Another angle of Lucy St. Louis in ‘Think of Me’.

"INSTEAD OF LOSING CONTROL OF THE PARTY, THOUGH, FUNKDOOBIEST REMAINS ON TOP THROUGHOUT..."

PIC INFO: Spotlight on a print advert and/or record advert for "The Troubleshooters," the third full-length album by L.A.-based Latin/alternative hip-hop group FUNKDOOBIEST, released under the RCA label in early 1998. The advert was featured in the January '98 issue of "Rap Pages" magazine.

ALBUM OVERVIEW: "There’s something very fresh sounding on “Troubleshooters,” the third album by L.A.’s FUNKDOOBIEST. It could be the relative lack of filler and the DJ Ralph M.’s original approach to samples. The mad, driving swing of the Squirrel Nut Zipper’s “Hell” drives the first single, “Papi Chulo.” They twist around some verses to suit their own purposes on oldies like Bill Withers’ “Just the Two of Us” (to “just Funkdoobiest”) and Diana Ross’ “Theme From Mahogany” (“Doobie knows where you’re going to”).

They bring back the catchy beat and sped-up vocals of Newcleus’ “Jam on It” on the remake “Act on It.” But instead of borrowing the familiar hook from the Tom Tom Club’s “Genius of Love,” they cop its central question: “Whatcha gonna do when you get out of jail?”

The delivery of rapper Sondoobie has a familiar ring — that high, whiny New York wiseacre squawk often associated with CYPRESS HILL. Yet he’s changing the voice a bit too, slowing it down with a deeper voice on a few tracks, yet still switching effortlessly from English to Spanish and back.

There are a lot of voices on “Troubleshooters” though, including Daz from Tha Dogg Pound on “Papi Chulo,” and Hitman, Hurricane G, Tony Touch, MC Fats, and a handful of others.

Instead of losing control of the party, though, Funkdoobiest remains on top throughout “Troubleshooters,” making it the sharpest rap release of the year yet."

-- HARTFORD COURANT, review for FUNKDOOBIEST's "Troubleshooters" (1998) album, published February 12, 1998

Sources: www.courant.com/1998/02/12/troubleshooters-funkdoobiest & http://hiphop-thegoldenera.blogspot.com/2018/12/rakim-master-is-back.html.

The Nearness of You - A Harry Styles One Shot

A friends to lovers one shot feat. birthdays, pining and stolen purses.

Hello, please enjoy this fever dream fic that came to me a week ago and is now somehow 13.5k and gracing your eyeballs. I’ve never written a one-shot of this nature before and it was quite a refreshing distraction from my usual, long-form fics. Thank you to Anne @oh-honey-styles​ for the encouragement (bullying) and for posting the pic that inspired it all. To everyone else, read on x katey *Because this is quite lengthy, I’d recommend opening in a browser because the Tumblr app can be glitchy*

My masterlist Chat to me here

“When you're in my arms And I feel you so close to me All my wildest dreams came true” The Nearness of You, Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

++

You love the cold.

London in February isn't everybody's cup of tea, but you feel positively giddy walking down the icy Soho street in your new & Other Stories snow boots. The hard, black leather is already making your toes ache, and they're rubbing against the heel of your left foot, but they'll stretch to size, and you can tell these are going to be Your Signature Boots. The wind whips against your cheeks, red flushing them as you cross the laneway and push open the door to the chic little restaurant you've followed on Instagram for years but never had an excuse to try. Figures Harry chose it for tonight. Sometimes you wondered if the coincidences were a little too … Coincidental.

"Hi," you smile brightly to the maître d', "I'm uh … I'm here for the birthday? For Harry?"

Do I need to say his surname? You think to yourself.

"Can I have your name, please?" The suited man pulls a piece of paper out of the reservations book and waits for you to identify yourself. Your chest is rattling from the cold and the flurry of nerves you're all too familiar with ignoring.

"Y/N," you say your full name, taking in the dark floor of the restaurant, the flickering candles on the tables and lining the bar that takes up the entire left side of the room. The whole place is beautiful, just like you've double-tapped online; all deep reds and burgundies, vintage posters, and mismatched, dark wooden furniture. A jazz record plays just loudly enough to fuse the conversations at all the tables into one comfortable sound. It would make for a sexy place for a date, you decide, stolen touches under the table would feel thrilling and seductive.

The maître d' nods, you're on the list, "Back in the private dining room," he says, "Follow me this way."

You push your evening bag further up your shoulder and walk half the length of the bar, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. You catch the bartender watching you as you go, he's cute, and you give him an awkward little wave before calling out ahead of you.

"Sorry, excuse me," you get the attention of the man leading you through, "Can you point me to where I need to go? I'm going to get a drink to take in first if that's okay?"

"Just there," he points to the doorway at the back, next to the kitchen pass, "The curtain on the right."

Thanking him, you watch as he walks back to his station by the front door. You turn to the bar and rest your hands on the cool wood. They've stuck the pages together of old Little Golden Books for the drink menus, but you'll be ordering what you always get on birthdays, so don't take in the beverage options as you flip through The Tawny Scrawny Lion. You remember it from when you were a kid.

The bartender moves to stand in front of you, a gleam in his eyes and flirtatious smirk on his face, "Pretty good read, that one. You have to order a drink though, this isn't a library."

You laugh, he's laying it on a bit thick but probably just after the tip, "I was more a The Poky Little Puppy sort of girl."

He gives you a grin of approval, flipping a napkin up onto the bar in front of you, "What can I make for you?"

"I'll have two Old Fashioneds, please," you lean forward onto your elbows to give your feet a rest as he pulls up a second napkin and then two crystal, lowball glasses. "They're pretty," you comment without thinking.

"It's all about the glass," he confirms quickly, dropping brown sugar cubes into each one and then shaking bitters on top. Your eyes focus on the way the squares dissolve and fall in on themselves as he speaks again, "I'm Jack."

"Y/N," you give your name for the second time, throwing a brief smile his way, "I've never actually watched someone make these before."

Jack pauses and gives you a teasing look, "Do you want me to stop so you can get something to write this all down?"

You laugh and roll your eyes at him as he goes back to making the drinks. You're stalling. You know when you go through the curtain in the back there'll be a dozen people who're all dressed nicer than you, with more impressive jobs than you, who have funnier, more outrageous stories about the birthday boy than you. You'll need to stand awkwardly in the doorway for a few moments too long before Harry notices you, and then your greeting will be watched by all his cool, London friends.

You know better than to let any of that dull your shine—you really do—but you've had a rough few months, and if you're honest, you'd like your first time seeing Harry since the summer to be a little more low-key than this. So that's why you're wearing the new boots that hurt and might not suit the dress code because they're new and you feel good wearing them with this outfit. It feels a little special to be out celebrating Harry's (belated) birthday in a semi-new ensemble. You managed to fluke getting your hair and makeup just right, and yes, your legs do look pretty fantastic in these tights with the short, roll neck, knit dress, thank you very much.

"Here you go," Jack brings your attention back to him, you can smell the citrus twist in front of you, and the crystal glass deflects the light from the candles, "Can I put this on a tab for you? You're with the birthday?"

"I'll pay," you tell him, already digging for your card and holding it out to him.

"Oi!" You hear a very familiar voice call out from the far end of the bar, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you shiver, "What're you payin' for? What's she—don't take her money!"

You keep your arm out steadily to Jack and raise your eyebrows at him, "Take it," you urge him quickly, feeling him pluck it from your fingers just as you turn towards the voice you know so well.

That familiar Tom Ford cologne hits your nose just as Harry hurries up and deposits himself heavily against the bar, right up in your personal space. His broad frame blocks out the room to you, and he's lit softly in the dim light and looking radiant from within, as per usual. He's got his crazy eyes out—accusing you—and his eyebrows are pinched together slightly, but he looks good. Happy. Rested. Pleased to see you.

Harry's always pleased to see everyone, you tell yourself, Hold it together.

He pulls you into his chest for a hug. Your cheek presses just below his pecs, and you feel the way he's grown more defined since you last saw him. The material of his t-shirt is soft and smells clean. It's a tight squeeze he gives you, one that you resist reading into. Was it healthy for there to be so much comfort in a simple hug? Was your whole body allowed to tingle and fizz from the embrace of a friend? Was it pathetic to have been carrying around in your ribcage the same crush from when you were thirteen?

Affirmative. Without a doubt. Yes.

You haven't seen Harry since mid-September, the last time he was in London. Well, the last time he was in London and had time to see you. You're sure there were probably business trips, Christmas definitely. And going off Instagram, you think he might've flown into Manchester and spent a long weekend with Anne back in October, but if it was any of your business, it would've been your business. You needed to be grateful simply for what you got; intermittent texts about books he'd read or maybe a happy drunk voicemail if he thought of you at the right time. He sent an email at Christmas with a charitable contribution in your name instead of a gift.

"It's so good to see you," Harry says as he pulls away, all crinkled eyes and broad smiles. You don't know your grin has launched his heart into space and that despite having just gone to the bathroom, Harry feels due for a nervous wee. He thinks you look fucking gorgeous tonight. Knowing you've done your hair, and eyeliner, and picked that dress to come out and celebrate his birthday … It sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin—beauty blooms in front of his eyes in you.

Tell her, you idiot. Twenty-seven could be the year.

"Hi," you chirp at him happily and pick up one of the glasses in front of you, "I got you a drink."

Harry watches you fondly and then dramatically looks off to the side, lets out a little huff, "Typical Y/N, buying her own drink … You really think I wouldn't have one here for you?"

Nevertheless, he says a quiet thank you, takes the glass from you and deliberately sniffs it as if he's not sure what's inside or if he'll like it. You smack his arm lightly at the show and pick up your own glass, chinking it to the side of his and watching him over the rim as you both take your first sips. The familiar taste and view fill your tummy with gurgling happiness that sits high in your chest. He's dressed almost exactly how you expected him to be—smart, high-waisted dress pants and a printed t-shirt. You're glad you didn't go too formal, the restaurant is nice, but it's not Hatted or anything, not like the place he took you in LA that time, where you felt like the biggest idiot in the world for not realising beforehand, was properly fancy.

"Fuckin' delicious," he rumbles slowly, bringing you back to the cocktail, "A classic."

"Happy birthday," you tell Harry sweetly, thankful for what's likely to be your only quiet moment with him all night, "Sorry I couldn't make it to the LA party."

"Ah," Harry waves you off, "Your job's much too important here."

He means it. Harry's beyond proud of you. He's always telling people you work for the NHS, saving lives and keeping the country going. The party in LA was thrown together by some people at the last minute, and even though most of the friends he left in the backroom when he went to find the bathrooms a few moments ago were able to fly across for it, Harry's not the least bit put out by you not being able to. Would've been a big trip for you to do on your own and he knew there's no way you'd miss his London celebration. And you sent over a gift, which shouldn't have surprised him. His actual birthday was spent in LA, and that morning a parcel arrived from you—two new notebooks and a novel Harry read the back of and instantly knew he would love. It's what he read on the flight home to the UK.

Trust you to want him to have the gift on his birthday—go to all that trouble of packaging it and sending it over—when you were going to see him in London ten days later anyway. Harry could do worse than a friend like you.

"I just need a bit more notice than four da—

—Please," Harry's shaking his head at you, hating watching you apologise for something he really doesn't care about. "I'm glad you're here tonight," he tells you genuinely, fingers reaching out to brush your bangs away from your eyebrow briefly and—did the room just spin around you?—get a glimpse of the bronze sheen over your eyelids, "I haven't seen your new hair in person, looks lovely."

Lovely? he scolds himself, Lovely is a nice jam scone, lovely is a hug from mum …

"Oh," you coo, automatically sending your own fingers up to where Harry's had just been to reposition your newish bangs, "Thanks, still getting used to it, wanted to do it forever but wasn't brave enough to I guess."

"I like your natural hair colour, too," he continues slowly, eyes running over your whole head, "I mean, I loved how it used to be … But I like this a lot."

Shit, Harry's already failing to adhere to the strict series of pep talks he's given himself over the last couple of days. He's babbling, and he's probably just made you think he's not liked how you've had your hair for the previous twelve years. Is he buzzed from the cocktail or from the way your cheeks have gone a little pink since he touched you? His compliment made you squirm, and Harry wants to do it again and again until what he's feeling makes sense.

"Just, you know, feels like a throwback to the old days," he mumbles through another sip of the cocktail you both love, a glint appears in his eyes as he continues, "When you had Barbie overalls and would spend half a day plaiting your whole head in those tiny little rat tails."

Your mouth opens into a horrified O, and you let out a single laugh, "Rat tails? They were cool. And I was eleven when we met, I'd definitely already outgrown the Barbie overalls."

"Whatever you say," Harry smirks at you, signature dimples appearing on his cheeks, "I just remember those little beads from the ends of them ending up all over the bottom of the pool."

You smile at the memory. You remember duck diving with Gemma to collect all the beads so they could be put back into your hair the next day. Nearly drowning from laughing so hard at Harry and the other boys trying to stand on your backs in the water. Summers with Harry were always spent laughing. The local pool and skate park saw all your adventures. When Harry's dad moved in next door to your family after his parent's divorce, you and your brother hung off the fence, peering into the backyard to see if any toys or a trampoline might appear signally new kids next door. They didn't, and it wasn't until the summer when Harry and Gemma arrived for their holidays that you jumped the fence with ice lollies and offered yourself up as a new friend.

"Simpler times," you muse to yourself, looking up and catching the perplexed look Harry was giving you, "Spaced out a bit, sorry."

"I've missed my little weirdo," he grins at you affectionately, angling a little closer and levelling his head down to yours as he bit his lip and frowned, "Are you doing alright though?"

You let out a little sigh and avert your eyes to where Jack, the bartender, is busy making trays of drinks for different tables. Harry observes you carefully, a twinge of guilt forms for causing the sad look that's come over your face, but also for not having asked the question weeks ago. Gemma told him at Christmas, an off-handed comment about you being newly single. When he heard the evil gremlin in him was fucking relieved, just like he always was.

"I'm fine," you try a smile out and pull your lips up higher when you don't think Harry buys it, "Better. Had my crisis haircut and drank myself to tears with my work friends. Just a normal break up, really. M'getting used to them at this point."

A small, white lie.

Each breakup bruises you deeply. Talking about it afterwards fills you with a shame that makes you feel naked, like everyone else can see what's wrong with you but you. As though it's obvious why nobody's picked you yet. You don't ever want to talk about it afterwards, (especially not with Harry) don't want to draw attention to it. Prefer to let the disappointment and loneliness pool in your tummy and sit there heavily, weighing you down, waiting for the One Day someone spectacular might come along and be buoyant enough to float away with you.

You're looking for your forever. You want the cheesy romance, and the love, and marriage, and kids, and the whole stupid thing. You want to be wanted and loved and cherished. That's what you're ready for. You just can't find anyone who's ready for that with you. So, you date, have mediocre boyfriends who rarely make it to the first anniversary, then pick up the pieces and try again.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

"Well," Harry swallows, reaches out for your arm to make sure you look at him, "You look beautiful tonight. And it's his loss, he's clearly a monumental idiot."

You give Harry a noncommittal hum in response. Just as you're about to say something you shouldn't—get into details you bet Harry really isn't that interested in knowing—you catch the movement of someone appearing from the doorway behind Harry and then approaching you both.

"Harry, mate," you don't know the guy who's recognised Harry's back and is calling out for his attention now, "Thought you might've fallen in."

Harry snaps around quickly to the voice, blocking your view. You take another sip of your drink and pull in a deep breath. Not fitting into any of Harry' groups socially has its downfalls. If his sister wasn't around, you tended to have to make friends at anything Harry invites you to. You're not part of his Holmes Chapel crew or his LA friends, and you definitely don't fit into the London group. Over the years there have been faces you've come to find familiar, but you're still the singular, hanger-on friend from Harry's second childhood home.

Peering around Harry's shoulder, you catch the end of a look between the two guys you think alludes to this new friend gauging whether Harry needs rescuing from you. You briefly wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. You know that look well.

"Aiden, this is Y/N," Harry raises his arm and angles to pull you around in front of him.

You hold up your drink, awkwardly, "Hi."

Aiden gives you a hesitant smile, "Hello," then he raises his eyebrows at Harry, "Harry, you coming back in, mate?"

Harry bites his lip and chuckles, reading the look on his friend's face, "You're a prick, I don't need saving. Known Y/N since I was twelve, we were just catching up."

You feel yourself go bright red, and you're thankful for the forgiving lighting. This isn't the first time this exact scenario has happened to you. You've been on the receiving end of that uneasy look before—his friends checking if the girl who isn't there with anyone else is supposed to be there at all. Backstage at the O2, a member of Harry's security once hauled you to the tour manager's office to check your VIP credentials were legitimate. You'll take that story with you to the grave.

Aiden deflates slightly and waves a hand your way, "Shit, sorry, thought he'd been cornered by a fan again … I mean, a pretty fan to say the least but …" he coughs into his hand when Harry gives him a glare you don't see, "Great to meet you."

"No worries," you wave it off like it's nothing. The truth is your brain has short-circuited at Harry's palm resting on the small of your back, he's not moved it from when he first brought you forward. Friendly touches weren't strange between you, but this lingering, comforting hand is burning a hole in you tonight. You haven't been out and had anyone touch you since your breakup, and Harry is setting off all you nerve endings. You tilt your weight onto your other foot to pull back from him slightly, but Harry's hand travels with you. "We should go back, I might use the loo first though, is it that way?"

Harry watches you point in the direction of the bathroom, you're flustered and he really wishes he could tell Aiden to buzz off so he could just take another few minutes with you. Brief you on who was in the room you were about to go into. You wouldn't know any of them, and Harry always appreciated that you came to things on your own, particularly when you wouldn't know anyone aside from him once you got there. He should have invited his sister so you'd have a buddy. Or told you to bring a friend. Not a boyfriend, though.

He watches you take the final drag from your drink and put the glass down on top of the bar, "Thanks Jack, t' was dee-lish," you catch the attention of the bartender, throwing him a beaming grin. And Harry watches the way the guy's features light up at being called on by you. Envy rumbles in Harry's gut, he recognises the dumb smile and dopey nod of Barman Jack's head. Has felt it a hundred times himself when he's been on the receiving end of your quirky humour.

You walk away, and Harry feels Aiden watching him, "She's fit," he comments, trying to get a rise out of Harry, reading the room perfectly.

"Fuck you," Harry grunts at him.

++

Harry sits opposite you at the long table in the private dining room.

You nurse a glass of rosé and eat the food slowly, savouring it. You deliberated over the menu for a long time before settling on what to order, you've seen photos of most of the dishes online, but there were several new ones too. Harry goes off your recommendations but spends a lot of the dinner talking to the people sitting beside him. He knows if he tried talking to you right now, he'd just get lost in you, which is both rude for a birthday party and bound to be too conspicuous.

You insert yourself into a conversation with the girls sitting next to you and pretend you're good at making friends. They spend most of the meal talking about something that was on the telly the night before. You were on shift so missed it, but pretend to be interested or like you might've seen it—anything to not stick out like a sore thumb.

Harry watches you out the corner of his eye the whole time. You've shrugged off your jacket, and he recognises the gold necklace you've got around the collar of your dress, sitting over the black fabric on your chest. He's pretty sure it was a gift from Gemma a few years ago, you wear it all the time. Harry makes a note to get you something that compliments it for your birthday coming up. You're chatting to one of his mate's girlfriends and Lisa who's been on his publicity team for years. Those would've been the two he'd have introduced you to first as well. He can't stop watching the way your lips turn up every time something funny is said, or one of the girls makes eye contact with you. Watching you try with his other friends always makes Harry feel warm and giddy for some reason.

Fuck, he's missed you. And he berates himself for the fact he never seems to remember that until he sees you again. (It's strategic usually, his heart doesn't take your company well when he knows you're going home to someone else) You're so engaging and kind and unintentionally charming, and you always have time for him. Harry knows he's not an easy human to be friends with; he constantly ducks in and out and is never around for the big things, let alone being available to call on a random day to just hang out with. The friendship is always on his terms, and he knows it makes him a selfish prick. You definitely could've done with a call a couple of months back when you had your heart broken. Like always, he missed it, and by the time he was sending you a message about an episode of Midsomer Murders, he felt as though the moment to console you had passed, and Harry didn't want to draw attention to the fact he wasn't around for it.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" His head snaps back around to the person next to him, thoughts still on you across the table. He agrees with whatever was said and does his best to catch up.

Harry's got to stop thinking about how you're single at the moment. He really does.

++

A few hours later, it's the girl sitting to your left, Lisa, who first mentions the idea of kicking on.

It's after dessert—after everyone sang happy birthday to Harry over a round of espresso martinis—and you're starting to think that if you leave now, you'll be home before midnight, which means the tube won't be too deserted to feel safe. You're also at a comfortable place to wake up without a hangover in the morning. Two cocktails and a glass of wine over dinner, because any more and you're scared you could say something stupid to the wrong (right) person.

Harry's face lights up, and he looks around the room, eager at the idea of going to a bar or two for more drinks. He's not been out in London for the longest time, and he's happily buzzed enough to not be too worried about running into people. Feels like this group of friends have gelled well together. How often does he get to have a night like this in London? Hardly ever.

"Yeah, let me sort out the tab and then we're good to go," Harry says, pushing his seat back from the table and standing up, his hands hunting his pockets for his wallet and phone, "I'll be right back."

When he goes, you decide now's as good a time as any to split. You pull your coat on and say goodbye to the friends you made over the meal. Lisa gives you her business cards as if speaking to you had been part of her job, you slip it straight into your coat pocket and can already picture it at the bottom of the garbage in your kitchen. You revisit the bathrooms, and when you come back out into the main restaurant area, Harry's still leaning against the front desk, chatting to the maître d' from earlier.

He feels your small hand land on his back and jolts upright at the contact, your gentle voice calling his name softly, "Harry, I'm going to head home."

He spins around, and you catch the fall of his face, "What? No … No. You're the one I want to hang out with the most," his bottom lip juts out and his brows furrow. "Y/N."

"Thanks a fuckin' lot, mate," you hear a male voice laugh at your back, they slip behind you and out into the chilly air, and Harry flips them the bird. You were pushed closer into his chest as they jostled past and he steadied you with his arms latched onto your forearms. Still watching outside, you see a cigarette lighter flare-up on the footpath and the end of an orange butt glow spectacularly in the night. When you glance back at Harry, he's not looking happy.

"Don't pout," you tell him lightly, you reach up and press the skin taut between his eyes smooth again, "Can't wrinkle that rockstar face of yours."

His face lights up, and his skin heats where you made contact, "You can't go yet."

"Harry," your features tangle into something like a grimace, "You'll have a better time without me. Everyone seems to be pretty tight—"

—Y/N," he gives you a final, pleading look, "Please come."

You make out like you're stomping your foot in defiance, "Fine."

"Score!" Harry cheers under his breath, shrugging his jacket up over his shoulders and saying a final round of thank yous to the staff. When you're out on the street at Harry's side somebody mentions the name of the next place and points the direction of it, Harry places a hand on your shoulder as you start to walk and leans down to your ear, "I just have one condition for you coming."

You pull back and look at him, "I don't think you get conditions when you've begged me to be here."

"A birthday condition then," he edits, pressing his lips together and smiling at you with his eyes, "You have to promise to do what I say before I ask it."

You narrow your eyes at him, "I suppose you only turn twenty-seven once. You can have a single wish from me."

Harry laughs and slips his fingers under the strap of your evening bag, "Give me this."

You think briefly he means to carry it for you, which is a strange thing for Harry to request. But then he unzips it in front of you and starts rifling around inside it, slipping your phone under his arm so he can move around the lipstick and tissues and emergency Galaxy bar to eventually pull out your small purse.

"Harry! What are you—

—Ah, ah!" He holds it all away from you and reminds you of the promise. "This is mine for the night," he says, slipping your purse into his coat pocket. "Otherwise you'll end up buying too many rounds."

You try to sneak your hand into the pocket after your wallet, "Don't be stupid. It's your birthday, I'll buy every round if I need to."

"Exactly my point," he steps away from you down the street, and you skip to be back at his side. He's stolen your money and your chocolate bar.

"Harry, give it back."

"Nope," he pops the 'p' and hands you back the bag, the Galaxy bar hanging from between his teeth, still in the packet, "You promised. Now hurry up and walk, and I might give you a bite of this. 'm freezing my balls off, we are not in LA anymore."

So that's how you end up in the next bar, your handbag a little lighter, squished into Harry's side with a pleasantly sour cocktail he paid for between your fingers. The booth is so far into the back wall you're not even really sure which direction the front door is anymore. Somehow, you've managed to sit ten people around a booth probably designed for six, but nobody seems to be bothered.

Your whole right side is on fire, though.

You can feel Harry from the top of your shoulder all the way to your ankle. His hip sits neatly next to yours, Harry's left elbow rests just above your right thigh, and your knees press together every time he gets excited when he speaks and unintentionally opens his legs up. If Harry's bothered by it there's no way you'd know, he's hardly looked at you since you all sat down, much less uttered a word of discomfort about the seating arrangements. Makes no sense really, when he seemed so desperate for you to stay out with them.

(Next to you Harry's felt like he was high most of the time, he's flashing in and out of the conversations around him. Because he can smell your perfume—Stella by Stella McCartney, he'd know that fragrance anywhere, you've been wearing it since you were seventeen—and you're warm and snug beside him. He feels completely insane. But he also feels inflated with a heart-crushing joy at having you so close. He's trying his best not to draw attention to it or to you because what he's always liked most about your friendship is that you're just his. God, he needs to do better at seeing you more often, talking more, being more. Each breath as he's touching you is like a crack of electricity through his chest that aches beautifully. Nobody else feels like this. Even when he's dated, what he's felt with them can't hold a candle to his boyhood crush on you.)

You sip your drink and laugh at the embarrassing story that's being told about Harry, oblivious to his torment. Oblivious to how Harry feels your forearm brush his leg and has the overwhelming desire to deposit his palm on your thigh and keep it there, probably forever.

It strikes you that the last time you saw Harry was before the current anecdote about him in Italy happened, and at the table, it's being spoken about as though it was ancient history. You wonder what historic classification your memory of thirteen-year-old Harry would get, that time he attempted to bleach his hair with lemon juice. He ended up with second-degree burns on his forehead from the acid reacting with the sun.

Or the time Gemma stayed in Holmes Chapel for the summer because she had her first boyfriend, and so you spent six weeks learning that maybe you'd been wrong about who your favourite Styles child was. Maybe the boy who, when you were eleven, didn't impress you much, suddenly at thirteen, demanded all your attention. Made that summer become the first where you considered your outfits and whether your mum sending you next door with homemade snacks made you look lame.

"… And of course, Harry can't walk away from a dance floor when he's on the tequila …" everyone around the table laughs. Harry peeks at you to make sure you are too, but he's not very good at it because you notice, a smile flares on your lips.

You're used to long periods of not seeing each other, it's how it's always been. Harry and Gemma spent the summers with their dad and then returned to Holmes Chapel for real life. Sometimes that's what it still felt like, as though each time you saw either of them you were acutely aware there was a foreign Real Life they would go back to without you.

Harry in particular. You were used to not seeing him for months on end, usually the whole school year. Just a few messages over MySpace and birthday cards, and then, when you were out of school, invites to parties Harry couldn't come to anymore—'I'm in Australia, how insane is that? Sorry, I'll miss your 18th …' or 'I can only stay until the 8th, could you maybe graduate a week earlier? ;)'—and emails every other month with a new mobile number for you to overwrite his contact in your phone with. You're not saying you feel hard done by in your friendship, you don't. It's just always very take-what-you-can-get with Harry.

"You've got your thinky eyes on," he's pivoted his whole body towards you, hips twisted in an entirely uncomfortable looking position. Harry's got his resting elbow on the table right next to where your hand holds your drink, and he's looking down at you with careful eyes, "Where are you?"

"The pool a dozen summers ago," you answer easily, pursing your lips together and running a knuckle along your hairline, "Thinking about your ah, burn incident."

Harry's face explodes in a grin, and his eyes roll up to the ceiling and then capture yours again, "For fuck's sake, you're never going to stop bringing that up, are you?"

"You were a horrible blonde," you remark quickly, "If you ever so much as blink in the direction of a packet of bleach you have to call me, okay? I'll have no issue telling you, categorically, you should never dye your hair."

"Categorically," Harry mimics you childishly, "Alright, I get it, you went to uni. No need to use words with fifty syllables to make me feel stupid."

You bring your glass up to your lips, "Come off it, Harry, you're ten times smarter than me."

His forehead raises, "You're the cleverest person I know. Don't make me call Gem to confirm it."

"Don't bring your sister into this, Harry," you deadpan.

He goes to reply but holds back, something unnamable travelling across his eyes as he watches you lick your lips after taking another sip of your drink. Harry's leaning a little closer than he might usually, and despite the fact he's a few drinks in he still smells only of Tom Ford and clean clothes. He's just about to ask you what you're doing the next day when he gets hit in the side of the head with a coaster.

"Hey," he cries out, pulling back from you and frowning around at the group trying to figure out who the culprit is," 'M the fucking birthday boy, watch it."

Lisa is the girl directly across from Harry and yourself, and she's is the one who threw it. She's giving Harry a coy smile and holds up her empty glass to him, a not so subtle request makes the drink in your hand feel like a concrete brick. Something dirty you don't like having. She's got captivating blue eyes and straight blonde hair—exactly Harry's usual type. Your heart sinks as he slides out of the booth next to you, laughing at her flirtatious request and taking a tally of who else wants a new drink.

"Y/N?" Your name is delicate on his lips, and it makes you want to cry. Why is it so easy for you to make things feel like they mean more with him?

You direct your smile his way, "I'm good, thanks."

His head tilts to one side, "You sure?"

"Positive," you nod, feeling your cheeks burn as everyone watches the exchange.

"Okay," Harry taps the table with the corner of his phone, "I'll be right back."

After a few moments, you sneak off to the bathroom, happy to see Harry's beaten you back from the bar when you return. He's sitting in your spot, deep in conversation with the person beside him who you recognise from the radio. Tentatively, you slip in next to him, careful not to touch him this time. Harry's got his hand casually resting on the table, turning your glass forty-five degrees one way and then back the other way as he speaks. You think about reaching over and pulling it out of his hand gently (you're losing your buzz, and Little Miss Bombshell across the table has made you feel silly and juvenile) but it looks to be an almost serious conversation, so you don't. With a smile plastered on your face, you look around the table, resisting the urge to pull out your phone to check if either of your flatmates has text you to meet up with them somewhere.

It's a delicious whiff of your perfume behind him that turns Harry's head. You're back from the bathroom, although nobody was able to confirm that's where you went when he got back from the bar and asked after you. Harry pushes your drink over and gives you a smile, taking note of the fresh layer of lipstick and messy oomph to your hair that perfectly shows off the new style and bangs.

Golden, he thinks, As always,

"Your new hair really does look beautiful," Harry tells you, the bar stilling around you as his face becomes all the world is for you at that moment, "Next time, don't wait for a dickhead to break your heart before doing something to make yourself feel good."

You swallow down the thickness in your throat, "Thanks, Harry."

++

Walking to the next bar, Harry can't stop himself from asking.

"What happened?"

You kick your foot out as you wait at a set of traffic lights, half the group ran to cross, but you, Harry and a couple of others were too slow, "What happened with what?"

Harry watches his breath fan out in front of his face, "With your ex, with …"

"Tim."

"Tim, yeah," he turns to look down at you, hands tucked into his coat pockets, "What happened with Tim?"

"Nothing really," you start strong, then shrug one shoulder as you think about it. It's safe to cross so you wait until you're stepping up over the gutter and onto the opposite footpath before you continue, "Probably a lot of little things but … Always felt like he thought I was asking for a bit too much. I guess in the end he just didn't like me all that much."

The way your voice drops kills Harry, he's not detecting self-deprecation but something far worse. He's detecting acceptance or acknowledgement or like you're confessing some truth that should have been obvious.

"Y/N," he stops walking and halts you as well, lets Adrian and Lisa walk around and out in front of you, "If he didn't like you very much then he's got some kind of chemical imbalance. I mean it, this guy's not worth a second of your heartache."

It's not like Harry's a dickhead about it, not like he thinks you should date people with more money or status or who are more impressive. A person isn't their job or what car they drive, he knows that. Harry's not about judging anyone, but you really do seem to date guys not worthy of you. He hasn't met many of them, but Harry knows this to be true because if they were worthy, you simply wouldn't be single right now. If you dated someone half-decent, there wouldn't be a chance in hell they'd let you go. You're beautiful and thoughtful and intelligent and funny—so funny—which means Harry knows without a doubt that this Tim guy was an absolute fuckwit.

"It's not necessarily about the guy," you start and Harry can hear the thick emotion in your voice, "Is it? It's about the idea. The disappointment is more about not getting the fairytale, not finding my person. Not getting the whole package everyone else seems to have found. I know Tim wasn't right—truth be told I didn't end up liking him very much either—doesn't stop me from being sad that I still haven't found it."

"'It'… That's what you're looking for?" Harry asks, eyes out front where the rest of the group are all stopped waiting at another set of traffic lights.

They're laughing and chatting loudly to other people on nights out, and hanging off street poles to get funny pictures. He doesn't want to catch up to them, not when the two of you are in the middle of this conversation that's making his heart race and his hands sweat. He starts taking smaller steps.

"Yeah," you breathe out, almost sounding ashamed of yourself, "Don't seem to be looking in the right places."

Look over here, Harry thinks.

"But I mean, each breakup I end up getting something out of it," you've flicked your positivity switch, "This time I got these boots and bangs," you kick out your foot and watch Harry take note of your footwear, "Last break up I got four houseplants and a new watch … It's not all bad. What about you?" you turn it back on Harry, "Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

It's hard to tell with Harry. You either find out from his sister or sometimes, social media. Although that's all usually trash. Generally, when Harry's seeing someone, you'll hear it confirmed from Gemma, and the next time you see Harry, it'll be something you're assumed to know. You haven't seen Gemma since Christmas time though, for your annual festive get together, and she didn't mention anything. Tim had ended things with you a few days before, so that was the main topic of conversation.

"No," Harry confirms what you'd already deduced—and hoped—in your head, "Not for a while now."

"Got your eye on anyone?" You quiz faux cheekily, your smile a little too wide.

Yes, you, he says to himself as he looks at the side of your face.

You hope he's not got some girl in LA he's into. Just like you'd hoped his answer to the previous question. But the hope was silly, something that bloomed in your chest each time you saw him and died again before you were home in your bed, alone.

"I'll let you know," he says aloud.

You think you see something else there in his expression, but you know you can't have. Your mind is swirling, and you're feeling a tingling sensation all over that you know you shouldn't. It'll only leave you disappointed when you part ways tonight and don't see him for another few months. The tiny bits of maybe mores and perhaps are dangerous to things to cling on to now, they'll all turn into Nothings very quickly.

Someone steals his attention away from you when you get to the next street corner. Most of the group are gathered there, and you're not sure whether to believe it when Lisa says they missed the green man to cross the road because they were talking. She sides up to Harry and starts waving her hands around in an animated story about something or other. Harry crosses the street with her, and you give him up for the night.

But he's acutely aware of what's happened. Harry's not stupid—he's emotionally intelligent, and spent enough time with Lisa on nights out before—and he can see that she's deliberately pulled him aside. He likes her, quite a bit, but she doesn't make his insides flip, or his toes curl. She's firmly Just A Friend. Harry hasn't spent countless hours over the years thinking about her, lying to himself about how he's completely fine when she starts dating someone new. He's never thought about an alternative life, one where he stayed at school and went to uni and got a regular job and maybe (definitely) ended up with her.

He's imagined that life with you—more than once. More than a dozen times, if he's honest. For years now, Harry's bitten his tongue and smiled through the pain of not being able to have you. And sure, most of the time it's a dull ache, deep in the recess of his mind, that needs to be called on or conjured to really be felt, but it's always been there. He's always had an (Astronomical) Soft Spot For You. Ever since that summer you broke your arm falling off the back of the ramp at the skate park, and he first saw you cry. At fifteen he didn't know what the hollow but sharp pain through his heart was as he rushed to your side, but now he knows that was the first sign he didn't see you as just a mate. Would never again see you as just a mate.

And now, hearing you use the word 'it'. You say you're out there dating idiots trying to find it and Harry's just unwaveringly sure he that could be him. He wants to be it for you.

