly makes us ‘just friends’, does it?”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard Thomas this cynical. His words sting, too. You can’t even argue back. It’s not like he’s wrong. You’ve done this before, more than once, a string of casual aquiantances giving you what you needed until they didn’t anymore and you moved on.

But they have never been your friends before.

You haven’t put much thought into it before. Having known Thomas for years, the transition into something more had been seamless once he broke up with his girlfriend and complained about a lack of physical intimacy weeks later. It’s not like the other times. It’s not even close. There was no talk to find your boundaries, to ensure you’re on the same page, to agree on the terms. It simply keeps happening. You don’t know which part you regret most right now.

“You’re different,” you finally say, but he scoffs.

“Is that the line you feed all of them?”

You wince at the harshness in his voice. Taking a careful step forward, you almost press your body against his in the small cabin. You don’t know how to make him believe but you can’t bear the distance.

“I’ve never said that to anyone.” Your voice almost breaks and you want to scold yourself for it. “I’m not using you, Thomas. You’re not just one of many. I…”

The words almost slip out of your mouth, words you’ve never said to him before, words you weren’t aware you have been thinking about, but all of a sudden you just know. His eyes meet yours. It feels like he’s seeing you for the first time. His gaze has softens, the scowl on his face gone, and his composure is wavering.

“Me too,” he finally says and then, out of nowhere but at the same time perfectly premeditated, your mouths crash into each other. His arms wrap around you instantly, a possessive gesture that feels both loving and fueled by frantic need. You return the sentiment easily, hands in his hair, somehow both pushing his head further toward you and pulling at the blond strands.

His lips are on your throat, the place where your neck meets your shoulder, the cleavage on show in your lowcut top and he must be crouching uncomfortably, but you mind is full of nothing but Thomas, Thomas, Thomas and you can’t get enough. You drag his head back up by his hair and a moment passes where you simply stare at each other, heavy breathing rattling both of your chests, eyes dark with lust, hair messed up, and you think he’s beautiful.

You think you should take your time. You should be doing this any place but a random toilet in some bar you’ve never been to and will never go to again. You should make sure he knows this means something. But somehow, still, both of you think you’re exactly where you need to be, right here and now, with each other. Everything else will still be there later. But you need him now, and you can tell he’s thinking the same.

Your hands start tearing at his belt at the same time as his are moving under your dress. His fingertips are hot against your flesh. The belt buckle finally gives way. You don’t hesitate in pulling his jeans and his boxers down in one. It only takes one touch to his already hardening cock to completely distract him from his own movements. He gasps loudly when you finally touch him, head thrown back until it audibly hits the wall behind him. You grasp onto his flesh, bringing his face towards you again with your other hand to kiss him breathlessly. It gives him enough room to start fumbling with your underwear again, pulling at it until it hits the floor at your feet.

You briefly think about having to walk home without your panties because there’s no way you’re putting them on again after they’ve hit the floor of a public bathroom. But then his fingers are on you, tracing your clit, feeling your wetness, moving into you, and you don’t care all that much anymore.

“Thomas, I… please.”

He knows. Removing his fingers, he pushes you backwards, gently, until you hit the opposite wall. He grabs onto one of your thighs, holding it up, inviting you to wrap your leg around him, opening you up. When he enters you, you keep the eye contact and you don’t think that’s something you’ve ever done before.

A silent fuck leaves him and you smile. You know exactly what he’s feeling. You’re doing too. It’s different, this time. If someone asked about it, you might have said it’s the first time it feels like it’s more than fucking. It’s closer to making love. In a public toilet, drunk, at constant risk of being caught, but somehow, it’s love all the same.

He’s moving differently, too. He knows what to do, how to touch you to coax the sweetest moans from you, but he’s not doing it just to get off now. He’s treasuring the moment, keeping his eyes on you, keeping his mouth on yours as much as he can. It’s closer. It’s better. It’s so much better.

Thomas is still looking at you when you come and you try your hardest to keep your eyes open as you ride through the waves he’s providing you with, needing to share this moment with him so badly. You clench around him, pulling him that little bit closer, pulling at his hair that little bit harder, and he’s coming undone too, eyes on your until he fully succumbs to the pleasure and lets his head drop onto yours.

You stay like that for a while, panting against each other, his head leaning on yours, your arms and leg around him, still joined, still intimate. Neither wants to break the moment. It’s the sound of a door opening that drags you back to reality. You finally move away from each other. You listen closely as the person moves around the room, uses the toilet, the running water of the sink, leaves again, while Thomas puts his clothes back into place. The panties on the floor are swiftly discarded into a bin.

Neither of you speaks, but you’re relieved to see your smile mirrored on his face. When he takes your hand, you let him. You ignore the shouts from the rest of the band as he pulls you back to the bar, already knowing they’ll be making comments about what you’ve been up to, whooping and laughing. The bartender raises and eyebrow but breaks up into a grin as Thomas speaks and you can’t help but do the same.

“Some red wine for my girl, please.”

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iochoventanni · 1 year

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