You've pulled out your phone and fallen behind, face pulled down as you type away furiously. Harry watches you out of the corner of his eye, half just to watch you and half to make sure you don't get separated entirely from the safety of the group.

"Y/N," he calls out, unable to keep up with Lisa's story and unwilling to try to tune back into it. She stops short, and annoyance flits across her face, but Harry still turns to you, still crosses his arms over his chest and gives you his best scolding look, "It's the oldest trick in the book," he goads you. Lisa sighs behind him, and he ignores it.

Your head slowly comes up and takes in Harry (and Lisa sulking behind him), "What is?"

"Fallin' behind so you can peek at my bum."

You point at the long coat Harry's wearing that goes to his knees, "Can't see half of you under that thing."

"Ah, ha!" He calls out, his pointer finger floating in the air right in front of your face, "So you've tried."

You shove his shoulder and step around him, trying like anything to act neutrally. You're aware Lisa is still watching on, and you're not used to your friendship with Harry being quite so carefully observed. You know your face has gone red and you're really not going to involve yourself in a pissing contest with her. It's not classy and certainly not your vibe.

As you walk away, boots clip up behind you, and Harry heavily drapes his arm right across your shoulders, pulls you into his side, "Was just teasin', love."

"I know," you respond quietly, not upset, not really.

"Though I might've made you sad," Harry continues solemnly, "Know you get embarrassed in front of people."

Your face cracks into a smile, "Opposite of you, hey, you're practically an exhibitionist."

He should flirt because you've led him to a pretty easy window into a dirty joke, but something has Harry hanging onto his regret, "I mean it, shouldn't tease you …Should be old enough to use my words, tell you what I think."

You've got no idea what he's on about, "Harry, the teasing was fine. Where's this bloody bar though?"

Up ahead, everyone's standing on the footpath in a clump. Harry can feel the next words on his lips but has to hold them in when his mates turn and see he's finally caught up. They're waiting a few minutes for a table, someone explains, then they'll be able to go in. Harry thinks how little he feels like another drink at another bar. A few people walk away from the group to share cigarettes. You're standing a little bit away, under the sign for the butcher next-door and kick your foot back against the wall like the slight movement might warm you up.

As he steps up to you, Harry watches you get distracted by the group of people spilling out of the bar you're all about to go into. He doesn't want to take advantage of knowing you're newly single also doesn't want to let this opportunity pass. You're always dating someone, or he is, or there's some other reason not to. There's always a reason to hold back from you and Harry refuses to believe it's the drinks he's had nudging him into this. Neither of you is drunk, he wouldn't even say he's tipsy anymore. Just warm and contemplative and less inhibited than usual.

"C' mere," he calls softly, the tips of his boots landing right in front of yours, your bodies a hands' width apart. He wants you closer.

"Harry—

He opens up his coat to you and when you don't move—your brain is busy short-circuiting—he acts for you and winds his arm around your shoulder to encase you in the warmth, "Get in," Harry says, "You're shivering."

You're shocked by the contact, at him being so close and inviting you in and then just taking you in his jacket. He's wrapped the lapels around both your bodies and forced you against his chest. He hums against you, but you're feeling incredibly awkward with your arms hitched up against your chest and pressed rigidly into his shoulders. You've not been in a hold like this before and certainly not with Harry.

He pulls back and digs around for your wrists, "You've gotta put them around me," he stretches his arms behind his back, taking yours with them and instructing you to really settle against him. "There, that's better," he wraps the jacket back around you, and the two of you stand like that—hearts pressed together, scents converging and your whole frame shaking against his—for what seems like far too long for it mean nothing. Right? Your thoughts ricocheted around inside his jacket and go nowhere, solve nothing in your mind.

Over your shoulder, he sees the rest of the group have gone into the bar. He's not surprised none of them called out, Harry's angled you both away from the door and with his head ducked down against yours they probably (hopefully) missed you both there.

It's Harry's twenty-seventh birthday, and maybe that's made him sullen or introspective. Made him think about the passage of time and how another year has passed him by, yet here he stands in the same place as ever—wanting you. Wishing for more, or waiting for a moment that feels right, or hoping something will happen. With growing older comes a sense of regret and an acceptance that twenty-six has happened and anything he wanted to achieve by that age but didn't he never will. There's only the future. Only the things he can do. And the mix of all that with the cocktails has Harry feeling as though he has to act on this. Every birthday he thinks maybe by the next one the Somethings or the Maybes might have happened, and you won't be standing in front of him as just his friend.

"Always had a thing for you," Harry says, his chin resting against the crown of your head while his arms link around low on your back, holding you against him, "I've always liked you more than I should."

Oh god, you think, your chest freezing in place, I'm hallucinating.

"What?" Now your heart is really racing. Or maybe it's completely stopped, seized up and fallen out of your chest onto the salt-covered footpath.

His voice comes out evenly as he repeats himself, "Feels bigger than a crush, but I guess that's what it is … Since we were kids."

(Oh, how those words have been his best-kept secret for all these years but now, in less than two seconds, he's let go of them more easily than almost anything else he's ever done)

"Y/N?"

Harry thought he'd be scared. Thought this would be a moment of panic. Every time he's imagined this he's thought 'and I'd be absolutely shitting myself because what if she doesn't feel the same way?' but now that he's said it he's almost completely calm. The only reason he's worried is that he can feel how hard your heart is beating—even through the layers of clothing—and surely that quickly can't be good for your health.

You're speechless, and he leans back so he can see your face and, oh your eyes. Why on earth didn't he say it to your face, so he could be looking in your eyes? Watch his words project across your expression and settle into your mind.

You look worried, and Harry's transported back to that time he had you on FaceTime when he was somewhere on tour with One Direction. He was telling you about how management was going to let them fly friends out on tour, bring a little bit of home along and give the boys some needed space from each other. You were nodding along and so excited for him but sure Harry was talking about someone else, that this was just news and he'd called up to tell you how he was inviting the boys he went to school with in Cheshire or people he met through X-Factor. Of course I'm bringing out you and Gem, you idiot, he'd told you when you were surprised to get an invite, Who else did you think I was talking about?

He kind of loves watching the look on your face right now, the cogs turning in your head and wheels spinning, furiously trying to figure out what Harry means.

Why isn't he terrified of what you're about to say?

"Why … but you've… and I've…"

Your hands have moved to his hips so you can see him properly, and Harry's encouraged by the fact you haven't pulled away or pushed him off you. You're watching him with a puzzled look on your face and a burning heat across your cheeks.

He brings his forearms up to rest on your shoulders and smiles at you, "I wasn't brave enough to act on it … Guess I didn't want to fuck it up. Didn't want it to not work out. Couldn't stand you becoming an ex."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Right." You don't seem capable of more than one word at a time.

"You feel bad for yelling at me about the chocolate bar now, don't you?" Harry's narrowed his eyes playfully.

That does it.

Your eyes snap back up to his face from being fixated on staring at his neck, "Chocolate bar … No, what the fuck, Harry."

He laughs. A real laugh that comes from the base of his tummy and squeezes his eyes shut and crinkles his nose. His head falls back, and it's a deep, uninhibited laugh, "Don't stomp your new boots at me," he eventually says, crooking his head down to be almost pressing his forehead against yours. "You've been my favourite girl for years, I've always been a pansy idiot who didn't want to wreck the friendship."

"Oh, and now you don't mind wrecking it?" You bark back sarcastically, unsure why you're angry at him but you are.

"No," Harry says softly, moving through your emotional responses seamlessly, "I don't think it's going to wreck it, do you? Think twenty-seven has finally given me the balls to pursue it. To tell you how I feel. How I've always felt."

Your eyes instantly ball with hot tears you weren't prepared for, "You're an idiot."

"I am," he agrees readily, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

"Why have you told me this now," your voice is small, unsure.

Harry frowns, now he's starting to panic, "Do you … Do you not feel the same? Or do you not think maybe you could?"

Oh, if only he could have been in your head every time you saw him these last few years. Heard you talk yourself down and away from anything more than platonic, from any thoughts that might elevate you in his eyes. You've spent all this time trying to convince yourself to believe you were nothing more than a friend to him, and now this.

"Harry, are you sure you—

—I'm sure," he insists quickly.

"I just—

—I'm sure."

You're suddenly very embarrassed by the conversation the two of you had earlier about your ex. The conversation where you basically told Harry you're incredibly desperate to settle down and find The One. He's so achingly cool, and you feel like a little tinned tomato, thin-skinned and persistently flustered.

Tinned tomato? Really? You berate yourself, Case in bloody point.

"Y/N"

You scratch roughly at your forehead and grimace at whatever thoughts are going through your mind, "I'm just …"

Harry brings one hand up to fix your bangs, carefully sweeping the hair back across your forehead evenly, letting the pads of his fingers dust over your skin, "I think if you didn't feel the same you'd have said No by now."

His words steal the air from your lungs, "Harry, you've just always …"

"I've always?"

"I never thought …"

The smile comes up over his face gently, "It's me, Y/N, please finish a sentence. I'd really like to kiss you, but you haven't yet said anything to imply you'd be open to that …"

You pull your lips together like a reflex you can't help, you've rarely let yourself fall that deep into imaging things with Harry, but your body reacts to his words in an instant, "Promise you're not kidding …"

"I promise I'm not kidding," Harry said sincerely. "I'd never kid around about this, Y/N."

You believe him, and ten seconds of bravery comes over you, "I was thirteen."

His eyes narrow slightly, trying to figure out what you mean, "Thirteen?"

"My thing for you," you continue quietly, heart racing as adrenaline swamps your legs, "Started the summer I turned thirteen."

Harry hears the slight shaking to your voice and almost misses what you've said. Then it hits him.

"Oh yeah?" He squints at you and pulls up his nose with a smile, a secret little smile that will never belong to anyone but the two of you. The Smile that happened just before Harry leant down and kissed you for the first time, pressed his warm lips against your cold ones and really breathed you in.

He holds it like that for a moment, your lips touching but not moving. Then his hands come up to cup your face, and Harry moves his mouth to one side, just a touch. You open up to him, and he has the brief thought that this is probably the Most Important Kiss Of His Life. His insides curl in on themselves as he gets completely lost in you. Completely lost in how perfect this moment feels and how much finally kissing you feels like a relief.

You can't believe this is happening. You're still tucked into Harry's coat—warm and safe—but now you're joined at the mouth, and Harry's a really really good kisser. He's got his thumbs pressed into your cheeks and his fingers laced through the hair around your ears. When his tongue first licks your bottom lip and then goes searching for yours, you don't think you've felt yourself flicker On so quickly. A soft moan escapes your lips, and Harry's kiss somehow becomes harder, his nose bumping yours where he'd been good at keeping things smooth until then. As quickly as it intensifies, Harry takes a slight step back and drags his mouth away from yours.

"Y/N," he breaths out your name, sealing your lips with one of his thumbs as he pulls back. Harry's taking stock of your face (hopefully) getting used to being this close to you. Noting the way your eyelashes kink out at an odd angle right at the corner of your eye, and the freckle that's so close to the edge of your mouth he's never noticed it before. Harry's can feel your heart has slowed down, and the expression on your face right now is content, but curious. He's also sure he can see fear under it all.

"Well," your voice shakes, because Harry's looking at you like you've only dreamed and now that you're here you're not really sure what happens next. You kissed Harry.

He clears his throat lightly and his hands both fall to hold either side of your neck, "There's no way I'm going back to not being able to do that whenever I want."

Then, he kisses you again. You feel yourself melt against him as Harry's chest presses back against yours. You link your arms around his waist, clutching the back of his shirt between your fingers as Harry leads the kiss with a hand on your neck and the other holding your chin carefully. You've picked up right where the last one let off, hungry and exploring and a little bit desperate (perhaps a lot desperate) to have more of each other.

But then his phone rings in his trousers pocket, right against your hip, and you jump away in surprise.

"Shit," Harry mutters, pulling the stupid machine out, cursing the universe, "Sorry … It's Aiden," he tells you with an eye-roll.

And then you're back to reality. Your drinks have all worn off, your feet ache, your ears are freezing, and you've just made out with one of your oldest, best friends. Shit.

"Oh," you take a hearty step back, hands slipping out from Harry's coat and your body bracing the full brunt of the cold night, "Yeah … That's—

—Aiden," Harry barks the name of his mate down the phone while at the same time hooking his free arm around the back of your neck and pulling you close again. He's not giving up touching you that easily, and he doesn't care, quite frankly, about giving you any room to start internalising or retreating from him, "No, we've gone to get some food … I'll see you during the week sometime. Tell everyone thanks for—Yes, I'm serious … I don't care, saw all you lot last week … I'm hanging up now. Bye."

You listened in on the conversation because it was really all you could do. Aiden was obviously inside the bar, and they were all wondering where Harry got to. We've gone to get some food, Harry told him, so they'd know he was with you. (You supposed he was hardly going to say, 'oh yeah we've been out the front making out') Bits and pieces of the other end of the conversation, you were able to pick up on, but not enough to truly know what was said. By the end of the call, Harry was smiling though, you could hear it in his voice.

His nose found the shell of your ear and Harry leant into you, "Come back to mine, or we can go to yours … Watch a movie, play Scrabble, anything … Just wanna be with you."

"It's two o'clock in the morning, Harry," you murmur, your mind struggling to make sense of what's just happened. You're outside a club in Soho held against Harry's chest with lips that know what he tastes like and a body that's on fire.

"I'm not tired," he shoots back, "Are you?"

"Well, no but—

—Great," Harry turns towards the road, takes a few steps to the curb (you trot along with him under his arm), as he flags down a black cab. "Mine or yours?"

His question is simple, he prompts you to answer by calling your name as he opens the door for you and gestures for you to hurry up and get in.

"Yours," you say.

Harry doesn't speak much in the cab, you figure it's about privacy. You hope it's about privacy. The thirty-minute drive out of the city and to his place feels much longer. Halfway through he reaches over for your hand and gives you a reassuring smile across the back seat. You thought the journey might make you sleepy, the sitting down in a warm car would bring the haze over your eyes and bring the long day to a close in your mind. But you could never feel sleepy with Harry's fingers playing with yours, or when he leans over and kisses your cheek for no reason at all.

At his house, Harry tells you to make yourself at home while he turns on the kettle for a cuppa. You kick your boots off in the hallway, and your feet start throbbing in relief as you follow his retreating form. It's certainly not the lusty, hurried entry you imagined you might have. Which only plants doubts in your mind about what's actually going on between the two of you.

"I'm just going to use the bathroom," you call out ahead of you, turning back to the stairs and taking yourself up to Harry's second storey.

Upstairs you don't take long. You're looking a little worse for wear—who wouldn't at 3am—but you're not really in the mood to try to fix yourself. Even if you did Harry would notice, and that felt like something you wanted to avoid. As you walk back to the landing, you wriggle your toes in your socks and happen to look back down the upstairs hallway. You've been in this house dozens of times before but this time feels different. It feels quiet and intimate somehow. Just as you're about to go down the first step, you see Harry's bedroom door is open on the opposite side of the stairs to the bathroom, and you notice something that makes you stop.

The book you got him for Christmas is sitting on his bedside table.

You're standing over it before you realise that your legs have started moving, looking at a picture of Anne, Gemma and Harry, a bottle of water and the book. You pick it up, the cover a little bent and the spine cracked to where he's read. Harry's using the birthday card you send along with the gift as a bookmark. The top of the familiar design sticking out the top of the pages, you can't even really remember what you wrote inside. Something generic probably. Platonic.

Happy birthday, old man! Have a wonderful day, sorry I can't be there in person. Love, Y/N.

The floorboard at the top of the stairs creaks and you turn around to Harry looking surprised to see you standing over his bed. He's got two cups of tea and a family-sized Dairy Milk bar under his arm. Something churns inside you, this was Harry as you'd always known him. Except now you looked at his lips and wondered why the hell you weren't kissing him.

"Oh, yeah, I've been reading that," Harry sees the book in your hands and walks towards you, "It's excellent, unsurprisingly."

A smile starts on your face, "You doubted my selection ability?"

"Never," he returns quickly and then raises his eyebrows at you, "Looking for anything else?"

You feel your cheeks heat and you drop the book back into its place, "No, sorry, I was coming down the stairs and saw … I'm sorry."

Harry passes you a tea, "It was really kind of you to send something over. Was fun having something to unwrap on the day."

"I'm glad," you smile and take a sip of the tea. It's sweet, and you screw up your face, "This is yours."

Harry watches you with a strange expression on his face as the two of you swap mugs. He's worrying his bottom lip, obviously weighing something up in his mind. You see it when he decides what he' going to do about it.

"I've got something I want to show you," he tells you finally, tilting his head back to the door. "Wanna come see?"

"What is it?" You ask automatically, but Harry's already walking out the door, and you have to hurry to catch up.

He leads you into his study, and you hover in the doorway as Harry sets his tea and the chocolate down on the desk. He pulls Bananagrams out of the draw and places it next to the mug.

"We're actually going to play Bananagrams?" You ask.

He looks back at you, "You'd prefer actual Scrabble?"

"I didn't know what you meant by—I guess I …"

Realisation dawns on his face, and he widens his eyes, "Oh, you thought it was a euphemism."

"No!" You snap back quickly, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks (for the record, yes, you thought 'a movie or Scrabble' was a thinly veiled way of Harry suggesting … something else), "No, I just … I just don't think I'll be able to spell words right now."

"I didn't think you were still tipsy" Harry states, shit-stirring.

"I'm not!" You squawk at him. "I'm… I' m—You kissed me!"

He grins, loving the fact he's driven you a little crazy, "Yeah. Want me to do it again?"

Harry's playing with you. He's teasing. And you know it but what you don't know is how he's so confidently jumped to it. Not when you feel like you've been left on the street outside the bar trying to figure out what the hell this means, and what's going to happen tomorrow when he stops looking at you like that. You don't like to think this whole night could've been him playing with you, you don't know Harry to be that cruel. But there's a tripwire in your mind you keep getting snared on.

It's Harry.

"C' mere," he reaches his hand down across the room between you both, "C' mere and kiss me again. You don't seem to be getting it."

"Getting it?" You're cut off by Harry taking two big steps toward you and then planting his lips on yours again.

His palms find your hips, and you hold him in the same spot. It takes a moment for the two of you to find a rhythm, and even then, you're too in your head. You're struggling to remember what little Harry's said about this whole thing. You know he said he had a crush on you and you've gotten the distinct impression he wasn't too fond of your ex. But for all you know Harry's been kissing his mates like this for years but just never gotten around to kissing you. You might've been next on the list. He's a friendly guy. Maybe a crush isn't what it used to be. Or maybe—

He pulls back from your lips with a huffy expression on his face, "Y/N," he says quietly, "I'm a man with an incredibly fragile ego, whatever you're worrying about is really getting in the way of kissing you."

"I'm just—

—Let me show you what I brought you in here for," he interrupts you, takes your hand and tugs you towards the window. Then, he puts a hand on each of your shoulders and directs your attention to the wall.

It's lined with record sale plaques for singles and albums over the years—double Platinums and Gold-Somethings. Harry watches you eyes run over them all, a proud but unsure look in your eye. You're not sure why he's showing them to you, he knows that. He hopes you're not intimidated by them, he's certainly not showing you to try to score any points. There's a sweeter gesture behind it. He points to one leaning against the wall, not hanging. He's got it resting on the bubble wrap it was sent over in.

Stepping up closer behind you, Harry rests his chin on your shoulder, "That one's for you."

"What?"

"I want you to have it, been saving it for you … If I ever got brave enough."

The question falls from your lips before you really think about it, "Why would you want me to have it …"

Harry waits to see if you'll let on you've figured it out, he thought it was pretty obvious really, but you've never been one to elevate yourself or assume, and Harry knows that about you. So, when you don't keep talking, he confirms it for you, "That song is about you."

You just blink, eyes on the framed plaque taking in the name of the song and hearing it in your head.

It's about me? You think you want to hear it, you need to Google the lyrics and make sure you have them right in your head. Harry wrote a song about you. Harry wrote that song about you.

"When … When did you write it?"

"You mean why?" Harry raises his head and steps to stand next to you, he observes your face carefully.

"No, I mean when." You're starring at it like the plaque might answer the question, "When did you write it?"

Harry runs a hand over his head as he thinks, "A few years back, after that time you came out to LA … Didn't record it until this year though …"

Harry watches your face expand in surprise and then crumple back down to confusion. You really don't get it. He's not sure how to make you in one night. He supposes he can't. So he trails his hand up the back of your arm and then around your back, tilting his head down and waiting to see if you'll pull away. When you don't, he kisses the corner of your mouth and then opens his wider to take you lips in his properly.

It's different to the kisses outside the bar, now that you're both out of your outer layers Harry can feel your body against his in ways he's only dreamed, and it's sending everything straight between his legs. Harry's hands explore your back and the curve of your hips, thumbs almost reaching the underside of your breasts but not quite. It's a little awkward when he senses you've felt him hardening between you. Usually, lust clouds that moment, and Harry doesn't mind intimate partners being acutely aware of how they're affecting him. But with you he's a little hesitant, he senses the awkwardness on your side. Friends don't feel those body parts on each other, friends don't… He almost groans when your mouth leaves his without warning.

You think he'll probably change his mind about all this.

"Have you changed your mind?" You ask, not able to stop it.

Confusion colours his features, and his lips smack together, like he's savouring tasting you, "Wha—

"About wanting to be kissing me," you clarify.

"What? No." Harry's eyebrows have shot up, and he's shaking his head, "I barely even started! Didn't I just say I wrote that song about you—why the hell would I—want to do more than just kiss you—You think I'm gonna change my mind?"

You shrug, "Maybe. I don't know."

"Well," he stands up straighter and pins you with his stare, "I'm not. I promise I'm not going to change my mind. And I promise I'll never make you feel like you're asking for too much. Ever."

"Now you're trying to make me cry," you say, hearing him repeat back to you the insecurity leftover from your conversation about your ex. You're half kidding with your words but also not. You believe him. You trust him.

Harry grimaces, sways your bodies together gently, "I really hate seeing you cry, could you not? I had other plans."

You sniff through a laugh as Harry wraps his arms around your middle tighter," What plans are those?"

"Well, I literally thought Scrabble," he tells you through a smile, trying his best to make you laugh, "But I'm open to whatever dirty things you were thinking as well."

"You'll win Scrabble."

So, Harry instructs you to bring your tea and your sore feet back into his bedroom. He gets you a fluffy pair of hiking socks and tells you to take yours off, and your tights, and get comfortable on the bed with him and the block of chocolate. You've polished off a family size together before, the sugar going straight to your heads and always leading to a giggly night of reminiscing and Almosts.

This time though, you only get halfway through the tea and Harry pushes the chocolate off the bed onto the floor in favour of you straddling his hips. It started with a stolen kiss against your temple, and then another on your cheek, and one close to your lips, and then you captured his face in your hands and really kissed him. Within a few moments, Harry was dragging you over to him. His hands settle on the swell of your backside as it sits against his thighs and your lips trace the line of his jaw. This was really happening. You'd really let him peel off your dress and flick off your bra. His shirt was somewhere with the forgotten snacks, and you seemed extremely eager to keep feeling his hardness pressed between your legs.

"I swear to god, I never dreamed this would happen," he murmurs, hissing when your hips pressed into his at a different angle, "Was sure I'd be going to your wedding one day, completely miserable and probably end up drunk and causing a scene. Embarrass you so badly you'd never want to see me again, and you'd just run away with your stupid husband."

You pull back and watch Harry ramble, your bare chest rising and falling against his, "You're a real glass half full kinda guy, aren't you?" you smile at him.

"I just," his eyes drop to your chest, nipples puckered for him, and he scrunches them shut then drops his forehead onto your sternum with a big sigh, "This is fucking unreal, and my brain is just struggling to comprehend—you're breathtaking, and I feel like my chest is gonna explode."

"It's also 4am, so there's always the potential your brain is just plain tired," your index finger is drawing circles on the back of his shoulder as Harry leans against you, you pause and run your hand over the back of his head, "Maybe we should sleep for a little … I'll be here when you wake up," you say in response to Harry squeezing his arms around your waist tightly as if you were going to disappear. Or worse, leave.

His indescribable green eyes find yours in the light from the bedroom lamps, "Will you let me hold you while you sleep?"

"Yeah," you nod, although somehow that question seems more intimate than the lack of clothes between you at the moment. You're distinctly less dressed than Harry, who's still got his trousers on, you're only covered by your underwear.

"We don't have to rush this, right? Got all the time in the world now," still, as he speaks his palms trail up your back and then down again, skimming the sides of your breasts, "Just don't wanna miss anything is all."

"I promise I'm incredibly boring in my sleep, won't miss anything," you tease, "Might be the only time you get any peace."

Harry tightens his forearms around your back and finds the soft skin below your ear with his lips—once, twice, three little kisses—"I feel pretty at peace right now, just having you here. Feels like I'm living a dream."

You don't reply for a moment, but you let your body rest against Harry's in a comfortable hug, your voice is quiet, "You really wrote me a song?"

"I did."

"I've always loved that song."

“Well, it's been yours all along."

"Nobody's ever written a song about me."

"I should hope not."

"Are you going to write another one?"

"Without a doubt."

++

Chat to me here

Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 4 | I don’t think you are supposed to giggle at Tolstoy.

A/N: This will update every Thursday.  There are 13 chapters.  There are all sorts of kinds of D/s relationships.  This is the one I choose to write this time.  

MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship.  When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian.  Which is the one thing he never knew he needed.  Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship.  But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Tag Lists Are Open!  Let me know if you want to be added.  Thank you for reading!

-

Tom slept like a rock that night. The best night’s sleep in a long time. He dreamed of Vivian, kneeling on his chest, kissing him, teasing him, biting him. And he woke that morning with his cock hard and leaking. He stroked himself as he thought about Vivian. But not in the way he usually did. Instead of fantasizing of her touching him, sucking his cock, jerking him off, Tom closed his eyes and imagined his lips on Vivian’s folds and clit. Her hands in his hair tugging his head where she wants it. Vivian moaning in response to his touch, his tongue. As her pleasure increases, Tom’s motions in real life increased. Tom came with a soft gasp, spurting along his torso. He panted, trying to catch his breath. Once he regained his composure, he headed to the shower to clean himself up and go for a jog.

-

Vivian rapped her nails on the desk in her flat. Her email open on the screen. She was drafting the proposed protocols for Saturday to Tom, and she contemplated on how far to push him. So far, Tom exceeded all Vivian’s expectations. Which worried her. In the past, all men have been eager to please, at first. But once the shiny new wore off, and the men realized the relationship wasn’t about her fulfilling their fantasies of kinky sex and it was about surrendering to her authority, they ran. Sometimes without further word. It wasn’t the incompatibility that bothered Vivian, but the coldness in which they communicated it. As though she was without feeling or emotion. This caused her to assign the reading at the beginning, to move more cautiously. And she wasn’t sure if her heart could handle a rejection from Tom.

With a sigh, she typed out to Tom:

This is a date for the sole purpose of kissing. No food, no drink, no chitchat, no reading, no hanging out.

In short: Kissing, petting, stroking and all the things come along with that- yes. Talking, sex, orgasms- no.

Here is a list of what may happen, not what will happen. If anything bothers you or off limits, let me know.

- Kissing, obviously. Let me know of any spots that are off limits.

- Shirt off

- Pants off (underwear on)

-Nudity (you, not me)

- Kneeling

- Blindfold

- Light bondage (cuffs- both wrists and ankles, tied to the bed)

- Biting

-Bruises on your body (both in places normally covered by clothing and places it would be visible such as the neck)

- All over body touching (let me know of body parts off limits)

- All over body licking (same as above)

- Roles reversed (you touching/licking me)

- Hands around your throat (gentle not choking)

- Hair pulling

- Fingers in your mouth (not gagging)

- Body-slapping

- Pinching

And I think I covered everything. Wear a button-down (I like when you undo the top few buttons) and jeans or slacks. Send me a photo of what your current underwear options are. I will send you your address that morning. I expect you at 7.

Vivian

She smiled as she re-read the email. She buzzed with anticipation at the possibilities of Saturday night. Vivian was certain she would cuff and restrain Tom, and not just because he had the tendency to squirm underneath her. She suspected it would push a button and was eager to test her theory. She hit click and headed off to work.

-

Tom was eating breakfast, having finished his morning run when his phone dinged with a new email from Vivian. He read through her email and swallowed hard. The list was extensive. He re-read before finishing up breakfast and heading upstairs and digging through his underwear drawer. Tom had three options laid out on the bed. He snapped a photo of them laid out on the bed. He examined the photo, unhappy.

“Might as well.” he commented to himself as he stripped down and pulled on the first pair, navy boxers.

Tom stood in front of the full-length mirror in the closet and snapped a photo. He hated to admit he may have flexed a bit in the photo. He repeated the process with the white underwear briefs, and the black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Pleased with the photos, Tom typed back to Vivian.

Wow, that is quite the comprehensive list. I appreciate the thoroughness and the bullet points. I am not scheduled for any meetings until Wednesday, so any marks will have faded by then. My feet are ticklish. Probably shouldn’t tell you that. ;) And I would rather not have my armpits or the inside of my ears licked. Otherwise, I am game for whatever you want.

I have attached photos of the underwear, per your request. And if there is anything else I can do to be of service, please let me know, ma’am.

Your sunshine boy,

Tom

He attached the photos and sent the email and then returned to dressing for the day, flopping on the bed to return the last two books on his list before starting his essay.

-

Vivian was pleased Tom modeled the underwear rather than just lay them out of the bed. She probably would have directed him to model them. She wrinkled her nose at the first pic and flicking through the rest.

Black boxer briefs. Burn or throw away the tighty whities. If I find a pair in your home, I will punish you. Let’s change our night time call to 9:00 p.m. from now on. I hate keeping you up so late.

She placed the phone down on her desk. It buzzed almost immediately.

Consider them burned. 9 p.m. works for me, although I don’t mind waiting up if it means I get to hear your voice. :) I shall wait with bated breath until Saturday.

-

The rest of the day seemed to fly by for both of them and before long, Tom was settled into bed with both his books of collected poetry and Anna Karenina. He called on time and Vivian asked for him to read more of Tolstoy. He started doing voices of the characters, in particular an exaggerated Russian accent for Levin and Vronsky.

“I don’t think you are supposed to giggle at Tolstoy.” Vivian commented after one particularly dramatic passage.

“I’m a full service entertainer. Comedy, drama, action, romance.” Tom teased back.

“What about erotica?” she teased right back, her voice low.

Tom paused. “For you? Without question.” She could hear the hesitation, fear, and excitement in his voice. She hoped it would remain.

Vivian sighed. “I think it is enough reading for tonight. I want you to get a good night’s rest for tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am.” he responded.

“Goodnight, Tom, my sunshine.”

“Goodnight, Vivian.”

They ended the call, and both drifted off to sleep.

-

Vivian attended her weekly blowout appointment, not realizing Tom spent the day as a bundle of nerves. He ran ten miles hoping to burn off excess energy. It didn’t work. The only thing he did was finish the last of the books from Vivian’s list. The fastest ever read through anything in some time. He was too distracted to write his essay, thought swirling in his brain. Tom wants it to be perfect. He wants everything to be perfect for Vivian.

Tom must have tried on at least six different shirts, each discarded on the bed as unsuitable. He settles on a soft, well worn light blue shirt. One of his favorites. The collar is fraying at the corners, which is why he doesn’t wear out as much anymore, favoring instead newer but less comfortable shirts. He grabbed a pair of jeans only to notice a hole on the inside of the thigh and discarded them also on the bed, grabbing a different pair. Tom left the top two buttons undone, a calculated air of casual. A quick dab of cologne and then he waited, not wanting to arrive too early.

-

After her morning errands, Vivian ate a light lunch and set about preparing her flat for Tom. She made up the bed with fresh linens and double checked the restraint points on the posts. She hadn’t decided on a leg position, so Vivian placed straps on all the corners as well as the point in the middle. Vivian opened the nightstand and retrieved the cuffs, adjusting them and placing them prominently in the foyer on a table. Cuffing Tom would be among the first things she did that night. In addition, she laid out a blindfold on the nightstand and put a bottle of water there too. After bathing, she slipped into a simple silk tank and striped shorts. She wore the same wedges as before. Vivian enjoyed looking Tom in the eye while standing and kissing. A quick dab of perfume behind the ears and settled on the couch, watching some TV waiting for Tom.

He knocked on her door, ten minutes early. Acceptably early without fear of being so early that he disturbed preparations.

“I couldn’t wait any longer.” Tom commented.

Vivian giggled. His eagerness was endearing. “I’ll allow it. Come in.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped into her flat, looking around in wonder. Vivian grabbed him by the chin and kissed him hard.

“Do you still remember your word, sunshine?”

“Yes.” Tom is already breathing hard. “Sushi.”

She smiled and slid her hand down around Tom’s neck. His Adam’s apple moving underneath her palm. His eyes widened in fear. Vivian kissed him again. He leaned forward when she stepped back. She walked around him, fingers tracing the planes of his body, his broad shoulders, defined pecs and abs. Vivian gave his ass a playful swat. Tom yelped and staggered forward.

“Such a nice ass, sunshine.” She growled in his ear, grabbing it with her nails.

“Thank you, ma’am.” his voice shook. He wasn’t used to being manhandled, and his cock appreciated the rough touch.

“Shirt and pants off.” She stepped back to watch him undressed.

Tom’s cheeks blushed. He had been nearly nude in a room of strangers before, but under Vivian’s glare, he never felt so exposed. Tom tugged his shirt over his head, not bothering to undo the buttons this time. He folded the shirt, placing it on the nearby table while he slipped his shoes and socks off, and slipping his jeans down his lean legs. Vivian licked her lips at Tom in his underwear. While the man appeared fit clothed, he was something carved from marble without the clothes. He flashed a lopsided smile as he placed his jeans on top of his shirt and folding his hands in front of him, obscuring his crotch.

“God, you are beautiful.” Vivian hissed as she stepped forward to kiss him again. Tom hummed back at the praise, his body growing warm. She nipped at his lower lip, nibbling rather than biting, sending shocks through his body. “Wrists, please.”

Vivian moved to the table. Tom’s arms shot out. She grabbed the leather cuffs and put them on. Tom jerked back his arms.

“What are those?” His brows furrowed.

“Cuffs. Wrists.” Her tone sharp. Tom hesitated, his mouth opening to protest. “Sunshine, wrists.” she snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.” He reluctantly held out his wrists. She tightened the cuffs, making sure they wouldn’t chafe.

Tom twisted his wrists back and forth, testing out the weight and listening to the rings thudding against the thick leather. Vivian kissed him again, hands sliding down his torso. His cock jumped. She grabbed the back of his neck and led him towards the bedroom. Tom gulped at the blindfold and straps.

“Ah…” he started before being cut off by Vivian’s lips on his neck. “Oh!” he moaned. She laved and sucked hard, removing her lips with a pop, satisfied at the dark mark already formed.

“On the bed, sunshine. On your back.” Tom scrambled onto the bed, lying flat on his back. As Vivian slipped the cuffs on Tom’s ankles, he jerked back. She raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

She slipped her shoes off and then hooked his ankle cuffs to the straps in the middle of the bed. As Vivian strolled to the head of the bed, she ran a nail up Tom’s leg. He jerked against the restraints. She grabbed his arm and clipped it onto the strap before crawling onto the bed, reaching over to clip in the other side, her breasts grazing Tom’s body. His hips bucked.

“So squirmy, sunshine. Best I did tie you up.” Vivian straddled his chest, pushing him into the mattress. “I can’t let you get away just yet.” She pressed against his lips softly, earning a sigh. Her teeth worried his lower lip.

“Ow.” he mock protested.

Nevertheless, Vivian let go of his lip and trailed down his neck. She licked the bruise from earlier before moving down to his collarbone. Vivian sucked and nipped, leaving the twin to the neck’s bruise there. She smiled at her handiwork. Tom struggled against the restraints.

“They have held stronger men than you, sunshine.” Vivian dragged her nails down his sides, leaving faint lines. As she settled by his hips, Tom’s cock pressed against her. Tom huffed and puffed as she kissed his Adonis belt, scraping her teeth along his skin from time to time. Her hands stroked along his thighs and he flexed under her touch.

She slid off of Tom’s body, and he whined at the lack of contact. Vivian rolled back on top of Tom, lying along his full body like a blanket. Tom sighed at the weight and contact. She pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to his heart race. She snaked a hand to the back of his head and jerked his head sideways before kissing him. Tom met her lips with hunger and he whimpered each time she pulled away, only to tug him towards her again. He strained against the restraints, desperate to touch her, to pull her tight against him and rut against her. His tongue slipped into her mouth, needy, exploring every inch. He moaned as Vivian’s grip tightened on his hair, hurting, but he wanted more.

Vivian could sense Tom coming close to overheating, making a mess and complicating the hell out of this. His cock strained, hard and weeping. She pulled away, holding his lower lip between her teeth as long as possible, stretching it.

“Ow.” Tom muttered.

Vivian slid down to press against Tom’s side. She cupped her cheek before gently kissing behind Tom’s ear. Tom moaned softly from the back of his throat. Her fingers twisted into his hair and she massaged his scalp. Tom’s shoulders relaxed and his hands loosened from the fists. As she scratched and petted him, he leaned into her touch, his breath slowing to a deep and even pace. He closed his eyes, enjoying the soft touch.

“You are so beautiful, my sunshine.” She cooed at him. Her other finger tracing his jaw and cheekbone. “So pretty.” She kissed his cheek and stroked his chest.

“Thank you, ma’am.” His voice breathy and floaty.

Vivian reached over and unhooked Tom’s wrist. She turned and unhooked his other wrist. Tom didn’t move. She stood to unhook his ankles.

“Legs up, please.” Tom lifted his legs into the air. Vivian undid the cuffs, rubbing the skin and massaging it. She kissed the top of his feet and Tom giggled and squirmed. “You weren’t joking about being ticklish.”

“No, ma’am.” He slowly floated back to reality.

“Sit up, please.” Tom rocked up, his hair a rumpled mess, and held out his wrists. Vivian smoothed out his hair and held the back of his neck while she kissed his cheek and lips a few more times. She released him and unbuckled the wrist cuffs, rubbing his wrists and kissing each one and placed them on the nightstand and grabbed the water bottle, handing it to Tom.

“Thank you.” He opened the bottle and took a large swig. Vivian smoothed his hair back one more time.

“Let’s go get dressed, sunshine.” He sighed, taking another swig of water before standing. Vivian slipped her wedges back on and walked beside Tom, rubbing his neck the entire time. “I was a bit rough on you. Are you okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His voice quiet while he grabbed his jeans and tugged them on before pulling on his shirt, tucking it and zipping up.

“How did it feel? I imagine you are used to being treated with kid gloves.”

Tom pulled on his socks and shoes, working on finding the right words.

“I don’t quite know how it felt.” Tom replied, a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “But I know I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t mind the pain. I wanted to touch you and make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

Vivian smiled and pulled him into a hug, squeezing him tight. “Sunshine, I feel good. I received great pleasure at teasing you.” She kissed him. “With my mouth. And watching you squirm and hearing you purr.” She petted the back of his head. “But I appreciate your desire to please me physically. And you will when the time comes.”

Tom stared at her with his endless blue eyes. “When will that be, ma’am?”

“When you’re ready, Sunshine.” She kissed his cheek. “You still haven’t finished your homework first.”

Tom’s hands fidgeted, twisting in front of him. “I finished all the books. I plan on starting the essay tomorrow.” He stared at the floor. “I want it to be perfect.”

“As long as it is from your heart it will be, my sunshine boy.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I don’t ask for perfection, just effort.”

Tom nodded and squeezed her hand back. “Yes, ma’am.”

She walked him to the door, kissing him one more time. “Call me in the morning when you wake up.”

Tom nodded. “Thank you for tonight.”

“You are welcome. The pleasure was mine.”

Tom smiled and kissed Vivian’s cheek and headed out. She clicked the door shut and set about cleaning up the place. Tom came home and ate a sandwich before turning in early that evening, his brain still fuzzy.

-

As requested, Tom called in the morning, still in bed, to check in with Vivian. It pleased her that outside of the marks on his neck and collarbone, Tom was no worse for wear. Tom left out the part of the dreams he had or the fact he woke up with a raging hard on which Tom took care of in the shower, skipping his run for thirty minutes on his long neglected rowing machine.

Tom lazed about for most of the morning, having something akin to a hangover without the benefit of being drunk beforehand. As he sat down at this computer to start his essay for Vivian, there was a knock on the door. He groaned as he trudged to see who would dare disturb his lazy Sunday.

A smiling Benedict greeted him at the door. When he saw Tom in workout gear, he frowned.

“You’re not dressed!” he complained.

“For what?” Tom blinked back at him. He didn’t recall making plans.

“Lunch!” Benedict stepped in the foyer. “We made plans weeks ago. I’ll wait for you to change.”

Tom was ready to protest, but Ben crossed his arms and it was clear he wasn’t leaving without Tom. With a huff, Tom discarded his clothes into the bedroom which now had a small pile of discarded and dirty clothes, and grabbed an old gray v neck t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Shoving his feet into a pair of boots, Tom stomped back to Ben, pushing past him.

“Let’s go.” Tom grumbled.

Tom’s mood improved once he ordered some food and got half a pint into his system. Benedict stared at him, squinting.

“What?” Tom asked, still irritated.

“What is that on your neck?” He pointed at Tom’s neck. Tom twisted it, and then Ben spied the second mark on his collarbone. “And your chest? Were you attacked?”

Tom touched his collarbone and remembered. He blushed. “It’s nothing. Forget it.” He gulped down the other half of his pint and stood. “Let me go get another round.”

Benedict held out his arm to stop Tom. “It’s like you were bitten by someth… Oh… OH!” The lightbulb went off. “Things going well with Vivian?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Yes.” He sidestepped Ben’s arm and grabbed another pint before returning to the table.

“Care to share?” He prodded.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Moving on.” Tom grew more homicidal by the second.

Benedict clapped his hands together. “Remember how Sophie wrangled me into serving on the children’s hospital charity board?”

“Yes.” Tom saw the Cheshire Cat grin on Ben’s face. “No. No! I went last year and got cornered by that old lady who kept calling me ‘Henry’.”

“It was endearing.”

“It was ridiculous.”

“There’s an open bar.”

“Hard pass.”

“I have two tickets. You can bring Vivian.”

Tom stared at his friend. “I am not introducing you to Vivian.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like her and I’m afraid you will scare her off.”

Benedict scoffed. “I have never…” He clutched his chest in dramatic fashion. “… never scared anyone off.”

“Alice, Catherine, Eva…” Tom counted off on his fingers. “… I can go on.”

“None of them met my high standards. Please come.” he begged. “Sophie will kill me if you don’t come.”

“The thought of your death is tempting.”

The waiter set the food down.

“Tom…” Benedict dropped all pretense. “… please come. I promise I will be on my best behavior.”

Tom’s head dropped. “Give me the details. I will check with Vivian tonight when I call her.”

Benedict’s lips pursed. “Really? I can’t wait to meet her. Especially someone who leaves marks like that on you. Sounds like she is yours for the taking.”

“Yeah.” Tom mumbled as he took a bite of his food.

-

Tom called her at 9 p.m. like always.

“Sunshine, how was your Sunday?” she asked.

“Speaking of that…” Tom started, and she noticed the nerves in his voice. “What are you doing next Friday evening?”

She thought about it for a moment. “I believe I’m free. Do you have any ideas?”

Tom exhaled sharply. “I’ve been invited to a charity event by Benedict and I have two tickets, and I was wondering if you would like to come with me.” He blurted it all out in one big run-on sentence.

Vivian paused before laughing. “Wow, you were really nervous about that, weren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Everything is still so new and I don’t… I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You are just the sweetest, sunshine. You know that right? Beautiful and sweet. Yes, I will go with you.”

Tom beamed. “How would everything work?”

“Like any date would. We go, we drink, we dance and mingle.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, darling. We can set some rules that work for both of us. okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now, read to me please.”

Tom grabbed the book.

-

Tom and Vivian agreed he would pick out three outfit options, but Vivian would come over ahead of time and make the final choice. They would not use pet names and instead would do what is natural. Tom asked that she still rub the back of his neck.

“It calms me down.” he commented.

“Of course, sunshine. I like when you are calm. You are more attentive that way.”

It was now the day of the event and Vivian sat on Tom’s bed, noticing the clutter. Tom was modeling the second outfit.

“I don’t like the tie. Let’s see the last one.”

Tom undid the tie and shirt and grabbed the last option. It was a double-breasted blue pinstripe suit with a blue shirt and navy tie. He did a little spin.

“That one.” Vivian stood and straightened his tie and petted his neck before squeezing his ass. “Your ass looks amazing in those trousers.”

Tom blushed again. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She kissed his cheek, wiping away her gloss. “Remember, no names, now let’s go.”

-

Tom was more at ease with Vivian by his side. Her reassuring touch at the back of his neck or even his shoulder grounded him. Not to mention, she dazzled everyone she met. Now for the big test.

“Benedict, Sophie, meet Vivian Swann. Vivian meet Benedict Cumberbatch, notorious troublemaker, and his queen of a wife, Sophie Hunter.”

Vivian shook each of their hands, holding tight to Tom’s but leaning in for a kiss on the cheek by Ben. Tom tightened his grip. She suppressed a giggle.

“Charmed. Thank you so much for inviting me. I have been looking into getting the firm involved in more charity work and the children’s ward is an enticing option.”

“Firm?” Sophie questioned.

“Watkins, Price, and Forbes. I work in their corporate law division.”

Benedict let loose a low whistle.

“Tom, you didn’t tell me you were dating a pit bull.” Sophie commented. “Impressive.”

Vivian smiled. “I prefer the term ‘velvet hammer’ but pit bull works. “

“How did you and Tom meet?” Ben interjected.

Tom paled, but Vivian didn’t miss a beat.

“The Bloomsbury Club. We bonded over a shared loved for Macallan 18-year-old aged whisky.”

Tom cleared his throat. “Right. Why don’t we take a seat?” He gestured at their reserved table.

“Your feet must be killing you in those shoes, Vivian. After having kids, I just can’t stand wearing them, but if I want to see eye to eye with this one.” She gestured at Benedict.

“Guilty.” He shrugged. “Although not as tall as the Frost Giant over there.”

Tom paused as he pulled out Vivian’s chair for her.

“I don’t mind the heels.” Vivian responded. “It is all what you get used to. Besides, I enjoy towering over people.” she giggled.

“Champagne?” the waiter offered.

“No, it makes her sneeze.” Tom commented.

“Get me a glass of white wine, please?” Vivian gazed up at him.

Tom smiled down and kissed her cheek. “Yes, of course, darling.”

“Sophie?”

Benedict and Sophie blinked at the two of them.

“Uh… yes a white wine sounds fantastic. Thank you, Tom.”

Tom nodded and headed off to the bar. Sophie elbowed Benedict in the ribs. He shuffled to his feet.

“Tom, let me help you with that!” He called after his friend.

Sophie waited until both men were out of earshot.

“How did you… I don’t want to know. You’re not like Tom’s other girlfriends, Miss Vivian Swann.”

She smiled. “I’m not sure if that is a compliment or an insult. So I will say thank you.”

“Definitely a compliment. There is something different about Tom when he is around you. He seems…”

“… happy?”

“Yes, but the word is content.” Sophie added. “Content, at peace. After that last nasty breakup, the man could use a little peace and quiet.”

“Hopefully not too quiet.” Vivian smirked.

“Are you two gossiping about us?” Benedict teased.

“I was just telling Vivian how happy and content our dear Thomas looks with her.” Sophie quipped.

Tom blushed as Vivian smiled and reached out to rub his neck. “I am. Thank you for noticing Sophie.”

-

The evening wound down. Tom for once enjoyed the event. Vivian won over Benedict and Sophie, so much so that Sophie invited her to go shopping tomorrow afternoon while she wrangled Benedict and Tom in tearing down a shed in Ben’s yard.

“Leave them to grunt work while we shop.”

“I would love to.” Vivian sipped at her wine.

The two couples said goodbye while waiting for the valet. Benedict hugged Vivian tight and kissed her cheek. While Sophie and her exchanged numbers. Benedict pulled Tom to the side.

“There’s something different about you, man.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m still me.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“No,” Ben folded his hands in front of his face. “there is definitely a change. And I think it has something to do with that enchanting woman over there, who I am sure is being tortured with baby pictures by my wife.”

“Perhaps.” Tom replied cryptically.

“Don’t fuck it up man. You will never find another girl…”

“Woman.” he corrected his friend.

“… Woman like her. You deserved a little happiness.”

“Tom?” Vivian placed her hand on his back. “The car’s here.”

“Of course. Ben.” He shook his friend’s hand and then hugged Sophie before opening the door for Vivian and then getting in and driving off.

-

“I’m going to head home.” Vivian stated when they got back to Tom’s home.

“Okay. I had a lot of fun tonight. It wasn’t nearly as dreadful with you there.”

“Your friends are a delight. They really do want the best for you, sunshine.”

Tom smiled at the name. “Yes, ma’am.” He fell back into the old pattern.

She grabbed the back of his head and tugged him into a kiss. Tom wrapped his arms around her and did his best to hold her tight. She pulled away, and he whined.

“I’m ready to take this to the next step, Vivian. I want to please you.” His hands ghosted over his shoulders. “In all ways.”

She smiled. “Send me the essay and we will talk. How about lunch tomorrow?”

“I will send it as soon as I step inside. I could cook you lunch here.”

“I would like that, sunshine.” She kissed him one more time. “Sleep well.”

“Yes, ma’am. You too.”

She smiled and walked to her car to head home. Tom stepped inside and rushed to his computer. He did a quick spell check on the essay he had been tweaking over the last week and clicked send.

“There.”

Vivian laughed as her phone beeped before she even left Tom’s driveway, knowing it was Tom’s homework.

“So eager. I like that.”

Fic Writer Review

(I’m doing the Star Trek edition and just focusing on my Trek fics, for fun).

Thanks for tagging me, @curator-on-ao3! I tag @aleksandrachaev and @justanalto, @holdouttrout , @meanderings0ul, @lorcaswhisky @pixiedane @rikerssexblouse if you fancy it, and anyone who feels like it. (scroll to the end to copy paste the questions)

how many works do you have on AO3?

354 total, 166 if I just count Star Trek and crossovers with Star Trek

what’s your total AO3 word count?

2,194,290 (I am wordy and badass!)

Behind a cut for length.

how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I’ve written for 38 fandoms total. I have fic from Star Trek TOS, TNG, DS9, VOY, DSC, PIC and AOS. I sadly have no Lower Decks fic. (I feel like that would be hard to get write, I’m not that funny)

what are your top 5 fics by kudos? (only Trek fics)

354 kudos, Village Building (Voyager, Janeway/Chakotay) 87925 words which I cowrote with Jacks, who is not on tumblr (she’s from LJ days though we’re still facebook friends!) and a lovely lovely human. It’s Janeway/Chakotay season 5 babyfic and it’s very gentle and sweet and is a really lovely piece about how the crew would look after Kathryn and make space for her to live her life while being captain. Has some very excellent Tom and Kathryn, Kathryn and B’Elanna scenes.

250 kudos, Stellar Entanglement (Voyager, Janeway/Chakotay) 29979 words, which is oddly enough a gift for someone who hated one line of it and we didn’t talk for years. We got over it eventually, but it was rough. (the thing we fought about? how long parental leave would be and I, being an american, thought 6 weeks was normal because my country is evil for parents)

The fic itself is lovely! Kathryn gets pregnant after a one night stand with Chakotay , but he’s on a long distance mission, so they’re separated for most of it, then she goes on an excellent space road trip with Seven. There’s a nice scene in here I like with Nechayev and Kathryn and I had a great time writing Seven trying to find her place in the Alpha Quadrant.

217 kudos, Mending (Voyager, Janeway/Chakotay) 15155 words

This is a classic Opal fic because it’s 100% “but what if this wild thing happened and she was pregnant”. Kathryn time travels instead of Chakotay in the episode “Shattered” and she’s very very pregnant, and her crew that she doesn’t know well get her home. Has some of my favorite B’Elanna & Kathryn scenes I’ve ever written.

189 kudos, For the Asking, TNG Beverly Crusher & Deanna Troi, background Beverly/Jean-Luc, Deanna/Will 2138 words

Deanna reads Beverly’s thoughts about sex in a staff meeting and they tease each other it and have a very good discussion. It’s sweet and friendly and I reread it when I want to feel that brilliantly good friend feeling.

154 kudos, Firefly (Discovery, Philippa Georgiou (Mirror) & Michael & Tilly & like..Disco crew. Philippa Georgiou & making friends

This fic is my beloved and I am giddy it’s on this top five. It’s so fun (for me). The Guardian of Forever gives Philippa the choice to stay in the 31st century with Michael and Discovery, in exchange for a very tiny minor cellular change, which is a baby. (she and Chris had some confusingly nice sex before she left).

It’s one of my least commented fic and the one where I feel like it’s just going out into the void (but it has a lot of kudos! good work little fic).  I have so much fun with it though. Philippa and conversations where she is mildly human is a blast. The fight scenes turned out well (even though they’re really hard to write) and Philippa and Tilly is brilliant. I love it. I love them. This is so my favorite right now and I’m so happy it’s on the list.

This is the best part of the meme, right here.

(side note, 4 of my top 5 are babyfic, so at least I’m on brand).

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to. I feel like I ought too. Sometimes I’m so busy behind exhausted embarrassed (how to I reply when people are nice to me! gah) that I don’t. Often it’s simply because I want to write more fic and my free time is so limited. I love them, I really really love them. It is so kind of people to comment. I short circuit often with replying to praise.

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Oh it’s definitely When I the Starry Courses Know, which is Janeway/Borg Queen and she makes a deal to go with Queen if the Queen will save the ship, and she goes. It’s full of depression and self-doubt. It’s one of the best dark things I’ve ever written.

do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Archaic Diseases, TNG/Battlestar Galactica.  I have a very sweet crossover where Beverly Crusher saves Laura Roslin from cancer and Laura has a bit of a crush. It’s rather lovely. 

have you ever received hate on a fic?

Sure, there’s a few people who just seem to get angry about things, or willfully miss the point. Sometimes I just get weird weird comments that leave me feeling angry or uncomfortable (I have a current string on a Beverly/Kathryn fic that I might just stop reading, because I don’t really need to know.

do you write smut? if so what kind?

Lazily, far less often than I used to. I like feelings more than detail and I’ve gotten much less interested in sex lately in fic. I’ve written f/f and m/f and some threesomes (one foursome). Keeping track of hands is hard. I write a lot of women receiving oral sex, I think that’s easiest for me to write.

have you ever had a fic translated?

I don’t think so.

have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! the one up above with Jacks, and a few others. It’s a very different and fulfilling experience. I like being surprised. It’s full of surprises.

what’s your all time favorite ship?

Discovery!  Ummmm, wait no the romantic kind. Right this second? Beverly/Kathryn, because it’s so comfortable for me and brings to gether so many things I like about the characters.

(Philippa Georgiou/Kat Cornwell gets a nod though, because I’m thinking about them often lately)

what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Captain Tilly’s Gambit - Tilly plays war games against Saru and has Philippa (imperial varietal) as her first officer. It’s one chapter, and I thought it was a one shot but I guess I have to write the fighting? space fighting is hard...It’s a very good fic though. I’d like to finish it. (Maybe after Fortnight of Kat/Pippa?)

what are your writing strengths?

world building, little details that make it feel Star Trek, dialogue, Sylvia Tilly, she is the best POV character for me and I just adore writing her.

what are your writing weaknesses?

Vagueness, I tend to write in a void without much description, I nearly always write 3rd person limited. I’m not very exact with typos and often things I’ve posted will still have errors.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

If I can find someone who speaks the language, great, otherwise I usually have the gist of it or “A spoke Vulcan, which sounded great but B had no idea what it meant.” I try to avoid it.

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

It was Star Trek the Next Generation!! It was a big time travelling confusing messy wonderful First Contact AU. It’s not as bad as it being 20+ years old makes it sound.

what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Firefly! It’s gen babyfic and I feel like it’s in the intersection of so many things that aren’t what people want to read and it definitely feels like the thing I just write and post and out into the void. There are chapters of it that don’t have comments at all.

I am fortunate that I have people willing to read it while I’m working on it, which is lovely, and it’s so important to me.  I adore it. I love the process, I love thinking about it. It’s just important to me. The character arcs and moments and conversations I get to write for that mean so much to me.

I feel like the number of people I talk about it with fits on a hand, but you’re all lovely and I adore you too.

Uncharted (VOY/TNG) Kathryn Janeway/Beverly Crusher, Words: 56,764, kudos 137.

It’s the one thing I’ve written that’s most like a novel, has the tightest plot, the most research and characters and is most like a Trek episode, I think because there’s so much going on and often I write things that have very little going on. This is very different, and sometimes rereading it makes me cry.  It has all the best heroic parts of Star Trek.

The questions!!

   Fic Writer Review

how many works do you have on AO3?

what’s your total AO3 word count?

how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

have you ever received hate on a fic?

do you write smut? if so what kind?

have you ever had a fic stolen?

have you ever had a fic translated?

have you ever co-written a fic before?

what’s your all time favorite ship?

what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

what are your writing strengths?

what are your writing weaknesses?

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Ok so I haven't seen FFH yet but I saw a pic of Tom and DAMN HE IS THICC😍(muscles wise) I remember him saying in a interview that he didn't like the way he looked poor boy; with that being said could you please write a smut where he's feeling kind of insecure so the reader wants to take care of him and show him that she loves him in any body shape or form? When you can✌

You have those days. You know them: No matter how healthy you eat, how many showers you take or how well-tailored your clothes are, there are days when you look in the mirror and absolutely hate what you see.

You have them often.

So why is it such a surprise when Tom has them?

You reason that it’s because he’s famous and good-looking, and you were always conditioned to believe that people who are famous and good-looking don’t get insecure about their bodies. But, they do. 

And today, Tom is.

You walk into the bedroom; Tom is standing in front of the full-length mirror. He’s wearing only his underwear, grimacing as he jabs a finger into his side.

You’ve been there. Recently, even.

So you take a deep breath and wrap your arms around his waist; he jumps a little in surprise.

“What’cha doin’, bub?” you ask softly, burying your head in the crook of his neck.

Tom sighs. “Hating myself. I just... I don’t like being this... this bulky, you know?”

“Tom.” You smile softly against his bare skin. “Tom, you look really good. You know that’s not fat, right? It’s muscle? And you look sexy with a little extra muscle.”

“I look like I don’t fit through the doorway.” Tom sighs again, slumping slightly. “How are you still with me? I mean...”

“So this is the part where I’m supposed to convince you I love you no matter what you look like, isn’t it?” You ask with a smile.

Tom chuckles quietly. “I’ve been on that side of the coin a few times.”

“Great. Now relax, okay? I’ve got you.” You carefully slide around to Tom’s front, keeping your hands around his waist, before gently lowering his boxers to the ground.

“Do you need me to...”

“No, Tommy. Stay right there, I want you to see how beautiful you are when I make you cum.” 

Tom shudders slightly at your words, moaning softly when you take him into your hands. You stroke him slowly as you drop to your knees; once he’s hard (which doesn’t take long) you take as much of him into your mouth as you can.

He closes his eyes and throws his head back in pleasure as you start to gently bob your head, but you immediately pull off of him.

“Eyes open, Tommy,” you chide softly; Tom groans but opens his eyes, fixing them onto his reflection in the mirror as you take him back in. Your head bobs slowly, carefully; your tongue moves around him. Your hand gently twists at the base, taking care of what doesn’t fit into your mouth.

“Fuck, darling, that feels fantastic,” Tom moans. You look up at him through your eyelashes; he’s doing a good job keeping his eyes open. 

You pick up the pace of your movements, hollowing your cheeks slightly as you do. Tom reaches down and grasps a handful of your hair, guiding your movements. 

The room is silent for the next few moments, save for the occasional moan. 

“Oh, I’m so close, I’m gonna...” Tom says softly; he lets out a long groan as he reaches his release; you look up at him again as you swallow every drop. His eyes are still open, and... he’s smiling?”

“Feel better now, Tommy?” you ask, gently wiping your mouth on the back of your hand as you stand up.

“Much better, thank you. I’m so sorry, love, I just get so... hung up on myself sometimes, y’know? And sometimes I need to be brought back down to Earth.”

“It’s okay, I get that way too. I just want you to love yourself as much as I love you, that’s all.” You lean in to kiss him, but he dodges you; instead, he whirls around, shoving you gently on the bed.

“I know. And now, it’s my turn to show you how much I love you.”

A GREAT Iain Glen Interview

(pic edits by @favor757​)

A really enlightening interview given by Iain Glen after the premiere of MY COUSIN RACHEL by someone who knows how to ask intelligent questions to actors, a rarity !!!!!!!

http://legacy.aintitcool.com/node/78006

Capone talks MY COUSIN RACHEL and Game of Thrones with actor Iain Glen!!!

Published at: June 12, 2017, 10 a.m. CST by Capone

Hey everyone. Capone in Chicago here. The Scottish-born actor Iain Glen has made a career out of playing intense men on stage as well as the big and small screen. After finishing at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London, he went on to appear in a succession of highly touted stage Shakespeare productions, as well as the musical version of "Martin Guerre" and "The Blue Room,” opposite Nicole Kidman. Although I’m sure I spotted him in early film works like GORILLAS IN THE MIST and MOUNTAINS OF THE MOON, the role that first stood out for me was as Hamlet in Tom Stoppard’s 1990 film version of ROSENCRANTZ & GUILDENSTERN ARE DEAD, the ultimate statement on the plight of a story’s minor players, with Tim Roth and Gary Oldman in the title roles. I think it’s fair to say that Glen is the living definition of a working actor—always busy, moving effortlessly from television to stage to film. On the big screen, we had memorable roles in SILENT SCREAM; BEAUTIFUL CREATURES (opposite his MY COUSIN RACHEL co-star Rachel Weisz); LARA CROFT: TOMB RAIDER; many of the RESIDENT EVIL films; HARRY BROWN; KINGDOM OF HEAVEN; THE IRON LADY; KICK-ASS 2; EYE IN THE SKY; and the aforementioned MY COUSIN RACHEL, directed by Roger Michell, in which he plays the godfather and estate executor of Sam Claflin’s Philip, who falls in love with his cousin (by marriage) after believing she may have killed the cousin who raised him. Glen has been playing the Irish private investigator Jack Taylor in a series of made-for-television films for all of the 2010s, but he has also had significant roles in such television productions as “The Diary of Anne Frank,” “MI-5,” “Downton Abbey,” “Cleverman,” and most notably as Jorah Mormont on “Game of Thrones,” which begins its seventh season in about a month. Although I would love to do an interview with Glen that covers even a fraction of his dozens of roles, I think we do alright beginning with MY COUSIN RACHEL and moving on to a few other choice parts. We even dig a little into his life since beginning “Game of Thrones.” He was a tremendous interview subject and seems game to talk at length about pretty much everything. With that, please enjoy my talk with the great Iain Glen… Iain Glen: Hi, Steve. Capone: Hello, sir. How are you? IG: I'm very well. How are you? Capone: Good, good. It's funny, I just, last weekend, saw the filmed version of the Old Vic's recent production of "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead,” and it reminded me that, I think, that you were Hamlet in the original film version. That might have been one of the first times I ever saw you on screen. IG: Yeah, you're right. That was Tom Stoppard’s only sort of foray into [film] directing, I think. With young Gary [Oldman] and Tim [Roth]. Capone: Exactly. IG: Which was a ball. We filmed in Zagreb, Yugoslavia. Capone: At that point, in that early part of your film career, you had already worked with Tom Stoppard, Michael Apted, David Hare, and Bob Rafelson—you must have thought you were doing pretty well back in your late 20s. IG: [laughs] Yeah, I did. I'd cross over, sometimes, between theater and film when I started, when I left Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, all those years ago. I did a fair amount of work in the theater and film, and I'd done a play with Tom Stoppard—it was "Hapgood" with Nigel Hawthorne, Felicity Kendal, and Roger Rees, and we got on very well then. He always said, "I'd love to work with you again,” and then [the role of] Hamlet [in ROSENCRANTZ & GUILDENSTERN ARE DEAD] came around, and I’d just played Hamlet at the Bristol Old Vic, playing the full Shakespearean role, so it seemed obvious I was up to speed on whatever lines were required of me in ROSENCRANTZ & GUILDENSTERN so it was fun coming into it. Capone: So in this film, most of your scenes are with Sam, and each time the two of you meet, he's in a different frame of mind when it comes to Rachel. I feel like that would have been much easier to do if you had been able to shoot those scenes chronologically. I'm guessing that wasn’t the case. IG: [laughs] Well, that's the art of film, and you get used to it. They never, eever film chronologically, except in very, very, rare occasions, so that's really part of the structure and the work you do as an actor before filming is to know where you are in any given part of the story. That was enhanced by the fact that Roger called a rehearsal before filming for all of us. We were all together for a week and went through it piece-by-piece, so we knew where we were on the journey. Roger is very consummate when it comes to working with actors. He's quite a rare breed. Sam Mendes is another, Stephen Daldry, who've had a great history in theater and done a lot of work with actors in theater, and has a very strong film career as well. But, he always zones in on stories that always offer great performances for actors. It's very reassuring having someone behind the lens whose taste you entirely trust. He does so much of the work for you, in a way. He's very clear about where he wants the story scenes to play out, where actors might be in any given scene. It never feels like a constriction. It's always a liberation, and he's up for change, as well. Other directors can be very confident with the camera and what the camera should do and leave you to your own devices in terms of performance. But, Roger is very nurturing throughout the filming of it. So you're right, I was predominantly with Sam, and I suppose the role, in its simplest sense, he's almost like a Greek chorus. In some ways, I follow the audience's point of view. I'm a benign, rational presence who has Sam's best interests in mind and can see him oscillating wildly as he gets caught by the passion of seeing this very exotic, beautiful creature from another planet who arrives in this sleepy, parochial setting. So, we're all very disconcerted by what Rachel brings to the story, so I'm the voice of reason trying to keep the character that I care a great deal for sane. Capone: It's funny you say that, because, you're right, in the beginning, we are looking at these events through your eyes to a great degree. But once we meet her and are charmed by her, we switch into seeing her through Sam's eyes and are bewitched the same way that he is. IG: Yeah, well I think that's right. And it's a testament to Rachel's performance, because I do think whatever preconceptions this story might lead you to believe before you meet her, she's utterly entrancing and charming when she arrives on screen. So, whatever preconceptions we have get slightly thrown out the window. We forget them, and then they reemerge later in the story when other details and facts come through about the history. But that was Du Maurier's milieu, and Roger did a remarkable screenplay. It's so much easier said than done to turn what is a fairly thin novel—very, very concentrated—into dialogue. You have to turn it into a screenplay where everything is told through the words or between the words. Roger did a great job of that. It’s a psychological thriller. It's all about questions being thrown into the air. Audiences are trying to decipher exactly what's going on, and it's very conscious of Du Maurier to not give you a clean landing. Then you say, "Oh, now I… that's what was happening. Yes, she’s definitely sinister” or “Yes, she was entirely innocent.” By the end of the story, my character, and I think the audience, deep down don't really know. Capone: The one scene that really stuck with me is the one that you and Sam have in which he's basically signing over his life and fortune to her. For your part, it’s an amazing exercise in barely restrained panic. IG: Well, I'm glad you thought so. It was good to play. As an actor, it's always lovely when the story is supporting you so well up to the point where the scene happens. There’s so much there that's been stated or understated, and my character's caught in a predicament of desperately wanting to look after his financial legacy, but not wanting to ruin their relationship. We've all been in those situations where we feel a loved one is making the wrong choices, and how do you offer advice without distancing yourself from them? In a way, people have to make their own mistakes, but it's just that the stakes are so high, because Phillip, the character, is willing to give everything over to Rachel. He just wants to express his love and his conviction by giving her everything, and my character just wants to say, "You can feel what you feel, but you don't need to do this. This is not a step that you need to take.” Yeah, I think that was one of the most enjoyable scenes to play. Capone: It's also the the moment, at least for me, where I remember that you’re his godfather, so that means that you've known him since the day he was born, and it make it that much more heartbreaking. IG: I think that's right, yeah. I've been his legal guardian and, again, just to contextualize, what makes sense in the psychology and certainly makes sense of what happens to the character Phillip throughout is that he's been bereft of a father and mother. He was orphaned and brought up by his cousin, who is also this absent figure who's now abroad and dies earlier in the film. So, he's not grounded in the way that other young men might be. The world of femininity is totally alien to him, so that explains why he oscillates so madly between his feelings of either hatred or love for the woman, because she's so exotic and unknown to him. I think that the world that the Kendall household is such a strong contrast to Phillip's household, which has never known a feminine hand. Capone: You also have a lot of scenes with Holliday Grainger, who plays your daughter and is very quickly becoming one of my favorite young actors. IG: She's gorgeous, isn't she? She's lovely. Capone: Tell me about the interactions between those two characters, because they are co-conspirators for good, we assume. IG: Well, I think in my character's ideal world, in some ways, Phillip and Louise would have been a perfect match, and I don't know, but I felt it when I watched the film, you almost want to scream out to Sam's character, "Please, stop looking that way, look this way because you have this beautiful creature here. She's good, she definitely would be a gorgeous wife and a beautiful mother to your children, and she's willing and uncomplicated." So I think, in my ideal world, that would be the match. But almost beyond that, I feel enormously protective toward Sam's character having been his legal guardian. And it's very painful watching your daughter because you know how much she adores him and wants him to look her way, but you can't impose that upon him, so you get that odd, tentative suggestion, "Would you like to say 'Hello' to my daughter just while you happen to be here, giving your entire life away?" So, yeah, it's a tricky one. And I think that's partly why people love period pieces so much. It's because there's a delicacy of manners and emotion there, a subtlety of behavior where everything isn't exposed. Everything isn't stated so quickly. And, yeah, hopping back to the past, I think people feel, somehow we were subtler humans back then somehow. What we required from each other was just a little more complicated and delicate and human. Capone: I was gonna ask you about that. There’s something glorious about a costume drama where someone is becoming unhinged, and they break through that placid façade that you're supposed to have in those movies. IG: That's right. I do love period films for that. It's worth remembering that Roger -- I don't know if you know this, but Roger Michell did this quite radical interpretation of PERSUASION quite early on for BBC, early on in his career, where he started to use hand-held cameras, which had never been done in period films before, and just messed it up. I think often, we have strong preconceptions about period, about what could or could not be done, which we don't really know, but we just put that on period films. Roger's very good at bringing spontaneity to scenes and losing an archness in the dialogue so there's a freshness to it, and I think MY COUSIN RACHEL has a lot of that. It feels very modern in a lot of ways, even though the world is very period. Capone: You've had a regular gig for the last few years that you have to keep coming back to, and I don't know how that impacts your schedule exactly. But knowing that's always coming around, how much time do you have between seasons of “Game of Thrones” to do other projects, and what sorts of things are you looking to do in those periods where you're not making “Game of Thrones”? IG: Well, it's a funny one. when you sign up for something like “Thrones.” I think when we all initially singed up, it was between three and five years and none of us knew, really, whether it was going to run or whether we were going to survive or how it would be received. You hum and haw about something that does feel a little bit like a sentence when you start up on it, and you have no idea how it's unfolding. But, the more “Thrones” has gone on, just a bigger and bigger treat it's been to be involved, and it's become such a global hit and it's opened up different possibilities. As an actor, if you don't celebrate the stuff when it's a massive hit, then you might as well just give up and do something else. I've loved doing it. HBO has always been very good. As long as you turn up looking roughy as you looked the last time they saw you, and you're there a day before you're required to film—they’ve gotten a little tighter, I have to say, over the last couple of years. It’s gotten so massive, and they want to protect the audiences. Maybe they feel it’s easier to suspend disbelief when they don't see you in competing series elsewhere. But generally, they've been very good about allowing the actors, a lot of the supporting cast and principals from “Game of Thrones,” to do other work. So, more than anything, I will feel a great void and loss when it's gone because it's been a part of my life for pretty much a decade and it's been nothing but good fun. Dan [D.B. Weiss] and David [Benioff] are just the best show runners you could ever hope to work with. It's a lovely, very tight cast, and the storylines are such now that we're all starting to overlap with each other and starting to enter the same scenes. Everything's accelerating towards the end game, so it's an exciting time, but it's nearly gone. Capone: So, are you done shooting? Am I allowed to ask that? IG: [laughs] That’s actually something, yeah ... I can't say, yeah. Capone: The new season starts in a little over a month. Is it a relief to a certain degree when a new season starts airing that you don't have to keep as many secrets? IG: Yes, it is. It really is. [laughs] It's funny, because whenever anyone asks you, you know deep down, they don't want to know. It's a no-brainer. But, for a part of them, it's a bit like a drug or something, “Oh, brilliant. I know! And then now I feel hugely disappointed and now I have a headache because I wish I hadn't done that because now I know.” So you just deny people that possibility. Deep down, people really, really don't want to know. Capone: As serious as some of your roles have been over the years, you always seem to find time for genre work. You were in LARA CROFT. You were in several of the RESIDENT EVIL movies, and obviously “Game of Thrones.” What do you enjoy about going the adventure route? IG: I just really dig the variety. I really dig the change. It's a very, very different working environment if you're in a massive-budget, action-led film. But it's one thing that's always been a benefit of being a British actor. There used to be quite a strong divide between film and TV, particularly in the states—if you were doing TV, it was probably because the film career wasn't quite working out as you hoped it would be. That's never really been the case in the UK. I’m as likely to bump into Judi Dench in a radio studio as I am on a TV series or a film or a piece of theater. We are much more mixed-medium over here. So, I just really enjoy change. I just did a small film with Lena Headey from “Game of Thrones” that was about the refugee crisis called THE FLOOD. It was all hand-held. It was all swiftly shot in three or four weeks. It's a great little story and it’s the total polar-opposite to “Game of Thrones,” and honestly, I enjoyed the difference, and that's the trick. Capone: Before “Game of Thrones,” what did people on the street most recognize you from? IG: Honestly, it varies. It’s quite ephemeral, so it depends what you're in. I've done a series for a while playing an Irish detective, Jack Taylor. If you reappear in something, then that roots people in your mind. In the early days, I did a TV thing, something called “The Fear,” where I was playing a London gangster. It's always a lovely, delightful surprise when some people says, "Aw man, I saw you in 'Henry V' at The Royal Shakespeare Company" or "I saw you doing 'The Crucible' at the Royal Shakespeare Company,” and when I did "The Blue Room" with Nicole Kidman here in New York. But it's mainly TV because it has massive audiences, global audiences, so they tend to be the things that people know you for. I've been lucky enough to land a few visible things over the years, but it changes. But, “Game of Thrones” definitely washed everything to the side. Capone: Other than THE FLOOD, is there any other work coming? IG: I hope to be doing something…I better not say the name, but a Second World War drama, which we're inches away from committing to. And that will probably be in August or September; that's a feature. I'm doing a second season of “Cleverman,” an aboriginal drama that I shot in Australia, and more “Jack Taylor,” the Irish detective, so there's quite a bit coming up. Capone: Iain, thank you so much. It was a really great to talk to you and reminisce about your days with Tom Stoppard. IG: My pleasure. Yeah, thank you. He's about to have a birthday party. I'll get his age wrong [Stoppard turns 80 on July 3], but he's an incredibly lovely, adored man in the theater and he holds these fantastic parties in the Chelsea Physic Garden, and he invited me and my family so that's next week or the week after. I'll be seeing him soon. Capone: Thank you again and best of luck with this. IG: Yeah. Take care, mate. -- Steve Prokopy "Capone" [email protected] Follow Me On Twitter

Monster in Me (Tom Hiddleston x Reader) (One-Shot) (Song-Fic)

Words: 2,900+

AN: This was requested by @namelesslosers on Tumblr. Here is the request I got.

Hey, how are you? I saw that your requests are open and I thought that maybe you would be interested in write this one: The reader is a famous singer and was dating Tom, after a while they broke up and in one of those awards shows where they both were invited, she ends up singing the song "Monster in Me" by Little Mix and it's about him. Feel free to choose the ending. Thank you :)

I loved this request, and I am so sorry it took so long to get out. I don’t know what happened, and super sorry about the overly long wait. I hope it was worth the wait and you enjoy it.

(Y/N POV)

I was putting on my deep blue floor length dress for the Golden Globes award show and reception. I was asked to come and sing at the reception because of my growing popularity as a snigger and songwriter. I was a little on edge because I knew he would be there.

*Flash Back*

(Y/N POV)

I was walking through the streets of London trying to get to the park and read. It was a warm summer day and I thought some fresh air would be good. I guess I got lost in my thoughts because I ran into something hard.

"I am sorry Miss," I heard a silky voice say. "I should have been looking where I was going."

"No. It's alright," I said looking up at the man I had walked into. "It was my fault, I should have been-"

I stopped midsentence because once I say who I had run into. I had literally run right into Tom Hiddleston. I just stared at him. To say I wasn't a fan would have been a lie. I had first seen him in "A Midnight in Paris" and really took a liking to him when I saw him in "The Hollow Crown".

"Are you alright?" Tom asked concerned.

"Yeah," I said collecting my thoughts. "I was just...I...I am just a fan of your work."

"Oh," Tom said with a smile. "I guess that makes two of us then, Miss Y/L/N."

"Wait," I said with a confused face. "You are a fan of mine?"

"Yep," Tom said still smiling. "I love your music. I can't help but sing along when I hear it come on the radio."

"Wow," I said quietly. "I am flattered Mr. Hiddleston."

"Tom," He said holding out his hand for me to shake. "Please, call me Tom."

"Okay, Tom," I said shaking his hand, with a smile. "Places, call me Y/N as well."

"Well then, Y/N," He began to say. "If you will allow me to make up running into you. I would like to take you for tea, I know a nice little cafe not far from here."

"It would be my pleasure," I said happily. "That sounds absolutely wonderful."

I had an amazing time with Tom that afternoon, and after we had finished, we even exchanged phone numbers. I couldn't wait to see him again.

*Time Skip*

(Y/N POV)

It had been about two months since I met Tom and we have started hanging out a lot more. Tom had said he wanted to meet me at the cafe he took me to on the day we met. I put on a light green knee-length dress and some flats. I walked to where the cafe was located and saw Tom setting at one of the outside tables. When he saw me he stood up and waved at me, and when I got to the table he pulled my chair for me.

"Thank you," I said sitting down. "Always a gentleman."

"I try my best Y/N," Tom said with a soft chuckle as he sat down in his own chair. "Especially if it is for a woman like you."

"And a charmer too," I said jokingly with a smile. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

We both laugh and talk about whatever comes to mind while sipping on our warm drinks.

"Y/N," Tom began nervously. "I wanted to ask you something. That's actually the reason I asked you to meet me here today."

"Okay then," I said giving him my full attention. "What is it?"

"I know we haven't known each other that long," He said fidgeting with his hands as he talked. "I also understand if I am crossing a line with what I am about to ask. It's just, I really like talking with you and the more I get to know you, the more I want to be around you." He took both of my hands in his. "Would you do me the great honor of being my girlfriend?"

I was in shock and didn't know what to say. The most amazing man I have ever met is asking me to be his girlfriend? This must be a dream. Tom must have taken my silence as a no, and his face dropped.

"It's fine if you don't," Tom said with a sigh. "I am sorry if I crossed a line, and I hope you will still want to be friends."

"No, no, no!" I said quickly making him look deep into my eyes. "I would love to be your girlfriend, Tom! I was just thinking about how I managed to have the most amazing man ever ask me to be his girlfriend."

"Oh, my love," Tom said still looking me in the eyes. "I am the lucky one here. You as incredible and I will do everything I can to make you happy."

We both leaned in for a sweet and loving kiss, still hand in hand.

*Time Skip*

(Y/N POV)

The first five months with Tom were some of the best in my life. He was so caring and gentle with me and was of the most supportive boyfriend a girl could hope for. When I released my new album, Tom was so happy for me and was the first one to buy a copy. Both you and Tom's fans loved you two as a couple, there had only been one or two bad comments made by a fan about you two being together. The rest of them thought you two where the cutest thing ever, they even started calling you two Y/S/N. (AN: Y/S/N = Your Ship Name) Things were never better.

But now, seven months in, things were taking a turn.

Tom had been busy with a press tour for his new movie and wanted me to go with him, but I had to do things in London and couldn't go. Tom was sad but understood that I needed to say and with one last kiss, he went on his way. He called at least once a day to talk to me and we tried to video chat a twice a week.

I had never once worried about Tom leaving me for another girl, well maybe a few times when we first started dating, but it wasn't really a huge thought in my mind after I saw how much he loved me. He would work with all of these beautiful and talented actresses, but I trusted him, just like how he trusted me when I worked with other male singers when he wasn't around.

Tom phoned me one night saying he was coming back early, the next day in fact, and I was overjoyed. I hadn't seen him for over a month and was missing him terribly. I was curious as to when brought him but early but was still very happy to see him.

When he did get home, it wasn't the "I missed you so much, I wish I could be with you all the time. I love you" kind of homecoming I was expecting.

I heard the door click open and raced to see Tom.

"Tom!" I yelled running to him wrapping my arms around him. "You have no idea how much I missed you!"

I kissed him on the lips, but he didn't kiss back, and he also didn't return my embrace.

"Couldn't have been that much." Tom mumbled to himself.

"What?" I asked taking a step back. "What do you mean by that Tom?"

"I mean," I said with a hint of anger in his voice. "You seemed to be in good compose while I was away. After all, you did spend a lot of time with Greg, you two went for dinner, drinks, and he was even at the house. And you didn't even tell me Y/N!"

I shrunk back when he raised his voice and the gathered my thoughts. Greg was another singer that just moved here from Spain and we became friends not long after.

"First off," I said while keeping a level tone. "I am going to assume you know this because you either saw pics or someone told you. It's not that big of a deal, you are fine when I get food with friends. And I will have you know, he was at the house because there was a leak in the pipes, and I needed an extra set of hands."

"Why not just call a professional then?" Tom asked sharply.

"Because, Mr. Touchy," I said defending myself but also with a sarcastic tone. "That would have been a waste of money. I knew how to fix it but needed some extra hands. Calm down."

"Calm down?" Tom asked with a now angry tone. "You want me to calm down? You were hanging around a man in OUR home while I was away and didn't even tell me about it!"

"You know what Tom?" I started as my own anger level was rising. "Whenever you go on press tours with all those beautiful women, do I ever ask you about it? NO, I don't! Maybe I should start! How do I know what you get up to behind closed doors! What goes on in your hotel rooms when you get "lonely" Thomas?!"

"Oh, come one Y/N," Tom said tossing his hands up in exasperation. "Now you are just being unreasonable!"

"No," I said flatly. "I am doing exactly what you are doing. This is literally what you were just accusing me of, but I guess because you are this high and mighty man it doesn't matter if I toss your own questions right back at you!"

"For goodness sakes!" Tom said loudly.

"You know what," I said taking a shaky breath. "I don't think this is working."

"Well then," Tom said, anger still evident in his voice. "That makes two of us."

"Glad to know how you feel," I said walking past him to the door, opening it. "I guess this is goodbye then. Sorry to have been so much trouble."

And with that, I walked out the door and into the late evening air. I texted my friend Emma asking if I could stay over that night.

(Tom's POV)

Once I heard the door close, I realized how much I had messed up. I didn't want her gone, what was I thinking to say that to her? Thinking back on the argument that had just taken place, I realized how stupid it was to blame her for seeing another man.

"You messed up this time." I said to myself as I looked out the window at the darkening sky.

*Time Skip to Present Time*

(Y/N POV)

It had been about two months since Tom and I broke up, but I still felt hurt. I remembered all that we had done together as I drove to the Golden Globes and wondered what the night would bring.

The show went great, some many amazing actors, actresses, filmmakers, and directors were there, and getting the awards they deserved for their amazing work that year. Then came the reception, where I was supposed to sing. I had chosen the song "Monster in Me" by Little Mix to sing for everyone tonight.

As I walked to the stage, I saw a Tom sitting at a crowded table with some other actors, and I looked away before he could look back.

I made it to the stage and then the music started playing.

Beautiful creatures, you and me Every time that we touch it's dangerous This spark is more than chemistry Beautiful liars, drowning deep Every night we fight and it's hot like hell But it feels like heaven between the sheets

Every time we let go I scream, and I call for more

Touch me Why don't we kill each other slowly? What can I say, baby, what can I do? The monster in me loves the monster in you Hold me Squeeze a little tighter 'til we can't breathe What can I say, baby, what can I do? The monster in me loves the monster in you Monster in me, mm-mm-mm, mm-mm-mm, ayy, ayy Loves the monster in you, mm-mm-mm, mm-mm-mm, ayy, ayy

I looked out into the audience and saw Tom and this time we made eye contact.

Beautiful killer, cut me deep Just a single kiss and I'm under your spell

Will you go in like I've never seen

Beautiful fire, love the heat, mm Every night we fight and it's hot like hell But I love the way that you make me scream

And every time I let go I cry, and I beg for more -ore

Touch me Why don't we kill each other slowly? What can I say, baby, what can I do? The monster in me loves the monster in you Hold me Squeeze a little tighter 'til we can't breathe (can't breathe, baby) What can I say, baby, what can I do? The monster in me loves the monster in you Monster in me, mm-mm-mm, mm-mm-mm, ayy, ayy Loves the monster in you, mm-mm-mm, mm-mm-mm, ayy, ayy (ah, yeah)

I could see the pain and regret in his eyes, and I could tell he saw it in mine too.

Every moment we spend Turning from friends to enemies And fighting to hold on to each other Every second we fall to fire below It's so beautiful The hell that we both made for each other But it's all love and war Louder we roar, crying for more I know it's so wrong, but baby just

I could feel myself getting emotional, but I needed to hold it together till the end of the song.

Touch me Why don't we kill each other slowly? What can I say, baby, what can I do? (Oh) The monster in me loves the monster in you (babe) Hold me Squeeze a little tighter 'til we can't breathe (can't breathe, ooh) What can I say, baby, what can I do? (Baby) The monster in me loves the monster in you The monster in me, yeah

I closed my eyes to hold back the tears I could feel forming.

(Wanting me, haunting you)

(Haunting me, haunting you, ooh) Oh (Wanting me, haunting you) Oh (Wanting me, haunting you, ooh)

Wanting me, haunting you Haunting me, haunting you, ooh Wanting me, haunting you Haunting me

Once I was done and the music stopped everyone clapped and I took a bow before heading off the stage and walking to the door. I needed some air and to be out of the way of people so I would pull myself together. Once I was outside, I let the tears come out and looked up the star-filled night sky. Then out of nowhere, I felt a hand on my shoulder from behind me.

"Y/N?" I heard the voice of the one man I was trying to avoid. "I...we.....we need to talk."

I turned around and faced him, trying to wipe the tears from my eyes.

"I am so, so sorry my love," Tom said pulling me tightly agents his firm chest in a hug. "Words cannot express how sorry I am. I should have never said what I said that day, I was just so daft." He said that last bit almost to himself. "I missed you so much and wish I could take back all the nasty things I said to you." Tom pulled away slightly but still held me in his arms. He used his right hand to wipe away one of my tears. "The day I asked you to be mine, I said I would do anything to make you happy." He looked deep into my Y/E/C eyes with his blue ones. "And what did I go and do? I hurt you so bad and made you leave. I am so sorry my love. Is there any way you would take me back? I swear I will always love you and won't drive you away ever again. I don't think I could live with myself if I drove you away again."

"I...I," I tried to speak but the words wouldn't come out. I missed Tom so much and wanted to take him back. His apology warmed my heart and made me realized he still loved me as much as I loved him. "Yes. I have been waiting to hear those words for so long but was scared you didn't want me back. I will take you back Tom. I will always take you back."

He wrapped his arms around my waist tightly and spun me around with a huge smile on his face. Then he set me down and gave me the most love-filled look I have ever seen. Then he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine in the most passionate kiss ever. It held so much love, pain, longing, hope, and joy, and I knew that everything was going to be alright again. Tom had me and I had Him.

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Let me know if you want to be tagged. Requests are open.

So, there’s this guy...

that y’all may know that I’m freakin’ madly in love with.  He goes by the name Michael Rooker. 😜 I finally got to meet him.  Here’s my story...*Law & Order noise*

Fandemic Houston Day 1 - September 14, 2018

My alarm went off at 7:30 a.m.  I was already awake though.  I had hardly slept at all.  I had hardly slept the last two months for that matter as September 14th got closer.  I couldn’t remember ever being this excited for anything in my entire life.  This was going to be the best weekend ever.  

I jumped out of bed, got ready, and packed the car, mostly with Rooker memorabilia.  I hadn’t officially decided what all I wanted him to autograph yet so I brought a little of everything – some of my Rooker Funkos, all my Yondu, Merle, and Chick Gandil trading cards, and my all-time favorite Rooker picture printed out as an 8X10.  I mapped out the directions to the NRG Center on my phone and swung by to pick up my best friend who I’ve known since kindergarten.  After a little detour to Chick-fil-a to get some breakfast, we were on our way to Fandemic Houston.

My friend doesn’t know much about Rooker.  As far as his movies, she had only seen Vol. 1 and Vol. 2.  I had sent her various Rooker videos on YouTube, though, for her to watch as “homework” like the Into the Night doc with James Gunn and the Inside of You podcast with Michael Rosenbaum.  The whole way down to Houston, I told her as many Rooker stories as I could think of.  She had a lot of catching up to do before she met the greatest person on this planet.

Things were going great.  We were making good time on the road.  My friend seemed entertained with the Doug Loves Movies podcast with the cast of Super, including Rooker and the Gunn Bros., that I was forcing her to listen to.  Then things suddenly changed.

I had been having bad feelings about this trip even months before.  Meeting Michael Rooker would be my biggest dream come true, but every time I paid for something for Fandemic, whether it was the hotel or Rooker VIPs or Sean Gunn's autograph, I was just waiting for the ball to drop and I wouldn’t be able to go.  I never really get to do anything fun ever, and in the back of my mind, something was going to go wrong.  Something always does.  And something did.

We were cruising down interstate about an hour outside of Houston.  It began to rain.  No big deal.  I turned on the windshield wipers, and we continued laughing with the podcast on the radio.  Then I noticed the passenger side windshield wiper was doing this little fish-tailing action every time it went across the windshield.  I had just had new windshield wipers installed two days earlier, but I hadn’t had to use them yet, and I thought, “You know, that doesn’t look right.”

Then I noticed the one in front of me started to do the same thing.  Just as I opened my mouth to tell my friend there's something wrong with the windshield wipers, the rain started coming down like a monsoon and both wipers flew off my car with an almost comical synchronized whoosh.  

Well, fuck.

Somehow, by the grace of God, I was able to cross over two lanes of busy interstate to the shoulder without causing a 15-car pileup.  Once the mini panic attack of trying to safely get to the side of the road subsided and after I dropped a plethora of choice curse words, I turned on my hazards and began to think. What the hell are we gonna do?  

It was raining fucking cats and dogs, and I couldn’t see shit.  Think!  Plan B. Plan B.  Wait, what was plan B?  I wasn’t expecting this.  We didn’t even have a plan B.  

Should we just wait out the rain for a bit?  Maybe it would stop soon.  But I had already checked the weather earlier, and it was supposed to rain all day.  

This can’t be happening.  The greatest day of my life and I’m stranded on the interstate in a deluge with no windshield wipers three and a half hours away from home.  And to top it all off, I have a pre-purchased Sean Gunn/Rooker photo op in a few hours that I couldn’t miss.  This was not good.

We sat there for a few minutes hoping the rain would subside enough for me to at least get us off the highway.  We started googling the nearest auto parts store while we waited.  There was one less than a mile away.  

Vehicles were flying past me in a blur, and the fear of someone plowing into the back of my car took over.  I knew we had to get off the interstate as soon as possible.  Luckily an exit was about 50 feet away, and I had to try for it.  With the rain letting up just a tad, and with my friend looking out the passenger side window and guiding me along the edge of the asphalt, I managed to creep off the interstate shoulder going about three miles per hour onto the service road.  I could still barely see, but I felt a little more relieved being off the interstate. 

The rain kept coming.  My view through the windshield looked the exact same as when I don’t have my contacts in.  Everything was blurry as shit.  I continued my snail-like pace, my eyes concentrating simultaneously on the taillights of the cars ahead of me and the fuzzy, white dashes of the lane to my near left.  

I crept through the next red light and made a left.  Not far down the road, there it was.  We had made it.  I had never been so happy to see an Autozone in my entire fucking life.  We went inside, explained what had happened, bought two new windshield wipers, this time properly installed, and once again we were on our way.  

It stopped raining about 20 minutes later.

Looking back now, the whole situation was funny as hell.

Despite our little automotive dilemma, we still got to the NRG Center 15 minutes before Fandemic started.  I parked the car, turned off the ignition, and checked in with my Rooker Hooker friends online to let them know I made it.  Then I sat frozen in my seat.  

“I don’t think I can do this,” I told my friend.  My nerves were getting the best of me.  She assured me that I could, in fact, do this.  I had to do this.  I’m so glad she went with me.  I knew she wouldn’t let me back out of anything.  I made sure I had my things, took a deep breath and forced myself to get out of the car.

We made it inside the convention center, and a woman in a red Fandemic shirt directed us to the VIP ticket window.  (Every staff member we came across at Fandemic was absolutely awesome, by the way.  Even the C.E.O. was greeting every guest with a handshake and a hello as you entered through security.)

I went up to the window and handed over my paper tickets to exchange for our Rooker VIP badges.  While the worker scanned the tickets, I looked behind her to the table along the back wall.  It was covered from one end to the other with plastic bins.  Each bin was labeled by name and full of red VIP lanyards for each corresponding celebrity – Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Norman Reedus, Bruce Campbell, Tom Welling, etc.  

The lady finished scanning my tickets and turned to get our VIP badges from the bins.  Only there wasn’t a bin for Rooker.  She couldn’t find them.  I started to panic a little inside.  I mean it’s obvious I bought them.  I had the paper tickets as proof.  They were in her hand for Pete’s sake.  She looked down at the paper again and walked the length of the table for the second time.  Still no luck.  I really started to worry.  Of course, my initial thought is the ball is dropping again. First my windshield wipers, and now this.

I couldn't hear what she was saying behind the window, but her mouth was moving as I watched her hand my paper over to another worker.  This worker checked the paper, and they both walked over towards the middle of the table. There laying between two bins was a little Ziploc bag with Rooker’s name on it with maybe four or five VIP badges in it.  I turned to my friend, who had been out of eyesight of what just happened, stuck out my bottom lip and said, “Awww, my poor baby.  He only has a Ziploc bag of VIPs, and we have two of ‘em.”  I don’t know why, but it made me love him even more.

After a bag check and a wanding from security, we finally made it onto the convention floor.  I was one giant walking ball of nerves as we went through those doors.  I was in the same room as Michael Rooker!  On one hand, I couldn’t wait to see him.  On the other, I was afraid I was gonna faint and fall out on the floor right in front of all the Deadpools and Negans and Harley Quinns.  

We decided to bypass the vendors and headed straight to the autograph booths. Granted we were still a little early, so none of the celebs had made it to their tables yet.  Rooker’s booth was already filling up.  There were about 20 people or so already waiting.  My friend asked if I wanted to go ahead and get in line.  I couldn’t.  My feet wouldn’t move.  I wasn’t ready.  I had to see him first.  From afar.  Then maybe I’d get the courage to go talk to him.  

The whole time things were going down, I was checking in with my Rooker friends online, giving them play-by-plays of what was happening and taking their encouragement to heart.  I was gonna need it all.

My friend and I decided to walk around a little more and found ourselves standing near the back row of the autograph tables.  That’s when I saw celebs start to trickle through the curtain in the corner and head to their booths.  

Every time those red and black curtains moved, my heart stopped thinking it would be him.  Sean Gunn and Chris Sullivan came out together.  There went Sean Patrick Flanery.  And then Bruce Campbell.  I knew Rooker couldn’t be far behind.  

Minutes later, the curtains moved once more, and there he was.  Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as he walked the floor in front of me.  He wore his black leather jacket and blue sunglasses, a white v-neck t-shirt, his newest Penman hat and a giant smile on his face.  Somehow, I managed to stop my hands from shaking to take a few pics before he disappeared into his booth, his boisterous voice loud as he greeted his awaiting fans.

After my heart rate returned to a somewhat normal rhythm, we walked around towards the front of his booth.  We looked on from a distance as I stood there silently building up my confidence to go get in his line.  I told my online Rooker friends that I wasn’t sure I could do this.  They again told me I could.  I loved him too much not to, they said.  And they were right.  

I knew I needed to go get in line, but I just couldn’t take that first step.  But I had to do it.  I had come too far, and I had too many cool things to show him rather than stand there and stare at him like a creeper.  I had to jump off that cliff.  Take that plunge.  Just like ripping a Band-Aid off with the sweetest reward waiting for me right after.

One of the Fandemic workers near his booth was walking around with an inflatable pickle.  He told her he wanted to sign it.  He autographed the pickle, and as she walked away, he yelled out to her, “Don’t touch it for a little while.  It’s still wet!”  He knew exactly what he was doing, too.  He laughed and then did that little shit-eating grin while biting his tongue.  Y’all know which one I’m talking about.  Watching him laughing and joking around with everyone started to put my mind at ease. This is Rooker we’re talking about.  I’m gonna be fine.  So, I did it.  I put my big kid pants on and got in line.  

The line was moving fairly quickly, but I made sure to sneak some more pics while I waited.  I still couldn’t believe this was all real.  Seeing him right there, mere feet away from me.  Hearing that raspy voice in person.  It was almost too much.

When I got about eight people away, I pulled out his headshots from my bag.  I have several of Rooker’s old original headshots and resumes, and I couldn’t wait to see what his reaction was.  

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I was still a nervous wreck.  A million things raced through my brain.  What if I can’t talk when I get up there?  What if he doesn’t like me?  What if he thinks I’m weird?  Even worse, what if he thinks I’m a batshit crazy stalker ‘cause I have his old headshots?

Then the weirdest thing happened.  The closer I got to him, the less nervous I became.  By the time I made it in front of him at that table, it was like I was about to say “hey” to an old friend.  All the butterflies had flown away.  

One of his helpers had already taken the headshot from me that I wanted Rooker to autograph to keep the line running smoothly.  He handed it to Rooker and said, “Ohh, this is an oldie.”

Rooker greeted us as he took the headshot and he was like “Whoaaa” and smiled really big as I showed him the others.  He got a kick out of them!  He grabbed the oldest headshot, which was his first one, his hair super curly, and called over Sean Gunn and Chris Sullivan, who immediately left their tables to see what was going on.  They both promptly busted out laughing when Rooker showed them. They cracked some jokes together and then Rooker said, “That was my first headshot, this is my last.”  He walked over to me and showed me a pic of himself wearing no hat with his hair a FREAKIN’ mess on what I believe was Sean’s phone maybe, which in turn made him laugh even harder.  

He walked back over to Sean and Sully, where Sully had since pulled up his own old headshot on his phone.  Rooker busted out laughing again, and they compared their curly hair and then showed all the people in line their “white men afros” as Rooker put it.  

The whole time I felt like I was in a dream watching this all take place.  I mean I figured Rooker would think it was pretty cool seeing his old headshots and resumes, but I never thought it would have caused all this.  

He came back over to me and thanked me for bringing the headshots and picked up a blue marker to sign the one I had picked out for his autograph.

Up until then, had that been the end of our interaction, I would have walked away from his table completely ecstatic.  At that moment, I could have officially died happy.  But it wasn’t over yet.

As he was signing the headshot, I told him that I had something to show him and to pick an arm.  He looked a little perplexed and said, “Ummmm...your left.”

I sheepishly lifted up my shirt sleeve to show him my portrait tattoo of one of his Skillset magazine pictures.  He said, “OMG.....you know what that’s from, right?”  I kind of laughed and said, “Well, yeah.”  He said, “That’s from my Skillset!”  Then, I lifted up my right shirt sleeve to reveal my other Rooker portrait tattoo, this one a bald, serious-faced shot.  He glanced at it really quick and said, “Oh yeah, Thanos, very cool.”

I laughed and said, “It’s not Thanos, it’s you!”  I had to catch myself before I affectionately called him a dork at the end of that sentence.  He said, “What?!  Lemme see it again!”  I lifted my sleeve, and he said again that it looks like Thanos, totally fucking with me.  I said, “It’s not Thanos!  Why would I have Thanos?  You’re way hotter than Thanos!”  He chuckled and said “Well, yeah, I’m hotter than Thanos!  Fine, it’s a sexy Thanos.”  

He then walked around his table, grabbed my shoulders, spun me around, yanked my shirt sleeve back up and proceeded to ask the crowd, very loudly I might add, if my tattoo looked like “Sexy Thanos” all the while laughing his ass off.  Of course, the crowd agreed with him.  

I didn’t even have time to think about being embarrassed.  The next I thing knew, he turned back to me, smiled a huge Rooker smile, said I was awesome and reached out and caressed my face.  I about passed out.  

Rooker went back around his table to the headshots and started talking about his resumes stapled to the back.  We talked for a couple of minutes trying to figure out the timeline of the headshots vs. the resumes vs. the talent agency he was with at the time.    

The whole time he talked, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.  The way he smiled and chomped his gum, his eyes behind his blue sunglasses, his curls thick under his hat, his sexy voice, his chest hair poking out of the collar of his shirt.  He is absolutely hypnotic.  I was in heaven, y’all.  

He grabbed the curly-haired headshot, smiled and said, “You know what?  Just ‘cause you’re you, I’m gonna sign this one, too.  It’s a 2-for-1 Rooker deal.”  I, of course, was over the moon.

He signed it with the same blue marker and gave me a fist bump.  I told him thank you and that I would see him tomorrow and that I had something even cooler for him to sign.  He said, “Alright!”

I walked away on Cloud 9.  Michael Rooker touched my face!  I was freaking out.  I couldn’t have asked for a better first meeting with Rooker.  

A little while later, we were standing in line for the Rooker/Sean Gunn photo op when I realized that in the headshot/tattoo craziness earlier, I had forgotten to give Rooker the t-shirt I had brought as a gift for him.  I wasn’t mad at myself, though.  That just meant I got to go see him again.

When it came time for the photo op, Rooker came strutting over from his booth, grinning while biting his tongue in his teeth again.  The whole weekend I never saw the man without a smile on his face.

For those of you who've never been to a comic con before, the photo ops go by fast. Like insanely fast.  They shuffle you quickly into the booth, you stand next to the celeb, the photographer snaps the picture, and then you're shuffled back out just as fast as you came in.    

Now don’t take this the wrong way.  I'm not knocking the process by any means.  It's completely understandable.   There are literally hundreds of fans of many fandoms that they’re trying to accommodate.  But just because it goes fast, doesn’t mean you won’t have a memorable experience.

The Gunn/Rooker photo op was my very first one of the weekend.  When I got behind the curtain, Rooker immediately grabbed my arm, and pulled me between Sean and himself with a hearty “Get over here, woman!”  I put my arms around them both, the photo was snapped, Rooker smiled really big and said “Thank you, sweetheart” as I walked away, him keeping his hand on my back ‘til I was out of his arm's reach.  

The whole thing couldn’t have lasted for more than 45 seconds or so.  But I didn’t care.  Sean’s arm had been around my shoulder!  I had touched the Rooker leather jacket!  Rooker called me “sweetheart"!  He touched my back!  I was close enough to smell his minty-gum fresh breath!  The Rooker legend that he smells of mint and leather is true!  I couldn’t wait to do more ops with him.

After the photo ops, we headed over to the concession stand.  We hadn’t gotten a chance to eat lunch, and we were starving.  We got a little something to tide us over until dinner and went and sat down at a table in the little VIP reserved section.  Not five minutes later, my phone went off with my Merle Dixon notification sound.  It was an Instagram alert.  ROOKER WAS LIVE!

I’ve seen a lot of Rooker Instagram live videos from cons before, but to see one in the making?  No way I was gonna miss this!  We jumped up, grabbed our stuff, and were off on the hunt for him.  With the help of the Rooker Hookers directing me where to go, it didn’t take long to find him.  

For nearly 30 minutes, we followed him from a distance watching him visit vendor booths, stop to play in the Batmobile and interact with fans, ending with a giant selfie back at his booth.  

After the excitement of him Instagramming live died down and his line cleared a little, I decided to go give him his t-shirt.  The lady taking the money at his booth, who was super freakin’ nice by the way and who would come to know us quite well by the end of the weekend, greeted us again with a smile.

I walked up to him at his table and said, “I'm back, Rooker!"  He said, “Hey, Sexy!”  Rooker called me sexy.  I mean I'm totally not, but.. anyways.  I only hoped my face wasn't as red as it felt.  I said, “I forgot to give you this earlier,” and I handed him his shirt.  I told him where I was from as he unfolded the shirt and spread it out on the table.  One of my favorite things about Rooker is that he supports first responders and the armed forces.  Without going into too many details, I gave him a fire department shirt from my hometown, where he's filmed a couple of things and has visited even when not filming.  He said he loved my hometown and I explained to him that my stepdad is a police officer, and he had actually met Rooker years before on the set of one of his tv projects.  I told him that my mom is a 911 dispatcher for the fire department where the shirt was from and that I had tried to get him a police department shirt, too, but I couldn’t get one in time.  

He said he loved the shirt and we talked a couple more minutes and he told me to tell my parents thank you for all that they do.  Then he said, “You know what?  You get a selfie!”  He came around his booth, stood right next to me, and held his shirt out while my friend snapped some pics.  Again, I was over the moon.  I had already gotten an extra autograph earlier, and now Rooker was breaking his rule about “No selfies" at his table.  He then shook my hand and said thank you again and I told him I'd see him tomorrow.  You couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

Like Rooker's old headshots, I also had one of Sean Gunn and Jeffrey Dean Morgan.  I had planned on getting Sean's autograph on Saturday, but since Rooker’s headshots had gone over so well earlier, I decided to go ahead and show Sean's to him then.  After running back out to the car to get his headshot, we were off to see Seanie.  

There wasn’t anyone at his table when we got back so I went right up to him with no hesitation, which was strange for me.   I hadn’t talked to Sean yet, and I figured I would be extremely nervous.  But just like Rooker, I was completely calm around Sean.  They all really do treat you like old friends.  

When I handed Sean the headshot, he got all excited, too.  Sully came over to look at it and busted out laughing and cracked some jokes about Sean's shirt.  Sean then hollered over at Rooker and held it up so Rooker could see.  Rooker said, “OMG!  You got one, too?!”  Sean talked to me a little about his resume, too, and then asked if he could take a picture of it with his phone.  Of course, I was like “Absolutely!”  After he got his picture of his headshot, he came around the table and took some selfies with me.  I then pulled out my phone and showed him my dog dressed as James Gunn from Halloween last year.  I asked him if remembered Gunn sharing the picture, but he didn’t.  I showed him my other dog dressed as Kraglin, too.  He loved it!  Especially his little mohawk.

We talked some more, and he kept saying how cool his headshot was and asked if I wanted him to sign it.  He ended up signing it “To my friend, *my name*, I ❤️this! Sean Gunn”.  Sean was an absolute sweetheart and I love him and I hope I get to see him again someday!

Chris Sullivan’s table was next.  I hadn’t really budgeted in anything for Sully, but he was only charging 30$ for a selfie, and I thought “Hey, you only live once.”  I’m so glad I did.  Sully was a complete teddy bear!  He was so sweet!  And talllll!  

We walked over, and I apologized for not having a headshot for him to sign.  He laughed and showed us his headshot on his phone again.  Then he realized he hadn’t introduced himself and stuck out his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Chris.”  I shook his hand and told him my name, and then my friend did the same.  My friend and I have the same name only with different spellings.  Once introductions were made, Sully spent the next few minutes hilariously trying to figure out the correct spelling of my name.  He never did get it right.  I haven’t really seen a lot of Sully's roles, but he gained a lifelong fan that day.

After meeting Sean and Sully, we decided to call it a day.  I couldn’t wait to see what day two had in store.

Fandemic Houston Day 2 – September 15, 2018

Just like the morning before, I was already awake when my alarm went off.  I had a reeeeally cool thing to show Rooker, and the anticipation was damn near killing me.  

We had to get to the convention center fairly early that morning.  Rooker's panel was at 11:30 a.m., and I was hoping to get to visit him before his panel started.  When we got to his booth, however, he wasn't scheduled to be at his table until after his panel.  So, we just walked around a little until it was time to go upstairs to the panel room.

With our Rooker VIPs, we got really good seats at his panel.  We were close to the stage, even though I knew he wouldn't be up there long.  

While we waited for his panel to start, I was in a bit of a panic.  If you’ve ever seen or been to a con panel, you know that usually the Q&A session is done by fans lining up at a microphone to ask their questions to the celebs on stage.  If you’ve ever seen or been to a Rooker panel, you know he doesn’t play by those rules.  He comes to you, whether you have a question or not!  I was sitting on the end of the aisle, a prime position for Rooker to stop and talk to me during the Q&A.  And I had no idea what I would ask him if he did.

I checked in with the Rooker Hookers online and asked them for any help they could give me to come up with a good question.  It wasn't that I was nervous to ask Rooker a question, it was just I didn’t want to ask him one in front of all these people.  If I was prepared, I wouldn’t be as embarrassed.

The Rooker Hookers all had really good suggestions, but some of them involving Rooker removing various articles of clothing, propositions more suited for an “after-dark" kind of Q&A.  I love those guys.  That's another one of my favorite things about Rooker.  Being a part of his fandom has brought me together with people literally all over the world via Tumblr and Facebook.  And everyone I’ve met has been awesome.  And a special shout out to the Rooker Hookers for making me laugh over and over again, understanding my complete and utter Rooker obsession, for accepting me for who I am and being there for me even when we’re not talking about Rooker.  I’m proud to call them my friends.

Rooker's panel was awesome as I knew it would be.  He talked a lot about Henry and Merle.  He ran around the audience answering questions about Yondu and Mallrats and flexed his biceps and even sang a little.  My favorite, though, were his stories of what he was like as a kid and growing up in Chicago.  At the end of his panel, he broke the rules once again and threw Hershey Kisses out to the audience after the powers that be told him not to throw anything.  They shoulda known Rooker plays by his own rules.  He is a livewire and an endless fireball of energy.  He’s an absolute riot, and I'm so thankful I got to witness him in action at a panel.  

When the panel was over and once we made it back through the security checkpoint, we headed back to Rooker's booth.  I was so freaking excited to show him what I was holding in my hands.  

His helper said hello and hole-punched my VIP lanyard for another autograph.  I walked up to Rooker and said, “I'm back, Rooker, look what I got.”  I sat down his screen worn Bud Melks orange coveralls from The Belko Experiment on the table.  He said, “Oh, honey, let me sign those for you.”  He didn’t realize they were his.  I said, “These are the ones you wore in the movie.”  

“These are the ones I wore in the movie?”  He seemed genuinely surprised.  I told him yep and showed him the little nametag on the inside collar that read “Bud 2”.  He said, “Omg, that’s so cool, where did you get these?”  I explained to him where I got them and that it also came with his t-shirt, jeans, and boots, too.  He asked if I wanted him to sign them.  I did, but it would be even better if I got him to put them on.

“Yeah, if you want to.   Orrrr, you could cosplay as Bud today,” I joked.

He chuckled. “I could cosplay as Bud today?  Ommgg.  Yeah, I could.  Or you could cosplay as Bud.”  

I shook my head no and grinned.  “Nooo, I don’t cosplay,” I replied.  (I’m waaay too shy and self-conscious to cosplay.)

He leaned back on his stool, threw his head back and laughed.  Rooker's laugh is one of my favorite things on this planet.  And making him laugh was one of the greatest feelings in the world.    

About that time, Sean's helper came over and took a picture of Rooker holding the coveralls up.  She thought they were really cool, too.  Rooker asked her, “Where's, Sean?  He's gotta see these.”  But Sean was still in the green room.  

The coveralls have a huge rip on the backside so of course I had to know why.  I was kidding around with Rooker and asked him, “What did you to ‘em?”  He said, “Let's see,” as he unfolded them.

When he found the rip, he said, “Oh, oh, I squatted, and they ripped.  Yeah, I squatted down, and they ripped.  Like, when I was squatting down doing the door, they ripped.  My whole bottom ripped out.  And I was like, ‘Thank God the camera was on my face ‘cause if it was on my ass end my underwears would be showing.”  We all burst into laughter.  

We chatted a little bit more and he asked me again if I wanted him to sign them.  I told him, “If you want to, yeah.”  

“Where do you want me to put it?   I’m gonna sign ‘em for you.  You don’t have to pay, ok?”

I told him that I had already paid, though.  He said, ”Oh, it was part of your VIP?” We then decided the best place for him to sign the coveralls was on the front pocket.  He signed his name and said, “Bud, right?”  I told him yes it was Bud, and he wrote Bud under his signature.  Then he asked his helper to hand him the 8X10 of Bud he had available for autographs.  

“Do we have one?  Gimme that photo of Belko.  I’m gonna give her a photo with this.  This totally deserves a photo with this."  

He took the photo and started signing his name.  

“Here, all yours, baby.  Here, I'm gonna put it like this.”  He signed the pocket on Bud's coveralls in the picture the same exact way he signed the coveralls.  He then held the picture next to the coveralls and said, “There, looks just like it."  He busted out laughing and said, “That's for you.  Thank you, honey.  Oh my goodness.”  He threw his hand up for a high-five.  I thanked him and high-fived him back.

Trust me, I was elated for the handshakes and high-fives so far.  (His hands are so soft by the way).  But I was itching to get a hug.  I didn’t know how many more chances I would get so I decided to just go for it. “Can I get a hug, Rooker?  I gotta get a famous Rooker hug.”  He hollered, “Get over here woman!  Get over here!  Give me a big hug, love.”

I walked behind his table and gave him a big hug and told him I'd see him later.  He grabbed my hand as I walked away and said, “You're awesome, honey!”  He didn’t let go of my hand as I told him that he makes me forget things and that I had another present for him but I had forgotten it in my car.  He laughed and then he caught my friend recording the whole thing on her phone.  He grinned and said, “Heyyyy, no video…”  Busted.  But he didn’t care.

After leaving Rooker, we had just enough time to scarf down some lunch and then head to Sean and Sully’s panel.  When the panel started, the doors opened and there they were waiting on the other side.  They had stolen a golf cart and hilariously failed at trying to drive it into the room for their grand entrance.  So, Sully simply threw the golf cart in reverse, they both said “byyyyye” and he drove back down the hallway.  A few seconds later they both came back in the room, Sully at a sprint which carried him around the entire audience and Sean walking slowly behind to the stage, announcing he was too old to run.  Sully ended his dash with a Rooker-esque roll onto the stage, stood up and took a bow.  

Their panel was amazing, too.  They were both so, so funny.  They talked a lot about Guardians and even threw in the story about Rooker mooning Dave and Pom on set, which led Sully into a comical conversation about mooning in general.  They made me laugh so freakin’ hard.  If you ever get the chance, definitely go to their panels.  You won’t be disappointed.

We had planned on going to the Smallville panel a little later, but the line getting in the room was insane.  I used to watch Smallville back in the day, but I had no idea how huge the fandom still is.  It was pretty impressive.  Because of the crowd, we decided to skip the panel and go see Rooker again.  

We ran out to the car to get Rooker’s gift and then headed to his booth.  I also made sure to bring the Belko coveralls again so Rooker could show Sean.  I guess everyone was at the Smallville panel because the con floor was pretty empty.  I was kind of glad.  Hopefully, that meant I’d get to talk to Rooker for a good bit of time.

When we got there, his helper laughed and said, “You’re back, again?  And with another gift?”  I smiled and said yes.  She joked, “You gotta stop buying him shit.  He’s doing alright, you know.” I joked back, “I know, but I love him.”  She understood though.  I mean how can you not love Rooker?

About that time the fan talking with Rooker walked away, and I stepped up to him at the table.  His helper announced to him, “She's back with another gift.  She's like your sugar mama.”  Rooker grinned that sexy Rooker grin and said, “Hey, Sugar Mama!” I joked, “Yeah, I’ll be your sugar mama.  What you want?  Anything?  You need some more coffee?  I’ll go get you some coffee.”   He busted out laughing, and I handed him his gift.

I had gotten him a blue shot glass made from a 30mm shell casing that had been shot from an A-10 Warthog plane.  I had it engraved with Michael “Yondu” Rooker on the side.  I’m pretty sure he loved it!  I had left it in the clear packaging, and he immediately ripped it open and lowered his glasses so he could read it better.  I...saw...his...eyes...y’all.  In person.  Not hidden behind sunglasses.  Don’t laugh.  It was a very big moment for me.  

He leaned over towards me on the table on his elbows and kept saying how cool the shot glass was and how he couldn’t wait to drink some whiskey out of it.  He asked me how much whiskey I thought it would hold.  I laughed and said I have no idea.  

We talked some more and he thanked me and came around the table to give me another hug, this time trying to include my friend.  She sort of backed away trying to give me all the glory of Rooker’s hug, but he pulled her in anyway.  It was somewhat of an awkward, sideways hug, but I didn’t care.  A Rooker hug is a Rooker hug!  His arm ended up kind of across my neck right under my chin so I reached up and grabbed his arm as I hugged him.  I...touched...his...bicep.  It was..um..very nice.

When he pulled away from me, Sully walked over holding up an 8X10 of what I believe was of himself that someone had written on and showed it to Rooker.  When Rooker read it he about fell on the floor laughing.  He said, “Now, now, that’s nothing to be ashamed of!”  He snatched the picture out of Sully’s hand and laid it on Sean’s table and began writing on it, too, laughing the whole time.  Rooker’s helper asked if we had seen what was written on it.  I had been trying not to be nosy, so I hadn’t.  We told her no, and she said, “It said ‘When is the right time to talk to your doctor about erectile dysfunction.”  My friend and I started laughing.

I turned back to Sean’s table, and Rooker was still writing on the picture saying, “There’s nothing wrong with erectile dysfunction!”  Sean and I made eye contact and busted out laughing.  Rooker then turned and walked back towards me with a huge grin, looked me right in the eye, and said, “There’s nothing wrong with a little erectile dysfunction...well, I mean there is something wrong with it, but...” He trailed off into a mischievous giggle.  Y’all, I had never laughed so hard in my life.  

When he realized I was holding the Belko coveralls, he immediately took them from me and whirled around to show Sean.  “Sean, look what she has!”  Sean came around his table and said, “Whoaaa, are those the real ones?”  Rooker told him yes and explained how I got them and then held them up to show Sean the big rip in the back which made Sean laugh.  Sean thought they were really neat, too.

Rooker came back over to me and was folding the coveralls up and said, “These are really beautiful.  You know, not a lot of these exist.  Thank you for bringing them to show me.”  I told him they were my prized possession (which is the truth... they really are the coolest thing I own).  He said, “C’mere, baby, you get a double hug!”  He gave me another huge hug, this one a little longer than the first, and a little bit of my hair got caught in his scruff as I pulled away.  I’m sure he didn’t even notice, but I certainly did.  That scruff...

We walked back over to his table so I could get my bag.  I had made a little drawstring bag specifically to wear at Fandemic to haul stuff around in.  It says “I’m lost.  If found, please return to Michael Rooker”.   I showed it to him and he laughed really hard and gave me a high-five and said, “I love it!  You’re so great.”  We then said our goodbyes for the moment and off I went again.

That afternoon I had my Dixon Bros. photo op.  While we were waiting in line, Rooker came over to the Photo Ops area and saw a family with a little baby boy in a stroller nearby.  He made a beeline straight to the baby.  The little boy pointed up to the ceiling and blabbered away at Rooker.  Rooker looked up to the ceiling, too, and said, “OoooOooh,” and acted surprised at whatever imaginary thing the baby was pointing at.  Rooker then baby-talked to him for a minute and tickled the little boy’s tummy before he left to go behind the curtain.  Y’all, it was the sweetest thing I’ve ever witnessed. 

When it came time for photos, as soon as I got behind the curtain, Rooker said, “Get over here, baby,” and again grabbed my arm and pulled me in between him and Norman Reedus.  When I went to put my arms around them, my arm got caught on the bottom of Rooker's jacket, and I accidentally lifted it up about a third up his back.  I heard him make this little chuckling sound as I fumbled to free my arm from underneath his jacket, my hand unintentionally rubbing his back.  I’m not sure he knew what I was going for because the next thing I knew, he started rubbing my back.  For the entire time.  Even after the photo was taken and I was walking away, his hand was still rubbing on my back.  Let me tell you, a Rooker backrub is everything you would imagine it to be, but at that moment, I was just a tad embarrassed.  And my face in the photo pretty much showed it.  But, oh well.  If that was the only way I was ever going to get a Rooker backrub then it was worth it.

After the Dixon Bros. photo op, I went to go see Michael Rosenbaum who was super nice, too.  I paid for a selfie, and he said, “Ohh, lemme take it!”  I handed my phone over to him for what I thought would be just one picture.  He wouldn’t stop taking pictures of us though, and one picture turned into a comical mini-photo shoot.  Each time I thought it would be the last picture he would take so my facial expression changes to a higher state of silliness with each one.  They’re hilarious, but let’s just say very few people have seen those pictures.

Day two was drawing to a close, and I decided that I might go see Rooker one more time before we left.  We walked over to his booth which was empty at the moment.  He was standing there eating chocolate covered pretzels and watching an artist drawing portraits of Harry Potter characters across the way.  Anyone that knows Rooker knew what he was about to do next.  

Rooker left so fast from his booth that he dropped a pretzel on the ground.  He went directly over to the artist and asked him to play Santana over his speaker, jokingly rushing him along when the artist couldn’t find a Santana song quick enough.  Rooker then grabbed a colored pencil and began to draw on the picture the artist had been working on.  

Rooker messed around with the artist a couple more minutes before he returned to his booth.  He took the time to take a few pictures with some fans that had gathered around, joked with the little kids, and danced to the songs the artist was still playing before he finally left for the day.  I didn’t get to talk to him again, but just watching him dancing was enough for me.

When we were headed back to the car that afternoon, I told my friend, “I can’t remember ever being this happy before.  Seriously, these last two days have been the best days of my life.”  I’m like a lot of people in that I struggle with depression and anxiety and self-image and the feeling that I’ll never be good enough.  But with Rooker, he makes all that disappear.  I don’t think he’ll ever realize how much he means to me and how important he is in my life.  

Fandemic Houston Day 3 – September 16, 2018

I had been awake since 4 a.m. on day three.  I couldn’t wait to see Rooker, but I couldn’t stop thinking that this was going to be my last day with him.  I didn’t want the weekend to end.

I spent the early morning hours before my alarm rang making a detailed schedule and an even more detailed script in my head of all the things I wanted to say to him before the con closed at 4 p.m.  I still had my two solo photo ops with him, too, and one last gift to give him.  More importantly, I wanted to make sure I got the chance to tell him thank you and goodbye before I left.   And I had to fit it all in between getting my Jeffrey Dean Morgan autograph and photo op.

It was about 10:15 a.m. when we got to the NRG center that morning.  I was hoping I'd get to talk to Rooker first thing.  I had one last picture for him to sign, which had something to do with a special request for our photo op.  He wasn’t at his booth when we finally got inside, though, so I decided to get in Jeffrey Dean’s line to get his autograph about 10:30 a.m.  

A fairly big crowd had already gathered for Jeffrey Dean.  But my Rooker photo ops weren’t until 1 p.m. and my Jeffrey Dean op was at 2:10 p.m.  I figured I would have plenty of time to see Rooker before our photo ops.  

We were again standing in the perfect spot to watch all the celebs come out from behind the curtain.  A little after 11 a.m. they all started to trickle out.  And, y’all, when Rooker finally walked out?  Dayuuumm, daddy.  He wasn’t sporting his usual leather jacket paired with a black or navy or white v-neck t-shirt look.  He wore a black button-up shirt with the collar unbuttoned low and looked sexy...as…hell.  I mean the man always looks sexy as hell, but...well, y’all know what I mean.  I immediately checked in with the Rooker Hookers and told them Rooker’s wardrobe choice for the day.  Again, don’t laugh.  I just get excited when he switches things up.  

We were still waiting in Jeffrey Dean's line when they made a huge announcement around 11:30 a.m.  Norman Reedus had to leave the con early.  All the Walking Dead photo ops had to be bumped up.  I started to panic a little.  

My Jeffrey Dean photo stayed at 2:10 p.m., but Rooker and Norman were supposed to have Dixon Bros. photo ops at 3:25 p.m.  The con closed at 4 p.m. so I figured Rooker would probably be leaving right after.  But I had to tell Rooker goodbye before we left.  I just had to.  Now I was afraid with all the photo ops being bumped around I wouldn’t get to.

Noon came and Jeffrey Dean's line had hardly moved.  He had only been out at his table for maybe 45 minutes or so and now his time would be even more limited because the photo ops had to be moved up.  His line was so long that they ended up bumping the people who had pre-purchased an autograph up in line. That included me.  Whew.  We had gotten closer but were still so far away.  The minutes were counting down until my Rooker photo ops.  I was a nervous wreck.  If I stayed in Jeffrey Dean's line, I would be cutting it reaaaally close.  

I left my friend in line and went to explain my situation to one of the Fandemic workers nearby.  I told him I had Rooker photo ops at 1 p.m. and if I didn’t make it up to Jeffrey Dean would I be able to get a refund for his autograph.  I didn’t want to get a refund.  I love Jeffrey Dean and had been looking forward to meeting him and getting his autograph.  But I couldn’t miss my Rooker photo ops.  That was completely out of the question.  The worker looked at his watch and told me that I would make it, but if it got too close, he would move me up in line.  That made me feel a little better.  

I got back in line, but I couldn’t stop checking my phone for the time.  I really needed to show Rooker the picture I wanted him to autograph before our photo ops.  The minutes were ticking away and the line was barely moving.  Finally, about 12:30 p.m., I left my friend again in line and went to go see Rooker.

I went over to Rooker's table and paid his helper for another autograph.  She asked if I wanted to pick out a picture, but I told her I already had one.  She said, “Ooh, can I see?”  I showed her and told her it was my all-time favorite picture of Rooker, and I was hoping I could get him to do the same pose for our photo op.  She loved it and told me that he had done a similar pose the day before.  Aaah, there was a chance.

I walked up to Rooker holding the picture against me so he couldn’t see it right away.  I asked him, “Will you sign one more thing for me?  I was also wondering if you’d reenact it for our photo op today.”  He just grinned and said, “It depends.  Lemme see it.”  At that moment, I was so glad there wasn’t anyone else around.  I had no idea what his reaction would be.

I told him it was my all-time favorite picture of him and handed it over.  He instantly busted out laughing when he saw what it was.  In the picture Rooker has his shirt lifted, one hand pointing to his nipple and a ginormous smile on his face.  He asked me where I even got it.  I told him I found it on the internet.  I reminded him about one of the Rooker Hookers meeting him and having him sign his naked ass from Mallrats.  He laughed and said he remembered that.  “I’m just carrying on the tradition of having you sign off the wall pictures,” I said.  

He told me that he doesn’t normally sign pictures like that, but for me, he would.  While he signed it, I told him that I had two photo ops with him and that they couldn’t be the same and asked him again if he would do that same pose for one of them.  He laughed and said no.  Then he took off his glasses completely to look at the picture more closely.  I...saw...his...eyes again for a long time.  He was trying to remember where the picture was taken and what the hell he was doing.  He said the glasses he was wearing were his old ones and that he didn’t have them anymore and the shirt he had on was his old Harley Davidson shirt.  I was too embarrassed to tell him I knew the picture was taken at James Gunn’s old house.  I was afraid yet again that he would think I was a batshit crazy stalker.  

We talked about the picture a little more and then he looked up at me laughing and said, “You dork.”  Rooker called me dork.  Out of all the things he called me that weekend “dork” was definitely my favorite.  I begged him one more time to do that pose for our photo.  He just laughed and shook his head and said, “No.” again.  Unfortunately, I didn’t get to talk to him very much longer because I had to hurry to get back in line for Jeffrey Dean so I told Rooker I’d see him later.

My friend hadn’t made it very far when I joined her back in line.  By then it was pushing 12:40 p.m.  I was starting to get nervous again.  I only had 20 minutes left until Rooker photos, and the line was...moving...so...slow.  

About 12:55 p.m., there were only three people ahead of me in line.  Jeffrey Dean was right there.  Surely I would make it in time.  He finished visiting with the fan he was talking to, and I heard him tell one of his handlers that he needed to take a break.  Uh oh.  Panic mode.  I went up to his other handler and explained that I had Rooker photo ops at 1:00 p.m. which was in three minutes.  She said, “Ok, no problem.”  She went up to Jeffrey Dean and told him my dilemma.  I felt horrible cutting in line, but I got to meet him real quick before he went on his break.  

He gave me a huge hug when I went up to him.  (Jeffrey Dean gives amazing hugs by the way and is one of the nicest human beings I’ve ever met.  Annnnd even sexier...as...hell in person).  I handed him the headshot I had of him and he said, “Oh, fuuuuck, this is awesome!”   I said, “You were a baby.  Lookit you.”  He said, “I was a baby!”  He then turned it over to look at his resume, and was like “Whooa, this is a loooong time ago!  You know awhile back when everyone was sharing their first headshots for “Headshot Day” on Instagram and shit, I didn’t have one.  I shoulda called you.”  That would be the dream I thought.  I snickered and said, “Uh, yeaaah, you totally could have called me!”  He laughed and we talked some more about his headshot.  Then he asked me if I wanted him to sign it to me or just with his name.  I told him that he could put my name if he wanted and he personalized his autograph for me.  I told him “thank you” and he said, “Oh, you’re very welcome and it’s nice to meet you.” He gave me another huge, extra-tight hug, and said, “Tell Rooker I said ‘hey’,” as I told him bye.  Gahhh, I’m still gushing over Jeffrey Dean, too!

After I left Jeffrey Dean, we booked it over to the photo op line.  We were a few minutes late, but luckily Rooker hadn’t made it over there yet so the photo ops hadn’t actually started.  A few minutes later Rooker came over and went behind the curtain.  He was holding some sort of arrow thingy? With a bullet on the end?  I still have no idea what it was.

When I got behind the curtain for our photos, Rooker pulled me to him and I put my arm around his lower back right above his waist.  His shirt was so silky, and I could feel his lil’ love handles. Swoon.  He put his arm over my shoulder and kind of threw his head back with a smug look on his face for the first photo.  The Rooker Hookers say it was his “Yeah, this is my Sugar Mama” pose.  I’m not sure if that’s what he was going for, but I like that idea.

After the photographer took the first photo, Rooker went to tell me thank you like he had done the previous days.  I told him though that I had two photo ops.  (I had told my friend that if she would go with me to Fandemic I would buy all the tickets, and she didn’t want to take any pictures so I used the photo op that came with her VIP ticket).  He said, “Oh, you have two?”  I shook my head yes and replied, “What are we gonna do, Rooker?  They can’t be the same.”  He looked at me, thinking for a second, and then grabbed my necklace.  I have a necklace with a little silver bullet on it (or I did...it broke like two weeks after Fandemic.)  He held the bullet in his fingers and said, “You show off your bullet, I’ll show mine,” meaning the little arrow thingy he was holding.  So, I held up the bullet on my necklace and he held out the arrow thing for the second picture.  I personally never would have thought up that pose, but it made him laugh and that’s all that mattered to me.  And I got another short bonus Rooker backrub as we said goodbye.  

A little while later, I had my photo op with Jeffrey Dean.  He gave me a big hug for our picture.  I’m horrible at taking pictures, but that one actually turned out the best out of all the ops I had that weekend.

After Jeffrey Dean, it was pretty much time to go.  As much as I didn’t want to, it was time to go see Rooker for the last time and tell him goodbye.  

Rooker had an 8X10 of Sean as Kraglin and was drawing various funny things all over Sean’s face while casually talking to a fan who I’m assuming had met him before when we got to his table.  I wasn’t trying to be nosy I promise, but I could hear a little of what they were talking about.  At one point, the guy mentioned Rooker’s hair and how much he had grown it out.  He asked him if it was for a specific reason, like for a movie or something.  Rooker told the guy that his granddaughter had actually asked him to grow his hair out so he would have long, pretty hair like her.  My heart = melted.  He then said that it wasn’t working.  It was making him worse.  You’re wrong, Rooker.  Seriously, I don’t think you can get any more perfect.

While Rooker was still diligently drawing on Sean’s picture and talking to the fan, another guy walked up and asked his handler if Rooker was in Cliffhanger.  The handler said yes.  The guy said, “Oh man, I knew it!  I can still hear your voice!  Like when your lady fell in the beginning.”  Without even looking up, Rooker said, “That fuckin’ bitch!  I knew what she was doing up there with Stallone!” and then laughed.  

When it was my turn, I went up to him and asked, “Are you sick of me yet?”  He said, “Noooo.”  I told him I had one last thing to give him, and it was kind of a dumb one, but all my friends told me I had to give it to him.  I said, “Do you remember when James called you Winnie the Pooh in that one post?”  He said, “Yeah.”  I plopped down a little stuffed Pooh Bear in front of him on the table.  Pooh was dressed in black and white prison stripes with a ball and chain on his leg.  The patch on his shirt said “Prisoner of Love".  Rooker laughed and said, “Aww, this is for me?”  I told him yes, and that I knew it was kinda stupid and I don't normally go around giving grown men stuffed animals.  “You're actually the only grown man I've ever given a stuffed animal to,” I said to him.  He laughed again, and said, “Well, I actually love stuffed animals.”

He immediately took the tag off of Pooh's ear and then held him up towards one of his helpers and the couple of people in line at the end of the table and made Pooh “growl" at them.  He then turned to the handler standing right next to him, shoved the little bear right in the guy’s face and made Pooh wave and said, “Fuck you, bitch!” in a goofy, high-pitched voice.  

He made himself laugh, that silent kind of Rooker laugh where his head is thrown back and his mouth is wide open, his whole face lit up, and came around his table to give me a hug.  Then....it happened.  The single greatest moment of my life.  

With his smile never fading, he grabbed my face in his hands and kissed me on the cheek, an added “mwah” for sound effect.  

Time froze.  I could feel his fingers in my hair.   His scruff rough against my face.  I couldn’t believe what was happening.  My brain ceased to function properly, and I went into survival mode, struggling to simply form words.

As soon as it happened, my brain took that script that I had made up in my mind early that morning, ripped it up into a thousand little pieces, tossed them in the air, and screamed, “Haha, time to improv, bitch!”  I could no longer remember a single thing that I had wanted to talk to him about.

I was stunned.  I was in a daze.  For the first time that entire weekend I was speechless.  

My friend chimed in very quickly to save me.  “You should show him your dogs!”  As he still stood next to me, he said, “Oh, you have dogs?!”  He sounded way more excited than I would have thought he’d be to see my dogs.  I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.  But Rooker had broken my brain.  I was in auto-pilot mode, and I was forgetting a major detail.  

It wasn’t until I hit the home button to turn my phone on that I remembered one of Rooker’s Skillset photos is my lock screen and a picture of him laughing on the set of Brother’s Keeper is my home screen.  OMG!!!  

I freaked out a little and playfully pushed him away.  “Oh, don’t look at my phone, Rooker!  You’re on it!”  It was too late.  He had already seen it.  He backed away laughing and said, “Oooh, girl, you makin’ me look sexxxy!”  I’m sure my face was red as a tomato at that moment.

My Instagram account was the quickest way to get to pictures of my dogs, so I pulled up the app.  Rooker was so close to me.  We were standing shoulder to shoulder, our arms were touching, him looking at my phone the entire time.  It didn’t occur to me until much later that I know he saw everything on my Instagram:  my IG name which is basically the same as my Tumblr, my icon which is him, my description that says I’m obsessed with him, the memes I’ve made of him.  

I opened up the picture of my dog as James Gunn.  Rooker pulled down his sunglasses to look.  He didn’t remember Gunn sharing that picture either last Halloween, but he did say Bruce was a beautiful dog.  Then I showed him the “Rooker vs. Rooker: Grumpface Edition” meme I had made of Rooker and my dog.  I pointed to my dog and said, “That’s Rooker.”  He turned and looked right at me.  A few seconds after we made eye contact, he busted out laughing.  It was my favorite kind of Rooker laugh, the Rooker laugh where he’s trying so hard not to laugh and is grinning but holding his mouth closed until he can’t take it anymore and just lets it go.  Rooker loved my dog.  He said, “Omg!”, gave me a fist bump, then grabbed my phone, walked over to his handler and shoved my phone in his face to show him.    

When Rooker handed me my phone back, he hugged me again and then held up his hands for a double high-five.  I high-fived him, but this time he didn’t let my hands go.  He let our hands fall down together, our fingers interlocked.  He kept them that way the whole time I talked to him.  I never wanted that moment to end.  

I then told him that we had to get back on the road to Louisiana, and I just wanted to tell him goodbye before we left.  I said, “Thank you, Rooker.  For everything.  For putting up with me all weekend.  This has seriously been the best three days of my life.”  He held out his arms and said, “Awww, c’mere, baby.”  He hugged me again, and I laid my head against his chest.  It was the longest and the tightest hug he had given me so far, and I made sure to pay attention to every little detail:  the cool, silky feel of his shirt on my face, the smell of mint, the way his back felt under my hands.  I could have stayed there forever.  When we finally let go, he said, “Thank you for coming to see me.  Y’all drive safe,” and we said goodbye.

And with that, I walked away.  It was over.  Our “see you tomorrows" had become our final goodbye.  It was all so bittersweet leaving through those convention doors for the last time.  Over three days, Rooker had high-fived me, fist bumped me, called me pet names, held my hands, hugged and kissed me.  I had made him laugh more than once.  He had made me melt 100 times over.  I know I was lucky to have had such an amazing experience with him, and I couldn’t have been happier.  But knowing that there wasn’t going to be a tomorrow with him made me terribly…sad.

I had spent almost a year saving for Fandemic.  It wasn’t cheap, but I had done a lot of photo ops and gotten a lot of autographs and had the time of my life.  I had justified spending so much money by telling myself that this was more than likely a once-in-a-lifetime thing, and I’d probably never get to see Rooker again.  After that weekend, I knew I couldn’t let that happen.  I've already started saving for my next con.  That man means the world to me, and I don’t know where or when (hopefully sometime really soon), but I have to go see him again.

So that’s it.  For the ones that made it this far, that's the story of my little Fandemic adventure, my getting “Rookered" for the very first time, the best three days of my life.  Michael Rooker is the most humble, nicest, most generous, funniest, silliest, best hugs in the world givin’, sweetest person I’ve ever met.  He’s charming as hell, not to mention the sexiest man alive.  There’s a reason he’s my favorite person on earth.  There are not enough words to describe how much I love that man, and I truly hope everyone gets to meet him someday.  

The end.

And, p.s., my new windshield wipers are still going strong 😜.

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 40

We wound up staying at Diana’s until Sunday, then headed home to the chaos that awaited us. My gift for Tom had been well received, the shades of red he’d turned much like watching a tomato ripening in a time lapse video. We decide to wait until he was done filming to have our playtime, hoping things would be a smidge less stressful and that we’d actually have plenty of time to just fuck around. Literally, as the case happened to be. He’d given me a leather lingerie set, complete with crotch-less panties and a corset that I knew would turn my boobs into a squishy shelf…but the best part was the policeman-style cap, which I’d been wearing around the house to torment him.

Monday was spent in the office with Trudy, testing and testing and testing again, over and over, until any bugs we’d found were worked out. As far as we could discern, we were ready to roll. After the security company was done installing everything on Tuesday, it was time to go live with the group of 50 we’d chosen as beta testers. Luke, who’d left at noon with Simon to take care of the final wedding prep tasks, texted me more than two dozen times to express his amazement as he delved into Manageall’s features before, I assumed, Simon took his phone away from him. Radio silence ensued until midnight, when Simon came knocking at the door in a full blown panic because he wasn’t certain his shoes were the same shade of white as his suit. It took me more than an hour to convince him that they were, in fact, the same, and he wrapped me in a grateful embrace and finally left me to get some rest, Tom already in bed and snoring.

The office was officially closed for the next five days, so on Wednesday, when I wasn’t practicing singing, I pretended to not be working while I was actually working until it was time for the quiet dinner we’d planned at Luke and Simon’s. It was just the four of us, plus Roland, who was an absolute delight. We bonded over movies, music and tech and as we were leaving he gave me a tentative hug, blushing furiously afterward, Simon whispering in my ear shortly thereafter that it looked like SOMEONE had a quickly developed a wicked crush on me.  

New Year’s Eve dawned crisp and clear, and Simon and I took a late-afternoon cab ride to Searcys so we could check in and make sure everything was exactly as it should be. We entered the Gherkin, and he grabbed my hand as we got into the elevator, his skin clammy.

“This is happening. It’s happening. I can’t believe it. It’s incredible. I’m so…happy. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m dying.”

I laughed. “You’ll be fine. Everything’s going to be fine. Fine.”

His eyes narrowed. “If that was your attempt at assuaging my nerves…LAME. SO LAME.”

“You think you’re the only one with nerves? I cannot, for the life of me, get the last part of the song right. Because I am not Nina Simone. My scatting SUCKS. SO HARD.”

He released my hand in order to poke me in the shoulder. “I AM GETTING MARRIED AND YOU ARE COMPARING YOUR NERVES WITH MINE?”

“Actually I’m trying to distract you, asshat. Not working, is it?”

“No. Do you have any booze?”

The elevator doors opened, and as we stepped into the room he burst into tears. The round tables were all in place, forming a ring around the room with the center reserved for dancing, with an open spot on the far side of the room where the DJ had begun setting up. They were covered in charcoal grey cloths that matched the gentlemen of the wedding party’s suits, peppered with silver stars, glossy black circular Lucite slabs resting atop them. The centerpieces were twelve silver cylinders arranged in a ring, each with two white roses wound together in them, symbolizing midnight and two becoming one. Which was, you know, a totally minor detail that everyone would be too drunk to care about, but Simon had been so pleased with himself at coming up with the idea I knew he’d be pointing it out all evening and it was my duty as his maid of honor to fill in when he was too sloshed to speak any longer. The chairs, eight per table, were glossy black as well, the napkins gleaming white, the clear glassware and silver flatware smooth and unmarked. Above us was a net of white fairy lights that formed an artificial ceiling several feet below the pointed top of the room, and the floor was black stone, rectangular tiles shined to perfection, my reflection staring back at me when I glanced downward.

“Maude, Maude, it’s…it’s…I just…” He fanned his face with both hands. “Crying is bad. So bad. I can’t start off the evening looking like a puffy, splotchy nightmare.” Several deep, cleansing breaths later he was back in control, walking the room in search of imperfections. The sun had nearly set, and as we looked out the windows the city lights began to come on in quick succession, and the skyline was even more beautiful that it was during the daylight hours. As we drew closer to the DJ, the staff erected a rectangular table that would hold the cake and champagne fountain, the spot directly in front of it marked with an 18” silver star, indicating where the vow exchange was to take place. A voice sounded from behind us.

“A bit early, aren’t you, Simon?”

Turning around, I was stunned by the familiarity of the face in front of me. Her hair was dirty blonde, down past her shoulders, eyes a warm brown, smile welcoming and friendly. Dressed in loose black slacks and a black turtleneck paired with sensible black flats, I was tickled by the silver star-shaped earrings and chain belt she’s chosen to match the theme of the event. Around her neck was a black leather camera strap, the Nikon D5 it connected to in her right hand. Simon squeaked, then gave her a gentle hug, introducing us after pulling away.

“Maude Gallagher, meet Willa Morgan, high-end fashion photographer whom I suckered into shooting a wedding and now owe a huge favor that I will likely never be able to repay. Willa, meet Maude, Social Media Director for Prosper PR and my bestest friend whom I suckered into being my maid of honor which I’m sure she regrets and will hold against me for-ev-er.”

We both laughed, and I extended my left hand, which she shook firmly.

“Lovely to meet you, Maude.”

“Lovely to meet you as well, Willa.”

Her smile faded as she released me, replaced with a look of intense concentration. “Would you two mind standing on the star there so I can gauge some angles?”

We obliged, goofing around and pretending to make out while the poor woman attempted to do her job, eventually giving up on us, shaking her head as she laughed and set about acquiring shots of the rest of the set-up. I whispered in Simon’s ear as we moved to make room for the fountain assembly dolly.

“Um, is it just me or does Willa look EXACTLY like Brie Larson?”

He stared at her in the distance, then turned to me, eyes wide. “You know, I never thought about it before, but she really DOES. I wonder if I have a Doppelganger.” His nose crinkled as if he’d caught whiff of something vile. “Nah, there can’t be anyone out there as pretty as I am.”

It was going on six when we departed, waiting until every little thing was in place, right down to the wedding favors, which were silver mesh bags containing black and white M&Ms with Luke and Simon’s faces on them. I would never forget the day we texted about it, both of us rendered unable to correspond for at least ten minutes after Simon suggested having a special batch made up with dick pics on them for any guests who annoyed him.

Upon my return to our building I was thrown without pause into the chaos that surrounds any wedding party preparing for the celebration. I would be joined at Simon’s side by Roland and Phaedra, who was thrilled that she was so loved that she’d been included as a friend and wasn’t stuck sitting out as the mother of the groom. Luke had Tom, as well as Emma and Darren, his best mate from university. I hadn’t realized how close he and Emma were, but she and Tom had both followed him over to his own firm for personal reasons as well as professional ones. Emma and Phaedra’s dresses, both still hanging on the rack in the hall, were dove grey, with a halter-like top, almost a V-neck with the sleeves removed, leaving only a ribbon of fabric over each clavicle and connecting with the bodice, shoulders fully exposed. They were, in a way, the reverse of my dress. The waist was high, an under-slip of satin topped with translucent silky fabric flowing to ankle length. When I entered our flat my female cohorts were standing in the middle of the living room, clad in white terry-cloth robes, waiting for the make-up and hair team to ready their materials. Emma ran to embrace me.

“Maude! Hi hi hi! It’s been a bit, how are you? So great to see you!”

I squeezed her back, letting go and pulling away when one of the make-us-beautiful people thrust another white robe in my direction. “I’m good, how’s everything with you?”

Her nose scrunched, and she bit her bottom lip briefly. “Well, I’m starting to stress, if I’m honest. The benefit is seventeen days out and I’m still waiting on confirmation from people as to what songs…”

I interrupted her. “Aaaannndd I’m one of those people. Shit. Sorry. Gonna speak for Simon too, because he’ll never remember to tell you. I’m doing ‘Before I’m Dead’ by the Kidney Thieves, Simon’s doing Nirvana’s ‘Heart Shaped Box’ and together we’re attempting ‘Crystalized’ by the xx. Here, I’ll text you that right now. Do you need the durations? I can send you the files too if you want.”

She brushed the side of her hand across her forehead. “Phew. Thanks, that’s one down. Please, do send the files if you have them. I’ll check the length myself. And thank you for being willing to do it…I feel so blessed to be surrounded by such generous people. Ohhh…by the way, I’ve seen the app and it is INCREDIBLE. Can’t wait to use it...” She sighed as one of the hairdressers called her name, then smiled. “Oh well. We’ll get to chat in the car on the way, I’m sure.”

A snort escaped me as I typed out a message for her. “Like Simon’s going to let any of us get a word in edgewise.”

We both laughed, and Phaedra looked up from her own phone, waving as I headed to the bathroom to undress. Once my robe was safely secured over my nakedness, I opened the door to find one Thomas William Hiddleston standing five feet away, already dressed for the evening in his charcoal grey suit, white shirt, silver tie, cummerbund and pocket square. He smiled, and I first melted at the sheer beauty of him, then had a mild panic attack when I realized that the six months until I’d see him dressed for our wedding seemed both like a second and an eternity all at once.

He waved. “Hi.”

I waved back. “Hi. You look like…like…like you should come on over here and kiss me.”

His head shook from side to side, slowly. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Is it?”

He nodded. “Yes. Because I know what’s under that robe. And if I get any closer…”

Raising my hands up near my ears carefully, I began to move backwards into the bathroom. “Right. Okay. Yep. But you know the dress is kinda…worse…”

He saluted, body tensing visibly. “Well I’m off then. Love you.”

“Love you too. One word. Pasties.”

His response was but a muffled groan as he strode quickly into the hall. I was whisked away to a director’s chair, where Marcus sung the praises of my hair and tamed it enough so it could be left down and loose. Emma’s had been pinned into a bun at the nape of her neck, Phaedra’s braided and wound around her head, creating a band of sorts. They were both in the middle of a pre-makeup facial, which I had no interest in receiving but quickly discovered wasn’t optional. After I was deemed clean, fresh and acceptable, foundation was applied, then silver crème and smoky grey shadow, black winged liner, and black mascara. My lips took the longest, first lined with a deep, dark red, then carefully painted blood red, and finally coated with a several layers of silver glitter gloss.  I stood and stretched, arms straight up over my head, sighing softly as I lowered them back to my sides. An older woman approached me, black hair, rail thin, dressed in pink yoga pants and a black and white fitted T-shirt with a giant Hello Kitty on the front. There was a large brown satchel over her shoulder, and a garment bag slung over her outstretched arm. She smiled beatifically.

“Hello, Maude. I’m Gillian. Ready for your dress?”

“Yes. Yes I am. Thank you. Where would you like me?”

Her steel-blue eyes narrowed for a moment. “Well, we’ll need a private space, unless you don’t mind…”

My left hand shot up to shoulder height, palm toward her. “I’ve managed to make it this far without anyone in the room seeing my boobs…let’s keep the streak alive and head up to the master bedroom, if that works for you.”

She nodded, and I led the way, allowing her to enter the space first, then followed, closing the door behind us.

“Lovely flat you have here, Maude.” She placed the garment bag on the bed, ever so gently, and the utter weirdness of having a stranger in a place where so much intimacy happened made me cringe. Just a little, but still…a cringe. Gillian set her satchel on the chair and began rummaging through it, pulling out a small package and a bottle of what I knew had to be body glue. She looked around, pointing toward the bathroom.

“Probably best if we apply the pasties in there…oh, I almost forgot…” Her hand delved back into her bag, neon pink nails seeming to flash as she moved. “Ah, here they are. I have panty options for you as well, in case you need them.”

“Thank you, Gillian. I think I do need them…all my stuff is either dark or patterned.”

She walked into the bathroom, hot-pink Mary Janes clicking on the floor, and I followed. She spread everything out on the countertop…first came the half dozen pasties, all different shades, but all circular with a silver star that matched the dress perfectly in the center. Next to them she plopped a pile of fabric, the details as yet indiscernible, but there was a variation of tone there as well.

Her hands clapped together. “All right then…set your robe aside and we’ll get to work, if you please.”

I undid the tie, let the front hang open, then pulled my arms back through the sleeves and let it fall to the floor. She looked me up and down.

“Oh good, I believe I’ve gotten your sizing just right. And, you wax. Thank the lord for small favors.” I could feel my right brow rise against my will. She laughed. “No shade intended, but gals who prefer the au naturel look make it a bit harder for me to conceal the works without them wearing boxer briefs. With the style dress you have, it has a tendency to ruin the illusion, if you know what I mean.”

“I understand completely.”

She sifted through the pile and held up something that could only be described as a high-waisted thong. I took a moment to consider whether or not I was okay with my ass cheeks hanging out, then quickly shook my head. Next was a simple brief, and I nodded.

“Excellent choice. They’re form fitting and will be rather snug, which should be just fine with your shape. I don’t see much chance of spill-over happening. Now, let’s see which tone matches your skin best.”

Once that decision was made, I put them on…and she wasn’t kidding about the snugness. They were, like, snug to the tenth power snug. But, just as she thought, the band sat right at my waist and thus, there was no muffin-top to be found. She walked around me, checking out the rear view, nodding as she circled back to my front.

“Perfect. They match so well it looks like you aren’t wearing a blessed thing.”

The pasties came next, in the same shade. I stayed behind when she left the room, figuring peeing before putting on the dress was better than going afterward, because with my luck I’d dip it in the bowl and this way I’d at least make it to Searcys in decent shape. Probably. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the way back to the bedroom, I decided I most closely resembled an extra from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, which started me singing the Time Warp under my breath. Gillian was cautiously removing my dress from its bag, and when she lifted her head to smirk at me I knew she’d heard me.

“Oh, that’s a classic, Maude. Well done. You should request it tonight.”

I chuckled. “That is an excellent idea. What’s a wedding without a good pelvic thrust session?”

We both laughed as I stepped into the dress, then slowly worked my arms into the sleeves. Gillian zipped me up, inhaling sharply as she walked round to my front.

“Gorgeous. My word. Futuristic, yet ethereal. Stunning.”

I walked over to the bedroom mirror to take a look, my reflection’s jaw dropping open. The transformative power of a bit of makeup and some fabric never ceased to amaze me.

“Wow, it really DOES look like I’m totally naked. Great job matching the tones, Gillian. Perfection.”

She’d begun gathering her things, stuffing them all unceremoniously back into the satchel. “Thank you kindly. Do you need help with your shoes?”

“Well…probably not…but if you have time…”

She nodded and retrieved them from their box on the dresser. They bore some resemblance to dance shoes, with a two and a half inch spike heel and thick sole in the rounded toe area, two half-inch straps across the top, thoroughly coated in large pieces of silver glitter that matched the stars on my dress perfectly. I remained standing with one hand on the bedpost to maintain my balance as she slipped them on and secured the straps.

“There you are, then. Take a few steps and make sure the straps aren’t too tight.”

I did, heels clicking on the floor, then turned back to her. “Just right. Danceable, even. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s get you downstairs….it’s just about nine and the car needs to be en route by ten after at the latest. New Year’s Eve traffic is hellish, I assure you.”

Phaedra and Emma were waiting in the living room, and they applauded as I descended, both unable to resist the urge to fondle the fabric when I reached them. Emma’s eyes widened when she realized that I didn’t have a full netting underneath, as most sane people would.

“Maude, my lord, those…are those…the stars on your…”

Nodding, I reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “My boobs. Yes. Pasties.” She blushed, and Phaedra sighed.

“Oh, how I miss having breasts that don’t point directly at the floor. Enjoy them, girls, while you still can. The day will come when you have to be cautious lest you light them on fire whilst preparing a meal.”

Emma’s blush deepened. “Phaedrea, oh my god. You’re horrid.”

I did my best to suppress my laughter, but to no avail, and Phaedra joined in. “I speak the truth, Emma. It’s your future. Best embrace it.”

We were interrupted by Simon shouting as he traipsed through the open door.

“LADIES. OUR CARRIAGE HAS ARRIVED. WE MUST LEAVE AT ONCE FOR THE BALL.”

He stood by the kitchen counter, waiting, and I shook my head, incredulous at how absolutely perfect he appeared. Like he’d sprung up from the pages of an elite fashion magazine, his blonde hair slicked back, white suit practically glowing, and when he smiled, I damn near lost my shit.

“Dude. Simon. Dude. Seriously. My god. You’re like an…you look like…like…like an ANGEL. I mean, I know you’re NOT because, reasons, but WOW.”

Four steps forward brought him to me, and he kissed both my cheeks, then took my hands as he leaned back to inspect my attire. “You’re looking rather heaven-sent yourself, Maudie. And thank you. I do look damn fine, don’t I?” He kissed Emma and Phaedra next, expressing his appreciation for their beauty as well, and then we were out the door and down the stairs. Since the ceremony wasn’t until midnight there was no way to hide Luke and Simon from each other, so we’d decided to all share a single stretch limousine. Tom’s expression as he watched me approach him stirred up a slew of emotions in me, running the gamut from mild embarrassment to blatant desire, his unwavering stare seeming to bore right through the little I was wearing. As I drew closer his eyes filled with tears, his jaw unclenching as he smiled and reached for my hand.

“You. Are. So. Beautiful.”

I took hold of him, leaning in to catch his scent as we neared the limo.

“Oh good god, you’re wearing that new cologne again. That little hint of sandalwood mixed with orange…how am I supposed to LIVE?” He chuckled. “And thank you. You’re beautiful too, babe.”

He kissed my cheek as he helped me climb inside. “It’s going to be a long, long night, isn’t it?”

I nodded as I slid over next to Phaedra to make room for him just as Simon cracked open the first bottle of champagne.

“Oh yeah. I hope you have your phone, because I need to capture all this insanity so I can show it to their kids twenty years from now. Preferably right after they give them a lecture about how partying is so very, very inappropriate and bad for them.”

***************************************

It was five after ten when we arrived at Searcys, and the elevator ride up was unusually quiet, Simon and Luke clinging to each other and nervously adjusting each other’s lapels and white rose boutonnieres. Phaedra, Emma and I wore wrist corsages comprised of black netting and two intertwined white roses secured with silver ribbon, for which I was grateful. Schlepping around flowers and trying to have a good time while keeping them looking decent sounded like a total drag. Tom and I held hands, loosely, purely for the purpose of maintaining a physical connection. My nerves were still ever present, despite the fact that I’d sung in front of groups larger than this in the past. To be fair, I’d been intoxicated for most of those shows, though. Tonight, I’d try to lose myself in tasty tidbits and pretend that it was just a friendly karaoke bar, not someone’s once-in-a-lifetime moment. The doors slid open, and there we were, walking into a space that was positively overflowing with love for two people who deserved every single drop of it.

We were whisked away for photos, Willa directing us around the room, deciding who would be in which shots, carefully selecting the perfect backdrops. Once she was through with us, the hors d'oeuvres

stopped circulating and it was time for the seven course sit-down meal to begin. The wedding party was seated closest to the windows on the left side of the room, set back a few feet from the others. It was odd, eating prior to a ceremony, a backwards wedding of sorts, but the food was ridiculously delicious and the company unparalled so time seemed to speed on by. A sorbet was served as a palate cleanser after the main course, and at quarter to midnight we rose from our spots and retreated back toward the entrance where the hair and makeup folks were waiting behind oriental-style screens. Luke and Simon had timed their vows to last for five minutes, so the refresh was brief, followed by us all taking our places for the walk across the dance floor to the silver star marker. Phaedra and Darren walked first, followed by Roland and Emma, then Tom and me. Once we were on the proper sides, the wedding march began, and I had to bite my lip really, really hard so I wouldn’t weep at the sight of Luke and Simon walking towards us, hand in hand, their love for each other so clearly visible in their eyes, their expressions so joyful it was almost painful. They took their places on the star, Willa shooting discreetly yet furiously the entire time, and the officiant began. I missed most of that, only tuning in fully when the vow exchange began. Luke went first, his hand shaking as his right reached out for Simon’s left. His voice was clear, deep, and strong.

“Simon, that day you turned up for an interview…I thought that was the best day of my life. But it wasn’t, actually, because every day since that day has been the best day of my life. You’ve reminded me that there’s so much more to life than striving toward the next slot in the chain of financial success, shown me that joy can be found in even the smallest and bleakest moments. And, you’ve improved my wardrobe in ways I never could have imagined.”

Everyone laughed, and Simon reached up to pat Luke’s cheek.

“Over and above all that, you’ve taught me how to love, and how to love unconditionally. You are the man I dreamt of but never thought I’d ever find. My lover, my friend. It’s my honor to have you as my husband, and to be yours. From this day forward, it’s us, together, always. I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Luke Windsor, do take thee, Simon Ahlberg, to be my lawful wedded husband. Will you accept this ring as a symbol of my commitment to you, to us?”

Simon’s voice broke as he answered. “Yes. I, Simon Ahlberg, take thee, Luke Windsor to be my wedded husband.” Luke slipped the platinum band onto his ring finger, then released him. Simon’s right hand reached out to take Luke’s left, and one incredibly deep breath later he began to speak.

“Luke. That day, when I walked into your office, I was on a mission. A mission to fundamentally change the way I was living. I was burnt out, used up, and in search of something new, something different, something that would inspire me, something that would make me wake up every morning excited and full of wonder. I thought that something would be an occupation, because that’s what filled my life before, but it turned out to be…you. Especially the waking up excited part.” Snickers and guffaws rose up around the room. “It was YOU. And I am the luckiest man, not only on Earth, but in the vastness of the universe, because I have you. Because you love me. ME! It’s ridiculously cliché, but Luke, you make me want to be a better man…and it’s my honor and privilege to share your life from this day forward as your husband. I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Simon Ahlberg, do take thee, Luke Windsor, to be my lawful wedded husband. Will you accept this ring as a symbol of my commitment to you, to us?”

Both of their faces were damp with tears, and Luke swallowed hard twice before he responded. “Yes. Yes, yes, YES. I, Luke Windsor, take thee, Simon Ahlberg to be my wedded husband.”

Simon gently slid the platinum band, a twin of the one he now wore, onto Luke’s ring finger, then reached out to grasp Luke’s right hand with his left. The DJ began the ten second countdown to midnight, and the officiant spoke.

“Let it be known that these two men before me, and before all persons present, have, through their vows, declared themselves bound in matrimony. Ladies and gentlemen, I give to you…the Windsor-Ahlbergs!”

With that the clock struck midnight, Simon and Luke kissed, and congratulatory cheers mixed with shouts of ‘Happy New Year’ rang out. Tom was in front of me before the DJ could even begin to play Auld Lang Syne, his hands on the sides of my face as he bent so we were eye to eye.

“This is it. 2016. Soon enough, we’ll be saying our own vows, exchanging rings and I…I…I’m so in love with you, Maude. Happy New Year.”

His lips met mine, his hands wound around my waist, and mine around his, as we swayed to the music and I realized that I’d honestly never fully comprehended what it was supposed to mean, that New Year’s midnight kiss. Because any I’d ever received before hadn’t meant anything to me when compared to the way I felt right then, in that moment. We broke the kiss as the song ended, and the DJ’s voice boomed loudly through the sound system’s speakers.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR PEOPLE!” A round of cheering broke out again, and the DJ laughed. “All right, all right, you’re excited. Before we party, two things to take care of…the cutting of the cake by our happy couple, and…their first dance. We’re going to do the dance first, because you know someone’s going to get cake smeared all over them and that’s not a good look for the photo album, now is it? Luke and Simon have chosen ‘Feeling Good’ as their wedding song, and it will be performed by none other than maid-of-honor MAUDE GALLAGHER. Give the lady a hand!”

The applause was ridiculously loud, and I looked up at Tom, shouting over the din. “Happy New Year, you beautiful man. I love you. I’m probably going to die of embarrassment when I get to the scatting part, but…I love you.”

He kissed my forehead as he released me. “You’ll be amazing. Go. Do it. I’ll be right here, falling for you all over again.”

My head tilted to the left, mouth open, eyes narrowed. “Dude. I can’t even with you.” I planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.” And then, a microphone magically appeared in my hand, and there I was, standing on that silver star, with Luke and Simon staring at me from the center of the dance floor. And so I dove into the first verse acapella, the way Nina Simone had done it all those years ago.

Birds flyin' high, you know how I feel Sun in the sky, you know how I feel Breeze driftin' on by, you know how I feel It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me. Yeah, it's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me, ooooooooh... And I'm feelin' good. Fish in the sea, you know how I feel River runnin' free, you know how I feel Blossom on the tree, you know how I feel It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me, And I'm feelin' good Dragonfly out in the sun, you know what I mean, don't you know, Butterflies all havin' fun, you know what I mean. Sleep in peace when day is done: that's what I mean, And this old world is a new world and a bold world for me... Stars when you shine, you know how I feel Scent of the pine, you know how I feel Yeah, freedom is mine, and I know how I feel.. It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me And I'm feelin'... good.

The scatting was actually decent, and I knew that what I’d just completed was a personal best for me as far as performances went, and would probably turn out to be the best performance of my life. And it had little to do with me, at all. It was because of the two people running toward me, embracing me, and the love they had for each other that had set them free. And I knew how that felt, and that’s what poured up out of my soul, what powered my voice as I sang those words. Tom joined the group hug, then pulled me away from Simon and Luke.

“My god, that was incredible. You…I just…wow. Wow. Speechless.”

I grinned and pinched his cheek. “Oh, speechless. The best compliment Tom Hiddleston can possibly pay.”

He laughed, and the DJ announced that the time had come for cake chaos. Simon went first, and I was stunned when he held the piece steady and allowed Luke to take a dainty, mess-free bite. Luke’s full on face-smooshing smear fest when it was his turn was equally surprising…and insanely adorable, especially when he tried to help wipe it off and Simon kissed him instead. I turned to Tom.

“Two things. One, if you try to do that to me I’m going to bite your hand off and two, this is all so precious and perfect that I may soon vomit. Will cake help, do you think?”

He nodded. “Cake always helps. And then, dancing?”

“Yes. Cake. Dancing. More cake. More dancing. Repeat as necessary until the paramedics show up to treat either my sugar overdose or painful bodily injury.”

And that’s exactly what we did, until 4 AM rolled around and we staggered to the elevator, then out to the waiting car. Simon and Luke had taken their own to a nearby hotel, where they’d stay until late afternoon tomorrow, when they’d be boarding a plane to enjoy their five day honeymoon in Greece. Phaedra had agreed to see Roland home, and shared a car with Emma and Darren as they were all headed in the same direction, which left Tom and I to our own devices. He wasn’t blotto drunk, but drunk enough to be a terror as far as propriety was concerned, fingers running up and down the V front of my dress, caressing my exposed skin, hand slipping under the fabric to cup my right breast, letting out a frustrated groan because my nipple was hidden beneath the pastie. There was no privacy screen, and I gave up caring that the driver might see, or that he might crash while staring at our antics, instead pulling Tom into a kiss, his mouth tasting of whiskey and ale. Making out was enough of a distraction to get us home without actually exposing ourselves, and when we arrived he ran up the stairs to our flat, taking them two at a time, waited for me for ten seconds, then ran back down, then back up, over and over until I managed to successfully navigate my way to the landing in my stupid heels. His hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t get the key in the door, so I took over, and he pushed me inside as it opened, turned me left into the kitchen, then pressed me up against the counter overlooking the living room. I felt his hands lifting my dress, then on my lower back as he guided me to lean forward. Next were his thumbs inside the waistband of my underwear, rolling them down to my ankles. I heard him unzip, and I moved my legs as far apart as they could go, groaning as the head of him brushed against me before he thrust himself forward and home. It was quick and dirty, his hips rolling as his cock worked its way in and out, faster and faster until I came with a gasp and he followed, whimpering softly, then collapsing on top of me. Several minutes passed and just as I began to entertain the thought that he was out cold he whispered in my ear, voice lacking its usual resonance.

“I’m so sleepy. Will you tuck me in?”

“Yep. You’ve gotta get off me first, though.”

“Ohhhh. That’s right. I’m sorry.” I felt his weight lifting, then disappearing completely. I turned around to find him staring at me, eyes moist. “You’re beautiful.”

I snorted, then bent to remove my shoes so I could slip out of my underwear. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He turned me around slowly, unzipped my dress, then slid it off my shoulders and allowed it to fall to the floor. I rotated to face him, and he pulled me into an embrace and nuzzled my neck.

“Wife.”

“Soon.”

“Since I saw you.”

I inhaled sharply. “Thomas.”

“Love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Let’s go upstairs, okay?”

“M’kay.”

I made him go first, just in case. Not that I’d have been able to catch him if anything happened, but it made me feel better. I helped him undress, then tucked him in, as requested, kissing him goodnight before I headed off to shower. The pasties came off rather quickly, the makeup, not so much. Especially the glitter gloss, which made me grateful I didn’t have to deal with such shit on a daily basis. I toweled off, used the toilet one last time, then crawled in next to Tom. He rolled over, muttering something I couldn’t quite decipher as he wrapped his arm around me, hand cupping my breast. My eyes closed as his warmth enveloped me, and I dozed off trying to count how many days remained until June 29th.

****************************************

We spent the weekend recovering, just the two of us, heading out for food periodically but otherwise just enjoying…being. Time felt like the enemy, and even though I tried to ignore it, my brain kept counting of the days we had left before his flight to Australia. Monday I was back in the office, working on marketing materials for the app and testing the customer management systems with Trudy. The rest of the staff picked up any slack left by Luke and Simon’s absence, their duties relatively minimal as our client base had been made aware of the wedding and honeymoon schedule well in advance. Tuesday and Wednesday were more of the same, with the additional tasks of contacting all the beta testers to request their reviews and creating an instructional video to post on the main website. Thursday was freak-out day, as it was my last official day of work prior to launch, and the last night I’d be sharing a bed with Tom for more than two weeks. Seventeen days, to be precise.

Dinner was delivery pizza, followed by ice cream sundaes for dessert. Afterward, I helped him pack, and the strangeness of assisting the person I had grown so used to and loved having so close to me prepare to be so far away melted my brain a little. We showered, then attempted to sleep, but spent most of the night making love or simply staring at each other, as if committing as much detail as we could to memory so we’d have it as a touchstone while we were apart.

Friday morning we were out the door and into a waiting cab by ten AM in order to arrive at Heathrow in plenty of time for his twelve forty-five PM flight. It would be a long one, twenty-five hours at minimum, during which I hoped he’d get some rest. Brisbane awaited, and there’d be staff housing as well as opportunities to visit the Hemsworths in Byron Bay. Jordan had chosen the Gold Coast to film, Queensland offering savannah-like settings as well as a tropical rainforest.

Both of us were silent on the ride, holding hands, his thumb rubbing my wrist. We’d agreed to say our goodbyes just inside the main entrance, with me then returning to the cab and heading home while he checked in and went through security. The cab driver helped unload his baggage, then drove off to circle around until our paths coincided again, at which point he’d pick me up.

I felt like I was going to puke at the sight of the gates, which made me wonder if this was going to become a ‘thing’…me stress-barfing at airports. Tom set the backpack he’d slung over his shoulder on the floor next to the rest of his luggage, then turned to me.

“Well. Guess this is it, then.” He ran one hand through is hair. “Not sure I can do this, Maude.”

I reached out to touch his arm, reveling in the feel of his long blue coat. “Yes you can. It’s okay. It’s going to be fine. Seventeen days and you’ll be picking my ass up in Brisbane. No big deal.” His hand caressed my cheek, and I burst into tears. “Shit. I told myself I wasn’t going to cry, and now I’m crying. Epic fail. I’m sorry.”

He pulled me into his arms, one hand on the back of my head pressing me to his chest. “Don’t you be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m the one who has to leave.”

I leaned backwards so I could see his face, noticing that he was trying to hold back his own tears but was losing the battle, one already spilling over and running down his cheek. “No, I am. I’m the one who has to STAY.”

We clung to each other, weeping quietly, until we both breathed deeply, knowing it was time to let go, whether we liked it or not. I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand. “All right. I need to get the fuck out of here before I wind up throwing myself on the floor and wrapping my arms around your leg like a ball and chain.”

He laughed, then bent to kiss me…long, slow, deliberate and full of everything we couldn’t say. He broke away first, taking my hands in his.

“I am going to miss you like I’ve never missed anything ever before in my life. But we’ll text, we’ll call, we’ll Skype, and I’ll be busy and you’ll be busy and the days will pass and you’ll be back in my arms again in the blink of an eye.”

I nodded and let go of his hands. “It’ll all be okay. I know. You know. It doesn’t make it suck any less, but it’ll be okay. Stay safe, Hiddleston. I love you. Heart and soul.”

He smiled, red-rimmed eyes displaying a glimmer of hope, and joy. “I love you too, Maude. Heart and soul. I’ll see you soon. Good luck with the launch, and the show.”

“Tell Kong I said hello. And, you know, everyone else, too.”

“I shall.”

With that, he gathered up his luggage, returned the backpack to his shoulder, then turned away from me and began to walk down the hall. I waited for a moment, staring at him, and he spun around quickly, waved, then turned back around and kept going, and I turned myself and half-jogged out to the curb, choking back seemingly endless sobs as I waited for the cab that would bring me back to our flat. Our flat, with just me in it. Alone.

wicked games [15]

Summary: New relationships are forged, and old ones kept aflame; does any of it matter when Tom isn’t the same as before?

Pairing: CEO!Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+ ONLY || vaginal penetration, unprotected sex [use condoms for god’s sake lol]; commitment issues (yes, it needs its own warning)

Word Count: 4,596

A/N: I’m taking people off the tag list if you’re just not gonna bother reading this anymore, ok thanks! :) also, the next chapter won’t be out until after March 2nd, so consider this your fair warning. Don’t ask when it’ll be out after today. Enjoy xx

series masterlist

“You’re joking.”

“It’s not my fault your friends like me better, Tommy.” You stifled a laugh as you pictured the pout most definitely pulling at his lips as his end remained silent.

“I’d rather Harrison take you dress shopping, and you know I’d kill him if he ever did,”

“Relax! You’re acting like it’s the end of the world because I’m choosing to spend time with her, Tom,”

“Yeah, my world is ending because of this!” He huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he paced back and forth behind his desk. “Just… promise me you won’t take everything she says to heart? She can be a little blunt, is all,”

“Stop telling your girlfriend I’m a bitch, Stanley. We’ll see you later, bye!” Mary grabbed the phone off the counter, hanging up on him before you had a chance to stop her. As soon as you two locked eyes, you burst out laughing while Mary smirked, downing the rest of her glass of wine.

“You ready?”

“God, yes.”

———————————————————————

The drive down to Manhattan was a fun one; the September skies of New York complemented Mary’s divulgation of many hilarious stories about her college days with Harrison and Tom, all while expertly dodging your question on how they had first met.

When the car pulled up to the storefront, Mary helped you out onto the sidewalk.

“Holy shit,” You said under your breath, eyes widening as you recognized the boutique in front of you.

“Only the best for you… and my gala, of course. C’mon!” Mary lead the way, practically dragging you along. A few minutes later, and you were stepping onto the extravagant showroom floor. Evening dresses and wedding gowns alike lined the racks and showcases surrounding you, sparkling and calling your name.

“Good morning, Ms. Robinson. We have the room set up in the back, just as you asked. Anything else that you may require as of now?”

“All the dress choices I sent in are there?” The woman, who had greeted you at the door, nodded. “Then I think we are all good. Clara will be there, too?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Perfect. We’re going to take a look around the floor and then go to the room, okay? Thank you, Liza!” Mary took your hand in hers and lead you towards one area full of evening dresses, a giddy smile on her face.

You followed her as she walked up to a few dresses, letting go of your hand as she took hold of the velvety fabric. Trailing your hand down the row of gowns, you found one that stood out, and smiled as you took in its beauty. Flipping the price tag over, you almost choked as you read the numbers.

“You okay?” Mary asked, looking up from the dress she was holding.

“Almost $10,000 for a dress?!” You said sharply, eyes wide as you flashed her the tag. She merely shrugged, nodding.

“That’s pretty cheap; Tom usually goes for the ones upwards of twenty grand, I think. Besides, I know for a fact that money shouldn’t be a problem, right?” She raised an eyebrow as you looked at her, teeth digging into your lip.

“It’s just…” You didn’t know what to say. Too much money? Too much guilt? Mary sighed and walked over to you, resting a hand on her hip as she tilted your chin up to meet her gaze.

“It’s his money, babe. You get to use it to look hot as fuck, so let’s make his jaw drop, yeah?”

———————————————————————

Twenty dresses and a few flutes of champagne each later, the two of you finally settled on your gowns for the event. Standing in front of the massive 180-degree mirror, you admired the dress that had managed to steal your heart - and hopefully Tom’s, too. After all, it was costing him almost ten grand.

“Holy shit, I’m in love,” Mary gasped, smiling as she studied you from the doorway of her dressing room.

“Really?” You asked, gently running your fingers over the sequin inlays on the skirt.

“I’ll smack Tom if this doesn’t wreck him, honestly.” You rolled your eyes at her in the mirror and turned to your side as you continued marveling at your choice.

It was an A-line, dusty pink sheer gown with a deep V-neck and backless, just like the last dress Tom had chosen for you; he was bound to love it. The sequin patterns decorating the fabric were just the right amount, and made you enjoy being under the spotlight.

You felt a tap on your shoulder, Mary standing right behind you as you smiled in embarrassment .

“Am I taking too long?”

“We’ve got all the time in the world. I’m gonna check my dress out though, if you don’t mind,” She gestured to what she was wearing and you let out a small “oh, wow” as you nodded, stepping off the pedestal.

Her gown was a dark blue, floor length A-line tulle with a sequined flower design and V-neck. You watched her study herself with pride, her hands running over the fabric as she slowly turned around and looked at the dress from all angles.

“Can’t be too extra with the dress this time around, unfortunately. What with my parents being there and everything; gotta keep it all nice and ‘proper’, if you will,” She muttered, rolling her eyes as she stepped off the pedestal. “But, at least one of us will be a showstopper. No jewelry with this, okay? Dangly earrings yes, but no necklace or bracelets. God, I really should have gone into designing.”

“You would’ve been damn good at it,” Mary smiled at your words, cupping your cheek for a moment before walking back to her room.

“Let’s get some extra shit anyways, yeah?”

———————————————————————

Before you knew it, the day of Mary’s gala had arrived. It was an oddly warm day in October, which you were silently grateful for as you spent the morning getting ready for the big night.

Tom had gone into the office early that Saturday morning, wanting to make sure everything was in order for his string of meetings come the start of the new week. The party started early, with cocktails and hors d’oeuvres at five pm. The clock was nearing four o’clock when you finally put on your dress with the help of Ana, who Tom had called in to help with any last minute intakes.

“You look like a princess, miss Y/N,” She said as you stood before the mirror, a massive smile on your face.

“All she needs is a tiara and ring.” You spun around as his voice rang clear as day in your ears, a smug smile on his lips as he closed the distance between you.

“Welcome back, office bug,”

“Bug? What are you insinuating, darling?” You rolled your eyes at his coy response, earning you a tight squeeze of your hip as he bit back his tongue.

“I missed you,” you whispered, meeting his soft gaze as he slowly rubbed your arm.

“And I you. Have I said that you look absolutely ravishing in this dress? Because God, am I obsessed,” He said in awe, stepping back and spinning you around as he took in your heavenly appearance.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” You said, rather shocked. He was donning one of his Armani suits, with a plain white shirt and a pair of Converse. One of his Rolexs sat on his wrist as he pulled you back to him, eyebrows raised in question.

“You’re right; you need to change so no one will ogle you.” You smacked his chest, rolling your eyes.

“Not what I said, at all. Mary’s gonna kill you,”

“Please. We won’t even be staying the entire time,” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before brushing back some of your hair, his hot breath hitting your ear. “Especially with you looking like this, princess.”

You couldn’t help the slight shiver that ran down your spine at his words, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips as he rested his hand on the exposed small of your back, guiding you out into the hallway.

“Let me get my phone, and we’ll be on our way, okay?”

———————————————————————

“New York royalty! Or is there another name you prefer?” Harrison laughed as you and Tom walked up to him, letting him pull you into an embrace while Tom just slapped his back, rolling his eyes.

“The paps outside wouldn’t leave us alone, for fuck’s sake, mate! I forgot how much Mary loves getting her goddamn picture taken,” He muttered, wrapping his arm around your waist the second Harrison let you go.

“Let her be, man. The Robinson clan is making a special appearance tonight, so she had to pull out all the stops. Besides, who wouldn’t want to snap a pic of this angel right here?” Tom glared at his best friend as the both of you laughed, a slight blush spreading over Harrison’s cheeks as he raised his hands up in mock surrender. “You know I’m joking, mate. Nice um, shoes, yeah?” He nodded at the - in your opinion - ridiculous choice Tom had made.

“Yes, real nice choice, dumbass.” Mary appeared out of nowhere, hand on her hip and a glass of scotch in the other, eyes narrowed as she looked over Tom’s clothes. “Seriously? A CEO showing up like this?” She waved her hand around, rolling her eyes.

“Would you relax? It’s Armani,”

“I don’t care if the suit’s Armani; you’re wearing Converse, Stanley!” She scoffed, eyebrows raised in annoyance.

“Yeah, could’ve worn a real shirt at best, mate,” Harrison added, shutting his mouth when Mary glanced at him.

“Fuck off, Mary. If this wasn’t your gig, you’d be wearing Birkenstocks, and we all know that!” Harrison visibly cracked up at that, quietly clearing his throat as Mary stepped up to Tom, eyes enraged.

“You may be right, but your shirt looks like one of those Hanes $5 t-shirts from Wal-Mart, honey.”

“Eat shit, Robinson,”

“As long as it’s not yours, Holland. I’ve got more people to see - don’t abuse the open bar, you little shits!” She called out as she walked away, an apologetic smile flashed in your direction as she weaved through the growing crowd of attendees.

“Is this how it’s always going to be?” You asked, brows furrowed as Tom pressed a kiss to your forehead for a brief second before stepping back.

“She knows how to get to him, and he can’t stand that he doesn’t know how to rile her up so yeah, it’s probably going to always be like this,” Harrison said, shrugging as you nodded in reluctant acceptance.

“Let’s find our table.”

An hour or two passed, the table finally filling up with a bunch of men who’d gone to Stanford with the boys, a few of them were fraternity brothers that had gotten word from them after they’d graduated.

You’d gone to the bathroom to fix your lipstick, and upon your return, caught Harrison taking a picture of Tom with some of the men from earlier, middle fingers out.

“Really?” You said in disappointment once he’d taken the photo and given the phone back to its rightful owner.

“All in good fun, darling,” Tom answered, smiling softly as you sat down next to him, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“When can we go home?” You asked quietly, resting your hand on his thigh. He laid his hand over yours, caressing your skin as he leaned forward to leave a chaste kiss on your shoulder.

“Will you be mine for the night?” You turned back to see his flushed face, teeth digging into his lip as he met your gaze.

“Always, Tom.”

———————————————————————

Two weeks had passed since the gala, and you had no idea where he was.

No idea how to get into contact with him.

No one to turn to.

Well, no one who could help in any capacity.

“I know as much as you do… which is nothing, but regardless, I swear this isn’t like that other time, Y/N. I have no clue where he’s gone off to. Mary won’t be of any help; she’s the last person he’d trust with information like this.”

“I don’t understand why he felt the need to do this!” You said in exasperation, throwing your hands up in the air in frustration as you sat down on the sofa. “I thought we were doing okay, but clearly not. Fucking hell,” You muttered, covering your face with your hands.

Tom had been working practically non-stop since the gala; meeting after meeting, flying cross-country to visit other companies interested in investing with him - or in the company itself. You grew concerned when he stopped taking your calls a week ago, only to flat out freak out when neither Harrison nor his father could get ahold of him.

You and Harrison had spent the last few days getting in contact with everyone he had been scheduled to see: they all said they’d met with him, signed agreements with lawyers present, and were done before the business day was over. He was supposed to come back last night.

Supposed to.

“I just… how are his parents not losing their shit over this? I mean, it’s their son, for fuck’s sake!” You cried out, groaning loudly as you laid back on the couch.

“This is nothing new to them, unfortunately. He goes off the grid - with Dom especially - a lot of times, only to resurface a couple days - or weeks - later, safe and sound.”

“Yeah, but in those cases, he at least tells you where he’s going. What’s happened that now we’re both in the dark, Haz?” You looked over at him pacing in front of the fireplace, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and a look of profound concern etched on his face.

“What is it?” You knew that look - he was debating whether or not to tell you something about Tom. “Harrison, tell me. Please?”

He stopped moving, refusing to look at you as he ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s just… well, I… fuck. This is hard, okay? A part of me knows I need to tell you this, but there’s the other part that says this is -”

“- betraying his trust?” He looked up and nodded, sheepishly shrugging.

“I know I’m insane, but he’s like my brother, Y/N, and I just, I dunno,”

“Would this be a bad time to admit something?” You said, making Harrison face you, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Admit what?”

“That I… I might love him?”

“What?” His eyes were wide, jaw slack as he stared at you.

“What?”

“Did I… did you? Did I… hear you correctly? Are you sure? Like, are you 100% sure?” Harrison was bewildered and out of breath, his thoughts racing a mile a minute as he tried to calm down.

“Haz, that doesn’t help at all right now! I want to kill him because he’s gone off on this fucking bender and I’m sitting here not knowing what to think, but god, I just need to know he’s okay! That’s all I care about.”

“Well, now I definitely don’t want to say what I was going to before.” His cheeks were a pale red, his gaze glancing around the room as you sat up on the couch.

“Spit it out, or else I might kill you.” He held his hands up and nodded.

“Alright, alright. I’m sure you’re aware by now that Tom and his dad don’t… get along. Or really fucking hate each other; whichever way you want to look at it.” You nodded, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as he continued.

“Dominic’s been threatening to take the company away if Tom fucks up one more time. And before you ask how he’s ever done that, he’s not talking about with the company. He’s talking about Tom and what he chooses to do in his free time.”

“And what the hell does that mean?” The repressed anger towards Tom was starting to resurface with all the worst case scenarios running through your mind.

“His drinking and outrageous - to say the least - partying habits. Dom’s paid a fairly substantial amount of money to make sure none of it ever gets out to the public, but that obviously can’t go on forever.”

“And he holds the fucking company over his head for having fun? He’s worse than I thought,”

“I would say more, but Nick’s just texted me - he went to the other apartment and just found the man of hour.” You clapped your hands over your mouth as you gasped loudly, the sting of hot tears welling up in the corners of your eyes nothing compared to the weight that was just lifted off your heart.

He’s okay.

———————————————————————

You were pacing around the foyer when the elevator bell finally rang, the doors taking their sweet time in opening.

Your heart was bound to leap out of your chest the second you laid eyes on him, but instead all you could feel was relief as he stepped out into the apartment, head hanging low.

Neither of you said a word, even though you were dying to say something, anything.

He moved first.

Step by step, he walked up to you, eyes glued to the floor as he raised his head up to rest his forehead against yours.

“You’re here.” he breathed in relief.

What you said in response pulled him out of the comfort he’d just started to sink into.

“I shouldn’t be here. Not after all this.”

He stepped back, brows furrowed as he processed your words.

“What… what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Now’s not the time to start playing this shit, Tom. You’ve been gone for two weeks without so much as a word from you. You don’t get to play dumb. What happened?” You moved back from him as he reached out for you, knowing full well the second he touched you, you’d lose all focus.

He wasn’t going to get away with it this time.

“Y/N, it was nothing. I just got caught up in the work like I always do. I swear baby, it’s fine. I’m fine,”

“You know it’s not! When you were drunk on the living room floor, crying, you told me you knew none of this - leaving and disappearing - was okay! You told me I deserve better than that, and you’re right, I do. But I’m still here. For you, Tom.” You took another step back when he shifted forward, trying your best to ignore the pained look that flashed over his features as you did so.

“Why stay when you know how fucked up this all is? How fucked up I am? What’s the point?” His words hurt him more than he cared to admit, but he needed to know.

“You told me once that you wanted someone who could be there for you. And I am, always. I stay and I stay, but how the hell will it ever work when you won’t let me be there for you?”

Your chest was slightly heaving, your face hot with frustration and panic as you watched him. When he locked eyes with you, you could there was… something in his eyes. You didn’t want to think about it as he closed the distance between you, his body relaxing when you didn’t move away.

Cupping your cheek, he looked into your eyes as if he were searching for something. His gaze slowly flitted down to your lips, his tongue poking out and licking his own before he spoke.

“You need to stop me before it all goes to hell.” he whispered as he leaned in closer.

“And what if I want it to?”

Without another thought, Tom grabbed ahold of you and crashed his lips against yours, taking his hands and carding them through your hair, effectively pulling it back. You whined into the kiss when he nipped your bottom lip, and suddenly every part of him yearned to touch you everywhere at once.

Your hands were intertwined with his curls, slowly dropping down to his neck with every pass of his tongue against yours. His skin burned under your warm, delicate touch, and all he wanted was to feel you pressed up close against him.

His hands settled on your waist, your whines music to his ears as he pulled away. He trailed wet, sloppy kisses down your jaw to your neck as his hands brought you flush against him. Gently pushing you back, he guided you both to his bedroom, his hands getting to work on both of your clothes as you went.

He undid the buttons of his own dress shirt and the one you were wearing, his hands brushing against your bare skin as he moved to undo the tie of your pajama shorts. You hastily pushed open the door of his room as the pair of you stumbled in, your hands wrapped up in each other as he pushed it shut.

Kicking off his jeans and boxers, Tom pushed you down onto the bed and crawled up your body, kissing every inch of you he could get his lips on. He undid your bra without looking, pulling it down your chest to latch his mouth onto one of your nipples. Kneading your other breast, he took his time covering your soft flesh with hickies, his mouth never leaving you as he moved to give the each breast equal attention. You whined quietly as he tugged your nipple between his teeth, your hands instinctively pulling on his hair, silently begging him to kiss you again.

He moaned softly at the feeling, thriving off this different kind of begging. This level of need was something he’d never experienced before but God, was he addicted.

Moving up your body, he lavished your neck in kisses as if he couldn’t get enough.

“You’re so beautiful, angel,” he murmured against your skin, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he brushed his nose against your jaw. “Perfect in every way,” he nipped at your skin before kissing the bruising flesh. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Your whimpers in his ear spurred him on; he couldn’t help every word that fell from his tongue, telling you just how obsessed he was with you, in every way imaginable. With your hands tangled up in his hair and his hips grinding against yours, you couldn’t ignore the growing ache between your legs.

The tip of his cock barely brushed against your covered clit, making you moan wantonly as you tugged on his hair, pulling him back to you. Wriggling underneath him, trying to create some sort of friction, dying to feel him, Tom whispered in your ear,

“Nice and easy, baby girl. M’gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”

Without another word, he pushed aside your panties and trailed a finger through your folds, groaning into your neck at how wet you already were. He kissed back down your neck, deciding to focus on your breasts as he continued to grind against you.

As soon as his tongue swirled around your nipple, you pressed your nails into his scalp, savoring the deep growl in his throat as he teases your entrance with the head of his cock. Whimpering softly, you dropped a hand to his back, gently scratching down to urge him on.

Finally pushing in, he moaned, savoring the way you gasped and how fucking good you felt around him. Your walls clenched around his cock when he bottomed out and he grunted loudly, clenching his jaw tightly as he pushed your hips down the second you tried to lift them up.

Attaching his lips to your neck again, he sucked on your skin before proceeding to nip at the shell of your ear.

“You do that again, I won’t be able to stop myself, princess.”

His words only fueled your deep desire for him to be as rough as could be, but you knew he needed this… this different kind of sex. So you whimpered, kissing the top of his head as he moved down to your breasts again.

Burying his face in the valley between them, he whined softly before whispering,

“I love these so much, baby… could spend days just showering them in love,”

You hummed in reply, slowly pushing your hips up to meet his after he finally took his weight off of you, and you let him kiss and bite and grab you everywhere he could.

He hovered over you for a moment and let his head hang above yours, his long curls falling over his face. You brushed it back and pulled him down to you, kissing his neck and tracing patterns over his shoulders and back as he started to slowly thrust in and out, wanting him to savor every second.

When the head of his cock grazed your sweet spot, you couldn’t help but moan and all he could do was smile, trying his best not to move as he tried to hit against it again, hoping to hear that heavenly sound again.

Tom never pulled away afterwards, what with your chests pressed up against each other, his lips never leaving your skin as you dug your nails into his skin with every drag of his cock against your aching walls.

Tugging on his curls once more, you pulled him back to your needy lips, eager to feel his tongue dancing with yours as he brought you closer to the edge. You were so close, and he could tell because of your soft gasps; the way your eyes were fluttering closed as you held him as close to you as you could.

You couldn’t stave off your orgasm anymore, but you needed him with you every step of the way, so you clenched around him again to push him to the brink with you. Slipping his tongue into your mouth once more, he moaned against your lips as he dropped his hand to your clit, drawing heavenly circles on the sensitive bud.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, you threw your head back as you felt the heavy wave of release hit you from every angle.

“Don’t stop, oh my go-... it feels so good, please,” you whined, moaning shamelessly as Tom picked up the pace and slowly fucked you through your orgasm.

You came with a loud, keening cry, repeating his name like a mantra.

“Oh, Tom, fuck… yes, Tom,”

He couldn’t stop himself from coming deep inside you the second he realized you were saying his name. His hips faltered against you, a loud growl rumbling deep in his chest his only warning as he came, your walls clenching around his cock as it throbbed.

You shushed him through the high, kissing every inch of his face as his chest heaved from the riveting pleasure. He let himself slowly fall on top of you, his hands moving to your hips as he turned you both over onto your sides.

With his face buried in the crook of your neck, you kissed his hair, stroking his back while he regained control of his breathing.

Sated, Tom drifted off, well aware that this… this wasn’t just fucking anymore; it had crossed the line to something completely different and foreign to him.

As you let the sweet haze overcome you, all you could think was that it was definitely good right now… even if it might not be okay later.

Imagine: Insecure Black plus sized reader x Tom Hiddleston

Requested by @thisiskayworld : Can I get a plus size black reader who’s with Tom Hiddleston but is kinda insecure because she’s not the women he’s dated before (l.e Taylor Swift) but he shows her how beautiful she is to him  (maybe a little smutty)

“Hi and welcome back to E!News, now let’s talk about the hottest topic at the moment!” Ryan Seacrest spoke on the TV.  “Tom Hiddleston just announced on his Instagram that he’s been dating Y/n for a year. The superstar took it up himself and posted a picture of Y/n and wrote”, he finished before Tom’s picture was shown on the screen.

“My darling Y/n, today it’s been a whole year of full of love, kindness passion and growth. One year since I made the best decision in asking you on a date. One year since you’ve shown me what true love is! I love you my sweet darling. Sincerely your loving boyfriend Tom xx.”

“Wow isn’t that the sweetest? But how come that Tom changed from Taylor Swift to a big sized business woman like Y/n?”, Ryan questioned.

I frowned and looked down, fidgeting with my fingers. Ever since Tom posted that picture of me, my social media accounts have been blowing up. Most of his nice and wonderful fans have messages me and told me that they were happy that we’re a couple, and other people told me to lose weight, participate in the biggest loser or told that Tom downgraded by asking me out.

Suddenly the TV was turned off. Turning around Tom was standing behind me with the remote in his hands and an angry look on his face.

“It’s none of their business”, Tom spoke clearly annoyed at Ryan Seacrest. I sighed and stood up wanting to go to our shared room and hide myself under the covers.

Tom stopped me by reaching for my arm and pulling me in a tight hug. “You’re beautiful Y/n, all of you, please don’t listen to those attention seekers. I love every inch of your beautiful dark skin darling”, he whispered and then kissed my forehead. I sighed and closed my eyes and enjoyed having Tom so close to  me.

“Thanks baby, I love you”, I told him while looking up to him. He smiled back at me, his eyes holding so much love in them. “I love you too darling”, he whispered.

“Hey are you hungry? I could make us something to eat”, I asked Tom, my stomach growling at the fact that I hadn’t eaten yet. Tom nodded his head and followed me into the kitchen, his hands never left my thick waist.

I decided to make some fajitas with salsa sauce and guacamole. Tom helped me season and cook the chicken in the pan, while I cut some tomatoes, red onions, peppers and made the salsa sauce and guacamole.\

We finished cooking after an hour. Tom took his plate and went into the living room, making himself comfortable on the couch. I followed him after I finished cleaning and washing the pans we used.

I sat next to him on the couch, “Bon appétit”, I told Tom. He chuckled and gave me a sweet kiss before repeating the words to me. We ate in a comfortable silence. “Wait don’t move Y/n”, Tom said suddenly while taking his phone out of his pocket.

“Smile baby”, Tom instructed me while he held his phone in front of him.  I smiled and stuck my tongue out for him. Tom chuckled and posted the picture and tagged you in it with the caption “Eating with my favorite person”

He locked his phone and we finished eating. I leaned my back against the couch and closed my eyes, feeling full and happy. Soft lips pressed against mine, making me open my eyes and see Tom kissing me sweetly.

“Sorry you just looked so cute, I couldn’t help myself”, he apologized. I laughed and told him that I didn’t mind it at all. Tom smiled at me before taking our plates from the table and walking into the kitchen. Suddenly phone buzzed on the table. I picked it up, unlocked it and saw that the tagged picture Tom posted of me was liked by Taylor Swift liked and commented “So pretty” and every body was going crazy

I clicked on Tom’s pic and went into the comment section.

Taylor Swift: So pretty

Ew Taylor probably commented because she felt sorry Tom’s downgrade

Omg Tom should watch out, his “favorite”person might eat him next

Y/n is not a good role model, she’s showing all that’s it’s good to be overweight and do nothing about it

Omg Tom should’ve stayed with Taylor, at least he could pick her up lol

The comments never stopped...I felt a pang of hurt run through me as I read through the negative comments about me. Everybody was telling me to lose weight, some even proposed to make me a work out plan.

I felt so ashamed reading all the comments. Maybe it’s true, maybe Tom shoudl’ve stayed with Taylor or someone thin...My view on my phone became glossy as I felt the tears build up and run down my cheeks. I closed my eyes and sobbed into my hands. I tried to be as confident as possible but those comments always tore me down and made me ashamed of my thick curvy body.

I didn’t notice that Tom had come back in the living room. When he saw me crying he rushed over to me. “Darling what’s wrong”, he asked me panicked while frantically trying to get me to look at him. I bowed my head and gave him my phone.

Tom looked at me confused while I stood up and started to walk up the stairs, into our shared bedroom. Tom didn’t know what happened. He hated seeing his precious Y/n cry because it hurt him.

He unlocked Y/n’s phone and immediately was in the comment section of his picture. He read what Taylor had written and shook his head confused to why she would even make the effort to comment something. But the comments that followed hers were the worst. He read them all and felt so much anger run through his body.

Tom dropped the phone and went up the stairs, into his and Y/n’s shared room.

I was lying on the bed when I heard Tom’s footsteps approaching. I panicked at ran into the bathroom and locked the door. “Darling?”, Tom called out for me.

I sniffled while wiping the tears off my face. I walked over to the mirror and took some wet wipes to remove my make up. “Darling please open the door”, Tom begged while knocking on the door.

I sighed and walked to the door and opened it, being greeted with Tom looking hurt, angry and worried. “ I read the comments”, he spoke softly. I nodded my head and walked into the bedroom with Tom following me.

“Lay down on the bed”, he suddenly instructed me. I frowned but silently did what he asked me to do. I laid on my back and looked up at Tom who crawled over to me and hovered above me. “I love you, every inch darling. Please don’t think that you’re less worth because of your weight. You’re perfect I love every stretch mark, cellulite dimple and all the thickness of you.”, he whispered while staring into my eyes.

I stared back and in that moment it really downed on me. Tom loved me no matter what and no matte how much I  weight. I leaned up and kissed him, showing him how much I loved him. Tom kissed me back with just as much emotion.

I pulled back and smiled up to my handsome boyfriend. He winked at me before he started undressing me. He took his time to kiss and caress every inch of my skin until I was lying naked on the bed.

Tom stood up and removed his own clothes before he hovered above me again and kissed me sensually. I moaned as his hands went down my waist and gripped them tight. Tom continued to leave kisses all over my body before he positioned himself in between my spread legs and started to kiss my inner thighs.

“If you would know how much I love your thighs wrapped around my head and waist darling”, he whispered before grabbing them and wrapping them around his head, while darting his tongue out and slowly moving it over my clit.

The action made me cry out in pleasure, getting more and more aroused.Tom wrapped his lips around my clit and started to suck on it, while he slowly slid two fingers in my entrance.

I cried out and arched my back from the bed while Tom never stopped his movement. His fingers picked up the pace as he drove me to my high. I came with a loud gasp and moaned Tom’s name when he kept on sucking on my clit, making my thighs shake.

After I came down from my high, Tom unwrapped my thighs from his head and crawled up until he was facing me again. He kissed me, making me taste myself. His lips never left mine when he aligned his length to my entrance and thrusted into me.

I whimpered in the kiss and wrapped my arms around his waist while Tom thrusted into me with a steady rhythm. Tom groaned and let his head fall in the crook of my neck while whispering how much he loved me.

“You’re a goddess darling”, Tom said through gritted teeth, the pleasure making it hard for him to speak. I moaned when I felt him twitch inside of me, while I felt my second orgasm approaching.

I arched my back when Tom suddenly lifted my right leg and positioned it on his shoulder, the position making him reach a deeper spot inside of me. Tom moaned and thrusted deeper into me, hitting my sweet spot over and over again.

I came with a loud whimper, while Tom continued to thrust into me. He came shortly after me, feeling my inner walls clench around him. Tom slipped out of me, and laid next to me while trying to catch his breath.

“I love you sweetheart”, he whispered.

“I love you too Tom, so much”.

Hope you like this one :D

Requests are open :)

xxx

Emma <3

⇾ dick n’ go (m)

⇁ female reader x seokjin

⇁ smut, crack || shopping for dicc!au

⇁ male objectification, superficiality, fuckgirl!reader, dirty talk, and cocky!jin if that isn’t your thing

⇁12.8k 

. . .

After trooping through a series of horrendous first dates and mediocre hookups, you were convinced you would never find a man capable of satisfying your needs. Your friend recommends you try a slightly unconventional method to remedy your bad luck.  

↳ alternatively: seokjin has a five star dick and you decide to give it a go

a/n; happiest birthday to my porn watching partner in crime, the one who sends me pics of Seokjin Bulges and occasionally of hairy toes !! i love you (ps; ty to everyone who encouraged me to finally finish this semi autobiographical piece;;)

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“ — remarkable churn rate,” he boasted, the corner of his lips twitching into a satisfied smirk. “Of course, I’m aware this might not be of any significance to you, but it’s quite outstanding considering the circumstances.”

The soft glow of the candles cast shadows on his face, accentuating the tall bridge of his nose and the length of his eyelashes. He was classically handsome, with a strong brow and full lips, broad shoulders and a posture that belied his confidence.

At first, it had been easy to fake interest. His good looks had been enough of a distraction, but by the main course, your glass of red wine had become much more riveting than his one-sided conversations that all seemed to revolve around him. It wasn’t that you were turned off by cocky men. In fact, you liked someone who was confident in himself and his abilities. Confidence was generally an attractive trait in a partner, but tonight you couldn’t help but be put off by his behavior. It was becoming increasingly difficult to feign enthusiasm over his endless list of accomplishments, especially when he threw in a condescending remark your way every now and then.

This time you couldn’t even blame the dating agency for a faulty match-up. There had been no fluke of any kind; suited in crisp Tom Ford and polished Italian leather, he was exactly as described on paper—which had been all the more infuriating. Admittedly, when you had first met him tonight, you had swooned a little, not daring to believe your luck. With his slicked back hair and tailored suit, he was a sight for sore eyes. 

In hindsight, you should have known better than to get your hopes up, especially if you considered your track record with men.

“Ah… Congrats.” You managed a strained smile while surreptitiously reaching for the bottle of Pinot Noir.

Regret started to pool in your gut. Signing up on a dating website hadn’t been the wisest move, you now realized. Had the wooing process always been this tiring? Maybe you were rusty, having been out of the game for too long. It hadn’t even been that long since your very public break-up with your ex-boyfriend. 

A bitter taste lingered on your tongue when you let your mind wander back to the events leading up to the separation. All the missed calls and flimsy excuses should have alerted you, but instead of trying to talk things out, you had ignored the growing rift in your relationship. Now, you could only look back on those times with distaste. Truthfully speaking, there had been good times—great times, even—and maybe if things had ended cleanly then you wouldn’t be so worked up over the split. The break up would have been easier to digest if he hadn’t been such a prick... The worst part was he hadn’t even had the decency to deliver the news in person, as if none it had ever mattered to him like it had to you; no matter how you looked at it, it felt like two years of commitment had gone down the drain...

You gulped down the remnants of your drink, hoping to wash down the resurfacing memory, but not even the fancy wine bottled in 1982 could help you dial back the resentment that boiled beneath your skin. What kind of dickshit ended a relationship by changing their Facebook status to single?! It was a slap to the face that still stung no matter how many Netflix series you binged or pints of ice cream you devoured. Clearly, he had no respect for you... And that realization hurt more than the break-up itself. 

After a week of wallowing in self-pity, watching reruns of That 70’s Show and eating pack after pack of spicy Doritos, your friend had managed to pull you out of the obligatory post-breakup moping stage. Realistically, you weren’t ready or interested in jumping head first in any kind of new relationship, but your friend had insisted you needed to get over the asshole you had been committed to for the better part of two years. You didn’t like the term ‘rebound’, but that was essentially what you were looking for by signing up on dating websites. 

Meeting new people would be fun, she had promised. Yet here you sat squeezed into a dress one size too small, concealing yet another sigh by stuffing your face with one of the offered breadsticks. 

You were well aware you wouldn’t find the love of your life tonight. Your expectations hadn’t been high to begin with but your date was so dreadfully boring, for lack of better words, that you couldn’t help but be disappointed. There was no chemistry between the pair of you; whenever you sought to deviate the conversation to a new topic, he steered it back to his subject of interest. You had quickly realized there was no common ground: you were an art history major with no knowledge in marketing or communication; he planned to have a kid before the age of 35 while you were just looking for some mindless fun... You could blame it on the age gap or the fact he had a stable working job and you were still finishing off your studies, but you were evidently in different places in your lives with different goals and desires.

Restlessness was beginning to creep up your legs and it took a huge amount of self-restraint not to check the time on your phone. 

Putting aside your differences, it would have still  been nice if your date paid attention to you instead of talking over you at every turn. Still, you tried to stay optimistic despite the lack of chemistry. Maybe he wanted to impress you or perhaps it was all just nervous rambling. You could overlook his desire to monopolize the conversation for now. 

Well, if anything, at least you were getting expensive wine and a free meal out of this. You glanced down at your plate and then at his, noticing he hadn’t even gotten halfway through his medium rare steak. Why was he taking so long to eat the steak?! you silently despaired. Maybe if you glared at it for long enough, he would get the hint and cease his meaningless chatter.

“Oh, are you still hungry?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Should I call the waiter back?”

“NO, no!” You raised out your hands, waving them around in panic. But in your hurried attempt to dissuade him, you hadn’t noticed you had attracted the unwanted attention of the people nearby.

“That won’t be necessary,” you repeated quietly, slightly embarrassed by your outburst. You tucked your hair behind your ear self-consciously, trying to calm yourself down. The last thing you wanted was to create a scene.

“You must have quite the appetite to have finished so quickly.” He stared pointedly at the lone arugula leaf you hadn’t been able to pick up with your fork. You felt your cheeks flush at the insinuation, teeth tugging your bottom lip in vexation. Maybe he was just clumsy with his words and didn’t mean anything by it, but something about it didn’t sit well with you. Wanting to give him the benefit the doubt, you plastered on a smile. 

“I’m fine,” you forced out, the corner of your lips twitching from the strain. “I’m full now, anyway.”

“Are you sure? You were staring at my dinner quite, er, intently.” He prodded at his meal with the silverware, voice laden with skepticism. Hand slowly curling into a fist, you tried not to look too affronted.

“It’s okay!” he pressed on, misinterpreting your silence. “Don’t be ashamed! I like a girl with an appetite. Models these days are all bones—nothing to grab onto. I find women like you more attractive.”

He made grabby hands to illustrate his point, gaze swooping down to ogle the peak of cleavage on display shamelessly. Your outfit wasn’t even that revealing—a modest black dress with a sweetheart neckline— but the way he leered at you as if you were a slab of meat on a platter made your insides twist with disgust. Rather than making you feel sexy and desirable, the intensity of his appraisal made you feel like you were being coated over in a layer of slime. You bit down your retort, nails digging into the palm of your hand to distract yourself. 

“Oh?” you intoned dryly, shoulders hunching up defensively. 

“Most definitely,” he nodded, taking no note of your evident discomfort. “I like it when a woman is a bit bottom heavy.”

“Excuse me?” This time you couldn’t hide the sheer incredulity that colored your tone, brows arching.

Your eyes fluttered to a close as you took a steadying breath, not trusting yourself to keep your expression in check. Was he being serious? This had to be some kind of joke... You refused to believe someone could be that dense. Even if he had meant his comment as praise, the way he went about to compliment you didn’t flatter you in the least. Sure, people were allowed to have their preferences but something in the way he spoke and delivered his speech made your skin crawl with mortification.

Either way, you knew you couldn’t sit through this dinner for any longer than you had to. You saw no point in letting the date drag on indefinitely since it was clear that it wasn’t going to be working out.

The five course meal wasn’t exactly cheap but you would pay your share. You’d even take on his portion of the bill if it meant you could go home right away. Sure, it would leave a small dent in your wallet, but you refused to stay and listen to him drone on for another two hours.

“I think I’m feeling sick, actually,” you excused yourself, clutching your stomach in a dramatic fashion, but even to your own ears, it sounded like a feeble pretext. “I’m really sorry for cutting this short, but I need to lie down... I’ll pay for dinner, don’t worry about it.”

“Nonsense,” he cut in right away, looking affronted you would dare to suggest such a thing. “You’re right, the food here isn’t that good anyways.”

“That wasn’t what I—”

“It was a pleasure dining with you tonight.” He wiped his lips with the white chiffon, his voice dropping to a seductive octave so suddenly you could only gape up at him. “Would you be interested in joining me for tea back in my loge?”

You froze, eyes subconsciously darting around, refusing to meet his unexpected suggestive gaze. To be frank, you might have been tempted by his offer for ‘tea’ before his failed attempt to wine and dine you. But after having suffered through two hours of his presence, your only wish was to never meet him again.

“Ah, um,” you floundered, looking for a way out. “I really don’t think I’m feeling too well… But thank you for the offer, Minwoo.”

“Minhyuk.” A muscle in his jaw jumped. “It’s Minhyuk.”

“Mmh? That’s what I said,” you fibbed, averting your eyes and silently cursing yourself for your inattentiveness.

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole as it became apparent that no amount of apologies could salvage the situation. Guilt churned in the pit of your stomach, discomfiture rendering you rigid. Sure, Minhyuk or whatever had been a proper asshole but you still felt bad for forgetting his actual name. It had happened to you once before, back when you had first started dating, and you could still remember the bone-crushing humiliation and awkwardness as he had confused you with some other random girl. Back then, you had sworn never to subject anyone to the same situation, so for it to happen now... You were disappointed in yourself but there was really nothing you could do about it. 

Needless to say, your mistake had made things painfully awkward between the two of you. His ego had taken an undeniable hit that no amount of apologies could probably fix. Minhyuk did not even bother to conceal his sigh of relief when you called for a taxi cab to drive you home. In any other situation, you might have been offended at how quickly he tried to get rid of you, but you were equally desperate to escape your date. 

.

.

You didn’t miss Minhyuk in the slightest but for some reason your mind kept wandering back to your failed date at the most inconvenient times. Like a broken record, the memory of that night kept replaying in your mind on loop. He was like pesky fly you couldn’t shake off—a low buzzing in your ears distracting you from everyday activities. 

Why were the men you dealt with such dickheads? You silently cursed your horrible luck with the male species as you spread butter over your toast, crunching into the slice of bread with more force than necessary, teeth clanking together. 

You hadn’t expected dating to be so exhausting. Being with your ex for so long, you had fallen into a complacent routine of sorts; it had stopped being exciting, but at least it was comfortable and familiar. You knew each other’s likes and dislikes and would adjust accordingly to each other’s personalities. Restarting the entire getting-to-know you process just seemed way too bothersome to deal with. Maybe Minhyuk or whatever hadn’t been the right guy for you, but in all honesty you didn’t want to enter the dating pool at the moment. 

What you needed was someone who was on the same wavelength as you—someone around your age that was only interested in having a good time. After the emotional rollercoaster you had previously been on, the last thing you wanted was to jump into another relationship. You told yourself there was no use rushing it. But just because you were giving up the idea of dating for the time being, didn’t mean having some occasional fun was prohibited.

Being single was a good thing.

Over the next couple of weeks, you kept repeating this phrase, hoping the mantra would convince you of its truth. Weren’t you supposed to be living your glory days right now? What was the point of settling down when you could be having stress-free fun whenever you wanted? Relationships just seemed like way too much work, especially when finding the right guy was a task in itself. Dating websites and blind dates set up by your friends just seemed like such a hassle you didn’t have the time to deal with... But honestly speaking, masturbating wasn’t as fulfilling as getting laid on the regular. That was one particular aspect of your old relationship that you missed. You didn’t need to be in a relationship to be happy and satisfied. But even though you technically didn’t need a functioning cock to get off, who were you to turn down a good fuck? 

So the logical thing to do was to take a page out of the fuckboy manual and stock up on a giant box of condoms. It felt nice to flirt around when you knew you didn’t have to commit to anything. Guys were surprisingly easy to rile up and they all seemed desperate to prove their own worth. And although you had your doubts over the validity of their claims, you let yourself be convinced once or twice by their smooth and practiced lines. But every single time, the ending had been either anticlimactic or disastrously bad. 

Youjin, a classmate you were friendly with, seemed to take pity on you when you recounted your latest attempt at hooking up. She had invited you over to her place for a round of consolation drinks and you had never been more eager to down a shot of alcohol in your life.

“He had a nervous jizz? Did you even get to see his dick before he creamed his jeans?” She patted your shoulder in sympathy before handing you another shot of tequila.

“Nope. Nothing. Couldn’t even tell you if he had hairy balls or not.” You shrugged, a nonchalant expression settling over your features. “I groped a feel before he, uh... creamed his jeans. Dunno. Kind of felt underwhelmed.”

“Size doesn’t matter.” Youjin reminded you with a nudge. “It’s how he works his machine that counts.”

“Machine?” You stifled a snort behind your hand. “Well, Jungkook’s engine failed him. I touched his dick over the jeans for maybe ten seconds? He didn’t even last long enough for me to take his belt off. I don’t know who was more embarrassed but he kicked me out of his room before I could really say anything.”

“Look on the bright side... Maybe this means you’re that good. You must have magic fucking fingers.” She wiggles her hands in your face, her sparkly manicured nails on display. “What made you think hooking up with someone in the same class as you was a good idea anyway? Isn’t this the basic rule of fucking... No shitting where you eat.” 

“I don’t know... Convenience? He was there and it seemed like an easy fuck, you know? I just want a nice lay. And I thought I would have a good time! We’ve been texting for a while and he kept saying he would make it worth my time... You’re right, I shouldn’t have trusted him. He looks like he just grew out of puberty... I shouldn’t have trusted him.”

“Oh yeah, there’s no doubt you need to get dicked down. My doctor said good sex is one of the primary contributors to good health and inner happiness. But things will just get super messy if you keep hooking up with guys you see every day. What if Jungkook ended up your partner for next month’s presentation? Do you know how fucking awkward things get when you’re trying make a powerpoint presentation on rococo furniture with a guy who has had his mouth on your nips? I’ve been there, okay, and not only does it make you question all your life decisions, but it fucks up your grades. So it’s a lose-lose situation you’re better off without.”

Youjin’s solution to your problems was bringing you to the nearest night club. Her reasoning was that any guy you picked up there was also probably looking for a quick one night stand. In her books, club hookups were the easiest way to have a good time without resorting to fucking your classmate.

“Wear a slut skirt!” Out of reflex, you caught the article of clothing that flew your way. It was a short, leather piece that promised to mold to your every curve. “And pin your hair up—it looks really nice like that!”

“Calm down,” you huffed. “We’re just going to the club.”

“So? Who knows, you might find the love of your life tonight!”

“Let’s be realistic, the chance of that is slimmer than winning the lottery... “ You shimmied into the tight skirt, smoothing over any creases, silently admiring the way it made your ass look bigger than it usually did. 

“Never say never. Did you know Nicole Richie met her husband in a club?” 

“Who?”

“Nevermind, just put on the fucking skirt, okay? Hmm, do you want me to lend you my old push-up bra?”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” you deadpanned, your raised eyebrow twitching. She didn’t have to bring up the fact she had miraculously gotten a cup size bigger than you last summer. You looked down at your breasts with a frown, silently cursing. Why couldn’t the weight you gained go to your boobs? 

In the end, you did borrow her padded push-up bra. You would have been a fool to turn down an instant breast lift offer. No one would know the difference anyway, not unless you let them paw at your boobs. And with your luck, an accidental grope on the dancefloor might be the most action you would get tonight. 

The club Youjin brought you to was swarmed with college kids that were all looking to dance away the stress of the upcoming exam season. Leaving you to your own devices, she gave you a good luck pat on your shoulder before going off to order a martini at the bar.

It didn’t take long for someone to approach you but you shrugged them off, not interested in hooking up with freshman kids that probably just learned how to roll on a condom. If you were going to hookup with a fuckboy tonight, you wanted him to be the most experienced guy in the club. 

You didn’t have to wait too long for someone to match your criteria to bump into you. He exuded a certain a charisma the other guys hadn’t, the dark of the room making his smooth skin look like molten gold. 

“Your friend is gorgeous,” he yelled into your ear, one of his hands sliding down to rest on the small of your back. You had to lean forward until you could make out the words he was mouthing over the heavy bass; his breath smelled like whiskey and coke but not unpleasantly so.

From up close, you could see the way he eyed over Youjin dancing up a storm on the other side of the room, pearly white teeth biting his plump lower lip as his eyes lingered on her ass. You could hardly blame him—even you were entranced by the way she flipped her long, glossy hair and the smooth movements of her hips she synchronized in time with the beat of the music. 

Youjin was the best dancer you knew. For the longest time she had tried to teach you how to slut drop but after many failed practice sessions in front of your bathroom mirror, she had signed you off as a lost cause. In your defense, you weren’t a terrible dancer... But next to her? You looked like a waddling penguin that was learning how to walk for the first time. Hence why you never had any luck pulling guys if you stuck by her side. 

“Can you talk to her for me?”

Tilting your head, you contemplated his request. Neon green spots of light danced over his features, making his jaw look sharper than it probably was. He looked harmless enough, but it was hard to tell for sure...You would never judge someone by their face. Even if he looked like he was incapable of harming a fly, you weren’t duped into believing he had any innocent intentions behind his actions. After all, this was a night club filled to the brim with testosterone—a place for people to find an easy lay—so there was no room to misunderstand his question. 

“Why can’t you ask her?” He was a grown ass man after all... You couldn’t understand why he didn’t just ask her himself. Playing the part of the messenger was just so tiresome—this wasn’t prom and you were too old for this kind of silly game.

He turned to look at you properly for the first time, the corners of his mouth already quirked up into a charming smile. Your gaze was instantly drawn to his plush lips, shiny and inviting. You tried to shake yourself out of your trance, eyes snapping back to meet his knowing stare, but he made nonchalance difficult. You had always had a weakness for soft, pouty lips. Certain he was the type of guy that would use that piece of information against you to get what he wanted, you fixed your gaze on a safer place—the shiny spot of skin between his eyebrows.

“Huh, you’re pretty too!” His mouth stretched into a smile, eyes slanting into crescents.

“Thanks,” you replied, dryly. Unfortunately, your sarcasm wasn’t conveyed properly and he seemed to take your words at face value. Thinking you had warmed up to him, he slid closer to you, the hand resting on your lower back pulling you flush against his hard chest. 

He leaned in closer still, face crowding near yours, so you felt the warmth of his breath against the sensitive skin of your neck. For one drawn out moment, you thought he was going to lean in and kiss you, but instead he yelled into your ear, “say, if you ask your pretty friend for me, I’ll hook you up with my friend. You’re just his type!”

He pointed over to a guy with a plain white shirt and a black cap on, grinding into a girl’s ass a few steps away from you. You bit off a scoff, not believing what you were hearing. Did he really think you were willing for some kind of trade off? His friend wasn’t ugly in the least, but you still felt a bit offended for thinking you could be passed around. 

“I’ll speak to my friend for you. You’re totally his type.” 

There was no hiding your disbelief at his audacity. You risked a glace back in his direction to check if he was being completely serious, and you almost laughed out loud when you saw no trace of deception on his face. He must have been really interested in Youjin for him to beg you like this.

He was handsome enough that you were sure he wouldn’t have any trouble attracting other people, but he seemed fixated on your friend. If you hadn’t been slightly intoxicated, you would have told him straight away to deal with it on his own, but the alcohol burning in your veins made it harder to think properly. 

“I don’t think he needs any help in that department!” You pointedly eyed his friend, who was still attached by the pelvis to his dancing partner. 

“He’ll drop her for you, trust me.” His unwavering confidence made you falter, and he took advantage of your few seconds of shocked silence to call over his friend. You couldn’t believe he would actually leave the girl he was with just to join the both of you. 

There was a slight pause as you both sized each other up. The first thing you noticed was that his simple white t-shirt was almost see through, made transparent by his sweat. Despite your better judgement, you found yourself eyeing his defined muscles that were perfectly displayed under the thin layer of fabric. When your eyes met his, he shot you a knowing wink, his abs flexing under the disco reflected light. 

He was acting like your typical campus fuckboy. Guys like him were easy to figure out. You had frequented them enough to know they had a one-track mind and were programmed to function according to the eat-sleep-fuck cycle. He was your ideal candidate to take home because you knew he wasn’t looking for anything serious tonight. 

“So, do you dance?” 

“Not really...” He leaned in closer to hear your answer over the booming bass. He was close enough that you could smell his aftershave, the clean scent a welcomed reprieve from the sweat-infested room. 

“It’s okay, I can teach you.” A hand fell to your waist to bring you closer still. Distantly, it registered just how fucking built he was. He looked like the type that had a gold gym membership just so he could walk around campus with sleeveless tops and show off his body to the student population. 

Pressing his strong body against yours, he gripped your hips and guided your movements. The first guy long forgotten, you slowly relaxed under his hold, swiveling your hips in time to the beat. It was easy to let your mind drift off, your thoughts consumed by images of your dance partner fucking into you with the same fluidity he was showcasing now. He was a bit shorter than the men you usually went for, but his thick thighs and sensual grinding were winning you over. Besides, he moved his body like Magic Mike and that was something you weren’t about to pass up. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Youjin shoot you a thumbs-up, mouthing words that suspiciously looked like ‘get that dick’ but it was hard to tell for certain. Maybe she was right... One night stands like this were simpler to deal with than attempting to get into bed with your classmate. For one, you wouldn’t have to feel awkward every time you walked into class and made accidental eye-contact. 

All you wanted was to get laid properly. Finding a fuck buddy was too much trouble and there was no guarantee that would be a success, either. In most cases you had heard of, one person always ended up catching feelings and that was an additional mess you didn’t have the time to take care of. 

“Want to walk me home?” You asked coyly, eyelashes fluttering, your palms sliding up his chest seductively. His eyes darkened, mouth crashing into yours in response.

You didn’t even make it to the exit door, clearly too impatient and horny to wait until you reached a mattress. The entire thing was messy and rushed—teeth clanking against each other, swollen lips bitten red. You felt like a hormonal teenager all over again but you were too caught up in the moment to be embarrassed by your actions.

His large hands gripped your waist, and you had no choice but to follow his movements, shuffling backwards until your back met the dank wall of the bathroom stall. 

“I want to see these pretty lips around my cock,” he groaned, hands slipping under the hem of your skirt to grab a handful of your ass. “I love it when girls get their lipstick all over me. S’fucking hot.” 

“I’m not going to blow you.” You shook your head, trying to hold your ground despite his insistent kisses up the side of you neck. “No offense, but you look like I might catch something if I let you put your dick in any of my holes.”

If you hadn’t been inebriated you might have phrased it better. Whatever. You didn’t really care about his feelings when it was obvious all he wanted from you was to get his dick wet for a couple of seconds before busting a nut. Making out with him was already a big health hazard, you didn’t want to risk anything more by getting fucked in a smelly bathroom stall. 

“Fine.” He shrugged like it was a common occurrence to have girls push him away because they were worried of him carrying diseases. “How ‘bout a handjob?”

You shrugged, not really objecting to the idea. Given the choice, you would have still preferred to give him the handjob with gloves on or something, but you figured you could forego the extra precaution just this once. 

It didn’t go as smoothly as you expected to (although no bathroom hookups had ever been plain sailing in your personal experience). Your manicured nails made it hard to maneuver around in the cramped space; this became apparent when you awkwardly fumbled with the zipper of his jeans for a second too long. Huffing with impatience, he swatted your hand away, “here, let me.” 

His dick, like the rest of his form, didn’t hurt to look at. Knowing your luck, you had half expected him to whip out a fungus covered penis, but to your relief it looked acceptably normal. 

You spat into your hand, coating his length with firm strokes until he hardened completely under your touch. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, his small hand coming up to cover your own to speed up your movements. “Yeah, just like that. Spit on it again, fuck.”

You obliged even though the entire thing was messy; his precum mixed with your spit helped your hand glide over his shaft in quick strokes. Slick sounds interlaced with heavy breathing filled the small bathroom stall. The obscene noises spiked up your level of arousal and you let out a dissatisfied whine to remind him to take care of you, too.

You jumped as you felt his hand creep up your flank, his slim fingers reaching for your bra. Belatedly, you realized he was about five seconds away from discovering the most padded bra made by man so you hurried to dissuade him.

“Not the boobs.” Your right hand paused mid-stroke so you could make sure he got the message. “They’re, uh, they’re sensitive right now.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes, instead shoving the same hand down the waistband of your skirt without any warning. His plump lips swallowed down your surprised squeal, a groan making its way into your mouth.

His fingers trailed the trims of lace on your underwear, hooking under the hem to trace over your heat. He didn’t waste any time, sinking his fingers into your wet center to curl inside, vainly trying to find your g-spot. His thumb traced over your bundle of nerves a little too roughly and you squeezed his length in response. The muscles in his arms flexed as he plunged his digits into your slick heat. You closed your eyes, trying to grow accustomed to his relentless ministrations. 

“What the fuck?!” 

“What?” The sheer disgust in his tone jolted you back to reality, your head banging into the wall with a dull sound. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

He brought up his hand so you could see the way his small fingers glistened with your juices and b—

“Couldn’t you have told me you were on your period before making me finger you?” 

“Ummmmm.” Admittedly, you weren’t being very eloquent but it was difficult to gather your thoughts when there was fucking blood on his hand and under his nails. You were way too freaked out to think about this calmly. What the fuck. What the actual fuck. What the...  

“It’s not my time of the month...” You frowned as he went to wipe off his hand with toilet paper. “I’m not due until another week and half. What the fuck...”

Now that there wasn’t a haze covering your vision, it was easier to analyze the situation logically. And without his fingers hammering away against your walls, it was easier to notice a sting near your sensitive skin. It was starting to dawn on you that the asswipe had actually fingered you too hard, making you bleed. You were about to screech in horror but he continued on, interrupting your inner screaming.

“Yeah, right. There was fucking blood! I know I’ve had a few drinks but look!” He waved around the soiled toilet paper to prove his point, ignoring the way you coiled away in revulsion. “You’re disgusting.”

You couldn’t believe the actual nerve of this shithead. Incensed, you had a hard time keeping your voice down, wanting nothing more than to shove his head into the disgusting toilet bowl to shut him up.

“I don’t have my period! You’re the one who tried to claw out my vagina!” Inwardly, you seethed. “Get the fuck out of here while I’m still being nice.”

“Whatever.” 

You sent a text to Youjin informing her you would take a taxi cab home. The night was coming to a premature end but you were too angry to go find someone else to take home. You weren’t in the right mind to trust anyone else with your vagina at the moment, not when it was apparently in danger of being clawed out.

youjin [01:13 am] homerun? ;)

She was so far from the truth that it was actually kind of sad... You were starting to think you were cursed. Why was it this troublesome to find someone who would give you a satisfying experience? Why were the guys you met so inadequate? 

All of your experiences were getting progressively worse and you weren’t sure what to blame your bad luck on. You weren’t a bad person... You paid your all of your bills and picked up your dog’s poo when you took him out for a walk. Why was karma being a petty bitch and fucking you over?

At your return, your roommate raised an inquisitive eyebrow, eyeing your disheveled form in concern. Upon noticing your despondent expression, she nodded in understanding. “Was it really that bad?” 

“I mean… It could have been... worse. Oh, who am I kidding, it was fucking awful." You cringed, catching your refection in the mirror overhanging the foyer. The corner of your eyes were smudged with kohl and your hair looked like a greasy mess. “Shit, I look like a wreck. Let me shower, yeah? I smell like piss and beer."

You needed to wipe down the gross layer of sweat that covered your body and check your vagina for any irrevocable damage. Thankfully, after a quick inspection, everything seemed to be okay and functioning properly but you still couldn’t trust Thomas or whatever his name was. You spent ten minutes cleaning your hands with soap, scrubbing every possible surface to make sure you weren’t going to catch anything else.

What you needed was a full body cleanse. You flinched as your toes made contact with the cold tiles, hands blindly reaching for the shower knob. Ice cold water rained down your back but you clenched your jaw and endured it, hoping it would distract you from the worries plaguing your mind. 

Soon enough, steam enveloped you, heat soaking into your skin, muscles slowly unwinding. However, it became apparent that the comforting spray of water wasn’t enough to dispel any of your concerns.

Honestly, what was the use of having a nice dick if you couldn't use it properly? Why would men boast about their skills when it was obvious they didn't give two flying fucks about their partner's sexual pleasure? Why were men so selfish? You weren't even asking for much... Was one orgasm really too much to ask for? 

"Men are gross," you whispered to yourself bitterly, reaching for the peach scented body wash. Perhaps it was time to finally invest in a nice vibrator, because if your recent experiences were anything to go by, you wouldn’t be getting off any time soon.

You didn’t even have it in you to be angry. The frustration over your lack of success had slowly ebbed away and left only room for doubt—doubt in yourself and your ability to not attract assholes. There are so many men out there; you refused to believe they were all one and the same. Still, your experiences so far had proved you otherwise and your optimism was beginning to dwindle.

After making sure you were completely clean, you wandered off to the living room, wrapped in your fluffy bathrobe. You flopped down on the couch, your dripping hair making a mess on the furniture.

“I’m cursed,” you bemoaned, words muffled because you had face planted into the cushions. “Dicks hate me.”

“Why are you always so dramatic?” your roommate scoffed, not even bothering to sound sympathetic, attention focused on a rerun of Project Runway.

“I’m serious.” You sat back up, attaching your hair so it would stop soaking the back of your nightshirt. “I think men are allergic to me.”

You recounted all of your failed encounters, not leaving out that one time a guy had ‘accidentally’ rimmed you while trying to eat you out. What a nightmare. You still got full body shivers whenever you remembered that horrific experience. At the end of your heated monologue, you couldn’t help but get a little emotional, lamenting your string of failures.

“Listen to me... Let’s get one thing straight—you are not the problem. All those guys were self-centered assholes who thought they were hot shit. Not everyone is like that, you know. Are you seriously going to give up on dick because of a few bad experiences?” 

“I’m not interested in dating,” you insisted, ignoring her. “But I never said I wasn’t interested in dick. I just... want one that knows what it's doing. Does that make sense? I don’t want to have to deal with period scares or guys that try to sneak in a bit of butt action when you’re distracted."

“Oh?” She visibly perked up at your words, trying to assess how serious you were being. "You know... There's an app for that."

"I've tried dating websites... But it's exhausting, and I'm not ready for any emotional inv—"

"Not that," she cut in impatiently, reaching for her purse and rummaging inside. 

“A sex toy seems like the better option.” You pointed out, reluctantly giving into the idea. “I don’t really like the feel of silicone but—”

After a few taps on her phone and a triumphant “hmmfph” sound, she thrust her device in your face. It took a few short seconds for the screen to come into focus; the proximity nearly made you go cross-eyed.

“Dick n’ Go?" Doubt seeped through your words. "Why does this sound like a bad porn movie? How does this even work...” You trailed off, not convinced by her idea in the slightest. It was hard to trust someone who liked to put cucumber slices in the water pitcher just because ‘it looked aesthetic’.

“It’s like the upgraded, safer version of Tinder. You’re guaranteed to land someone who knows what he’s doing. Trust me... If Stevie and I hadn’t gotten back together, I’d probably still be using Dick n’ Go all the time. This is the best invention of the 21st century. Everyone should be using this!”

You looked down at the her phone suspiciously. How did she expect you do jump onto the Dick n’ Go bandwagon when it had such a terrible name... 

“Just give it a try!” she persisted, nudging you with her elbow. “No offense, but it can't get any worse."

“Okay,” you relented. “But only this once! And if this fails, then I’ll just accept my fate.”

You waited for the app to download on your own phone, inwardly cringing at the phallic illustration used as the logo. 

Glancing over the questionnaire, you filled out the form with the requested details. The beginning seemed fairly normal—requiring your basic information such as your name and age. You didn’t think much of it, but as you slowly made your way through the rest of the questions, worry and heavy doubt started to sink in.

Calling your friend over, you motioned at the screen in front of you. “Why are they asking me the penis size I prefer? Is this some kind of joke...”

Your friend’s manic cackling did nothing to soothe your growing apprehension. “I’m telling you, this app is fucking genius. Revolutionary. Just take it seriously for now… You’ll see. You really won’t regret it.”

You considered her advice and figured it wouldn’t hurt to try, even if the application method was a bit…weird and unconventional. Signing up didn’t implicate commitment of any kind, so you could always back down if things didn’t work out.

Once you finished completing all the necessary information and choosing a nice picture of yourself (cleavage included), your nerves started getting the best of you. A strange feeling seized you right then—a premonition of sorts.  

As the first picture loaded onto your screen, you almost dropped your phone in shock. After the initial surprise had worn off, your attention focused back onto the first person’s profile. Instead of being greeted with a flattering picture of his face, a large, limp dick hanging between a pair of sturdy thighs showed up. 

The format reminded you a bit of tinder but as you flicked through the different profiles, it became apparent that every possible match had pictures of their dicks instead of the usual bathroom selfie or cute snaps of them out with their dog.

“Some of this is a bit…” You faltered, shooting your friend another dubious glance. “Are you sure this is okay? Why do they have listed ‘vigorous humping’ as an option?”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Personally, I like the ones who are good at ‘powerful thwacking’ but to each their own.” 

You pretended like you hadn’t heard her last comment, thumb still flicking through the dick pics. It was your first time seeing so many penises at once and to say you were overwhelmed wasn’t an exaggeration. 

“Why would anyone agree to this? Isn’t it a bit... How can they be okay with strangers judging them off their dicks alone?”

“That’s because there’s nothing that strokes a guy’s ego more than a dick compliment. You see the stars next to their names? You have to evaluate their performance after you take a ride. You think guys who are shit in bed would sign up on this app? Their puny egos wouldn’t be able to handle getting zero stars.” 

You figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try.. Especially if mutual satisfaction was 100% guaranteed. Trying to find the best rated dick took a bit longer than expected, but you finally landed on a profile that seemed more than acceptable. Not only did he have a good reputation but the dick was actually nice to look at.

you [03:01 am] is that a fake dick

Granted, it probably was not the best conversation starter, but you weren’t exactly a dick dating expert. In your defense, how were you supposed to start a normal conversation when the only information you had about your partner was how well endowed he was? No matter how you looked at the situation, it felt like you were having a conversation with an actual dick. 

Feeling embarrassed, you turn off your phone. The app seemed a little too ridiculous for your tastes and the next day you had already forgotten all about it. Too busy nursing a hangover and tending to your aching vagina, you didn’t give Dick n’ Go any second thoughts until a message pinged in during the night as you were getting ready for bed.

jin [11:12 pm] 100% real lol

jin [11:12 pm] why? afraid you can’t handle it

At his speedy answer, you could only scoff, fingers suspended over your keyboard as you debated whether or not to humor him. He sounded like just another campus fuckboy, way too overconfident in his own skills, when the reality was probably very far from his claims. The recent events had made you even more wary of guys who bragged too much because their actions never lived up to the expectations they had built. 

But the five gold stars next to his name seemed to be winking at you, teasing you further. You hadn’t come across any profile with over three stars, so the full marks did pique your curiosity. Despite your better judgement, you wanted to know if he was really as good as his description suggested... Didn’t five stars imply he was the closest thing to a Sex God? You tried to imagine being with someone who never received complaints in the bedroom but everything just seemed too unbelievable to take seriously. Instead of feeling intimidated by his reputation, doubt clouded your thoughts. Surely someone couldn’t be that good. Right? 

Yet, for some inexplicable reason, you chose to continue the conversation. There was no harm in humoring him for a bit longer, you convinced yourself. But just as you started typing out a response, you backtracked, realizing how foolish you were acting. 

you [11:14 pm] i can handle anything just fine

you [11:14 pm] ur way too full of yourself...

There. Hopefully that would be the end of that, and he would leave you alone now. 

You didn’t even know why you had agreed to do this; clearly, this arrangement was full of obnoxious men with over-inflated egos. Still, somewhere deep down, curiosity gnawed at your insides. The big “What If” lingered in the back of your mind as you stared at the darkened screen of your phone full of expectation. 

jin [11:17 pm] you’re the one who talks big.. you think you can handle what i give you? hha

jin [11:18 pm] it’s ok.. 

jin [11:18 pm] it’s cute that you think you can

you [11:20 pm] seems like u’ve got me all figured out

you [11:21 pm] we’ll see who is right

.

.

At first, you chose to indulge him just because it was entertaining. But the more messages were exchanged, a strange thrill buzzed through your body as you anticipated his replies. 

Once, you had made the grave mistake of opening an incoming picture in the middle of a lecture, only to be greeted with the image of his erect length, pink and shiny with precum. Thankfully, no one had seemed to notice Jin’s dick, but you had been ready to crawl out of the lecture hall in embarrassment. And not because someone might have seen Jin’s impressive erection. You didn’t really care about that. What you would have a hard time admitting was that a single picture had gotten you so worked up, concentrating in class had become impossible.

Jin—that arrogant prick—had somehow known how affected he had made you. Since then, he hadn’t hesitated  to tease you further over the next few days with various pictures of his dick. Now, you never knew what kind of image you would be met with. It could be anything from a tame picture of his jean clad covered bulge to a short five second video of his hand stroking his shaft, his thumb swiping the tip to collect a bead of precum. Once, he had even had the audacity to moan your name right before he came, white dripping out of his spent member. 

No one could blame you for being wary whenever you opened his messages. But in the safety of your own room, you allowed yourself to open his latest message. In all honesty, you had waited all day to finally be able to view the sent picture in privacy. You clicked on the image, enlarging it so that it lit up your screen. Without conscious thought, your lips parted in surprise. 

The first thought to cross your mind was 'what the heck... he could at least try to make his catfishing believable'. His face defied the norm... With perfectly symmetrical features, your eyes didn’t know where to focus its gaze. You took a moment to stare at his plush lips before snapping out of it, typing out a furious response, fingers moving so quickly you had to backtrack to correct your typos.

you [11:54 pm] r u kidding me??

you [11:54 pm] send me your real face ;(

jin [11:54 pm] what makes you think i'm not? lol

you [11:55 pm] no normal person looks good in the bj angle!!

jin [11:57 pm] the bj angle? lmao

You paused as the three gray dots appeared on your screen once more. He left you no time to answer back; the short buzzes against your palm signaled the onslaught of incoming messages that arrived one right after the other, illuminating the dark of your room.

jin [11:58 pm] you'll have to get used to it

jin [11:58 pm] i like eye contact when i get head

jin [11:58 pm] you're imagining it right now arent u? ha

jin [11:58 pm] are you wet

There was something amusing about his overflowing confidence. You weren’t sold quite yet, but there was no harm in continuing the conversation. 

you [11:59 pm] u really think you can get me wet over text??

you [11:59 pm] you'll have to work harder for that

jin [11:59 pm] mmh i like a challenge

jin [12:00 am] but it's okay to admit it too

jin [12:00 am] i won't judge

Now that you knew what he claimed to look like, the entire thing became a little less ridiculous and a bit more real. You weren’t just talking to a faceless, talking dick... There was an actual person attached to it. Said person just happened to be abnormally handsome... 

It would be incredibly stupid of you to believe him. But his account was verified. That had to count for something, right? You were about to type out a response when he continued on.  

jin [12:01 am] in fact

jin [12:02 am] i like it better that way, when i get you to admit you're hungry for dick

you [12:04 am] i'm not... so good luck with that

Instantly, you regretted not responding with something more witty. Your words sounded hollow and unconvincing. He probably knew as well as you did that you were interested. Why else would you keep messaging him after this long? He was the only one you talked to on the app, the only who truly caught your attention and curiosity.

Gnawing your bottom lip between your teeth, you wondered what he would answer. For a fleeting second, you wondered where all of this would take you... It was easier to imagine yourself actually going through with all of this now that you had a face to match to his name. 

jin [12:06 am] i think you are

jin [12:06 am] why else would you join dng? you need a nice dick to satisfy you

jin [12:07 am] you love cock

Your mouth dropped open as you read over the latest messages. The words bothered you because deep down you knew he was right. You were a thirsty slut who wanted a good dicking down. But he didn’t have to be so crude about it... Although maybe etiquette didn’t matter when you were part of an app called Dick n’ Go.

you [12:09 am] ur right..

you [12:10 am] i love cock

you [12:10 am] but only one that knows what it’s doing

jin [12:11 am] sounds like a challenge

jin [12:12 am] i don’t have 5 fucking stars for nothing ;-)

.

.

.

Maybe agreeing to setting up an arrangement was a bad idea. In all honesty, you had been very unsure about everything. During the nights leading up to this day, you had doubted your choice many times but Jin had never failed to reassure you. He reminded you that you were free to cancel anytime or step away from the entire thing. 

The thing was... You weren’t worried that it would somehow go terribly wrong. Your real worry was that you would never be able to go back to your normal hookups after this. How were you ever supposed to be the same again? Jin was reputed to be a sex god. Going from horrible fucks to the best fuck of your entire life was too steep a jump and you weren’t sure you were ready for it.

Your worries weren’t unfounded. 

The first thought to cross your mind was “how the fuck is someone like him real?”. Now, you had seen your fair share of handsome men in your life, but he really took the cake. Equipped with symmetrical features, doe eyes and the softest looking pair of plump lips, you had a hard time believing a face like his truly existed. You blinked quickly, trying to pull your attention away from his draw-dropping face, only for your attention to fall on his shoulders. 

How the heck could someone’s shoulders be so broad?! He looked like he could carry two people on each side and still have room for more. You were glad he wasn’t gifted with the ability to read minds. He might have been put off by the amount of internal screaming that was currently taking place, and the last thing you wanted was for him to run away. 

“Not what you were expecting?” he chuckled. 

“I, um,” you stuttered, not sure what to do with yourself all of a sudden. For some ridiculous reason, you felt your pulse race as his gaze perused your form. 

Snapping yourself out of your mindless reverie, you tried your best to appear unaffected when he took off his hoodie. The thin cotton shirt underneath hugged his body tightly, showcasing his broad shoulders and rippling back muscles. You wanted to swim on his back. Or let him backstroke on your body... Really, you weren’t a difficult person; you welcomed either option.

“I look good, don’t I.” The way he delivered the phrase showed he didn’t expect an answer, the corners of his lips already curled into a haughty smirk. 

His confidence made you narrow your eyes in response. The sight reminded you of all the fuckboys you had encountered in the past few weeks. They always bragged and boasted, their words fueled by the same excessive confidence. It always started out the same way—with empty promises and self-praise—but this time you weren’t going to let yourself be fooled. You didn’t care if Jin was the most handsome human being your eyes had every laid eyes upon. The point of this entire arrangement was for you to get an earth shattering orgasm and you weren’t going to settle for anything less than spectacular. He was rated five stars on his profile for a reason—now was the time to prove it.

“Listen, Jin,” you said with faux sweetness coating your words. “It doesn’t matter what you look like... Looks don’t matter if you’re going to end up leaving me unsatisfied. So don’t think, even for a second, that you can roll over, let me do all the work and then leave me high and dry.”

“Unsatisfied?” He parroted, brow furrowing like he had no idea what the word meant. “Sounds like you’ve never been with a real man before.” 

Well, he wasn’t wrong on that front but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know he was right. The last thing he needed was an ego boosting.

“You talk too much...” Scoffing, you crossed your arms to showcase your annoyance. “Guys like you usually don’t even know where to find my clit. It’s sad. You really shouldn’t build up expectations like that, only to disappoint when it’s time to get your dick wet.”

An offended squawk escaped his plump lips. “Hey now. First of all, unless your pussy is a jungle down there, you can rest assured finding your clit won’t be an Easter egg hunt. Who do you think I am?”

He ignored the mild look of indignation that crossed over your features. Instead, he took a seat on the queen-sized bed, his legs falling open invitingly. With difficulty, you kept your eyes trained on his face even though they itched to wander down.

“Come sit on Daddy’s lap.”

“Fuck, no,” you grumbled at once, ignoring the way his gruff tone shot arousal through your stomach. “I’m not calling you Daddy or Papi or whatever else you’re probably into.”

He shrugged, otherwise not budging an inch. He looked at you expectantly, confident that you would give in. “If you want to cum tonight like a good girl, then I suggest you take a seat.” He patted his thighs for emphasis, your eyes immediately drawn to the enticing bulge that was nicely showcased in his tight jeans.

That arrogant fucker did look good, you admitted inwardly, scowling slightly as you did so.

You sat down gingerly, trying to keep your composure in check. The ever-permanent smirk on his face revealed he hadn’t missed your audible gulp when you made contact with his strong thighs. 

“So far, I’m pretty unimpressed...” You lied, shifting around on his lap just you could feel how comfortable your makeshift seat was.

His fingers twitched at your side, his nails scratching your exposed skin and sending tingles down your spine. “Maybe you’re so accustomed to messy and drunken college fucks that your expectations are a bit skewed. You know... Just because you’ve had sex a handful of times doesn’t mean you’re experienced.” 

He chuckled, the low sound rumbling in his chest. You tried to ignore the way the vibrations made goosebumps prickle the surface of your skin, doing your best to keep the most indifferent expression on your face. 

“Did you think that just because we decided to meet up today, you’d get your orgasm handed to you on a silver platter? I don’t think so, babygirl.” He shook his head in amusement. 

Momentarily distracted by the unexpected petname, it took a bit longer than usual for words to form on your tongue.

“Then what—” 

“You’re not getting my cock until I know you want it.”

“I don’t think I would be here if I didn’t,” you shot back, your patience slowly running out. You weren’t known for being the most forbearing person. But then you were suddenly struck down by something your roommate had said—something about how getting a dick compliment was the same thing as Christmas day coming early. Did he really expect you to beg for his dick? That wasn’t so different from the fuckboys you were used to. Really, all guys were so similar. They all wanted to be told they were the best before getting to cum.

Jin must have taken notice of your mildly revolted expression because he gave your ass a squeeze.

“You’re so spoiled...” He chastised, clucking his tongue like he was scolding a child. “You’re too used to fucks that last five minutes on a good day... No wonder you’re so irritable. Hmmm... Do you know what I usually do with little girls like you?”

Little? He couldn’t have been that much older than you... You rolled your eyes only for them to blow open, not expecting the stinging smack on your left asscheek. The force of the swat made you jolt forward, the denim of your shorts rubbing against your clit, sending small zaps of pleasure down your spine.

“Let me guess... You punish them,” you glowered. 

“Punishment?” Jin hums in contemplation, his large hand rubbing the place where he had hit you, soothing away the ache. “That’s not what I would call it.”

He leaned in close so that his breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of your ear, “listen closely. I’m not going to feed you my cock until I see you drooling for it.”

You bit your lower lip, trying to gauge how serious he was being. There was no denying you wanted him to fuck you, but you weren’t sure you could handle whatever he had in store for you. 

Jin’s features softened, seemingly sensing your hesitancy. “It’s okay... Just follow my lead. I’ll make you feel good, okay? You just have to prove that you want this as much as I suspect you do.”

“And how do— I mean, what do...” You stammered, genuinely at a loss for words. The guys you were usually with would have already stripped out of their jeans, but Jin looked like he wasn’t going to move an inch. 

“You’re really tense, babygirl.” Jin massaged your neck, his thumbs rubbing out the tense muscles in soft circles. You felt yourself turn limp and pliant in his lap, head drooping down as he worked out the kinks in your neck. “That’s it, just relax for me. Are you ready to be a good girl now?”

You nodded mutely, letting his soothing voice guide you. Something about his voice made you trust him; you felt confident he wouldn’t let you down. One of his hands tilted your head down so he could slant his plush lips against yours. Immediately, you melted against his mouth, the softness of his lips silently inviting you to press into them. But despite your most fervent efforts, his kisses stayed languid, refusing to match your pace. Frustrated, you moved in closer, molding your body against his, your fingers carding through the hairs at his nape. To your dismay, he pulled back, a satisfied look covering his features.

“See? This is a good start. Keep moving your hips like that.”

With a start, you realized you had been grinding desperate little circles into his lap, your hips searching for much needed friction. 

“J-Jin.” Your words came out as a soft plea, your gaze hooded with desire.

“Do you need a little help?” He smiled at you sweetly, taking pleasure in seeing you slowly fall apart at the seams. 

His hands slid up under the hem of your shorts, squeezing the flesh and urging you to continue the smooth rocking movements. With every undulation, you felt your arousal grow until your entire body was consumed with pure, unbridled need. The slow burn was different from what you were usually used to but not in a bad way. You were slowly losing your mind, your hips moving more and more frantically as you tried to rub the burning ache away.

Jin pinched your ass, effectively stopping your movements before you could get too carried away. The sharp bite went straight to your core, the ball of arousal in the pit of your stomach coiling tightly. You were distinctly aware how your damp panties were stuck to your folds and how wetness dripped down your thigh—proof of your rampant desire Jin had coaxed to life. 

“If we took your shorts off right now and continued, you would make a mess of my jeans, wouldn’t you?” 

Jin slapped your ass again as he waited for you to answer him.  

“Y-yes! I’d make a mess all over you.” Trying to ignore the heat that bloomed on your cheeks, you stuttered out your reply.

“And why is that? Hm?” He remained still, his hands unmoving at your side, patiently awaiting your response. The answer he expected was clear to you but for some reason the words wouldn’t come out—stuck in your throat. 

You gasped, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders. He was bouncing his leg up, making you lurch forward with every jerk of his knee. Every time you slammed back down, the pressure on your clit increased tenfold and your eyes became glassy as pleasure inflamed your insides.

“Oh g-god, fuck, I—”

“Why are you such a mess for my cock, huh? Why do you think you got so worked up easily? I didn’t even have to do much and you’ve become putty in my hands.” He maneuvered your body around so that you brushed up against his covered erection. Soft whines and mewls escaped your lips when he pushed your hips down further against him. It was hard to fathom why he wouldn’t just fuck you already and extinguish the throb between your thighs.

“I don’t know. I’m not— I just...” You inhaled deeply, trying to lift the haze of lust that muddled your thoughts. “Please, can I have your cock now? I’ve been good.”

“Hmm... But that’s not what I want to hear, is it? Do you remember what I told you over text?” You blinked slowly, your mind drawing a blank at his question. How did he expect you to answer such a vague question? “No? Well, let me refresh your memory. I recall you saying that you weren’t cock hungry, but I think we both know that’s not true, is it?”

There was a pause of silence as you tried to weigh the pros and the cons. At the end of the day, he wasn’t wrong. But it was embarrassing to admit it out loud. 

“Fine, I’m cock hungry. I love cock. Can we fuck now?” you huffed out, refusing to meet his smug stare. 

“Hm. Somehow I had imagined it sounding a lot sexier when you said it...” The space between his brows creased as slight disappointment marred his features.

“Life isn’t a porn movie, Jin.”

“We met through an app called Dick n’ Go,” he quipped back, rolling his eyes. “It was worth a shot.” 

With surprising strength, he lifted you up by the waist before setting you down on the bed. Instantly, you missed being pressed up against the hard planes of his body and having his large hands holding you closer to him. The pale blue cotton sheets creased under your weight as you shimmied backwards.

“Clothes off.” 

His tone made you shudder with anticipation. You could tell he was done with foreplay for now; the obvious bulge in his jeans reminding you he was probably equally affected as you. His eyes were dark, hunger etched onto every part of his expression. You scooted back on the bed until your back met the headboard, your hands busy with ridding yourself of your garments. 

Jin, on the other hand, took his sweet time taking off his belt; the metal clink echoed in the silence of the room, shooting shivers down your back. Your want for him was almost palpable—you could feel the desire sit heavy on your tongue. His gaze never left your exposed body, trailing over the slim column of your neck, the curves of your waist and your rosy nipples. You smirked, letting your legs fall open so he could sneak a peak at your glistening core. He swallowed thickly, peeling off his shirt and kicking away his jeans, too aroused to care about composure anymore. Every man had their own limits and you were glad Jin was reaching his if that meant he would finally stop playing around.

As he crawled onto the bed, you expected him to start fucking you right away but instead he dove headfirst between your legs. 

“Jin, what are—” But he kept your legs wide open with a steady grip on your thighs, ignoring your weak cries of protest. He went straight to work, his tongue taking an experimental lick before pressing more insistently against your folds, deftly avoiding your clit. Any disapproval promptly died in your throat, your body succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure he gave you. 

You had been worried he would slobber everywhere and maybe try to lick down lower like your previous experiences, but his tongue movements stayed consistent and languid. He seemed to know exactly how to move, how much you could take. Any coherent thought was wiped out with every skillful swirl and swipe of his tongue against your slick center. Your mewls of pleasure became progressively louder as your body succumbed to his insistent licks. 

Threading your fingers through his soft locks, you attempted to bring his face closer to your core. Need pulsed through your veins as you wriggled around, canting your hips in time with the swipes of his tongue. Eventually, everything within you snapped. The intensity of your orgasm took you by surprise, not expecting the strength of the pleasure as it crashed over you over and over again. Your toes curled and your back arched, every one of your muscles tensing as the orgasm took hold of you. 

Slowly, you came back to reality. Blinking away white spots from your vision, you tensed up again when your eyes landed on Jin’s satisfied expression. He looked absolutely sinful—his hair messy from your tugging, his face wet from your arousal. 

“Good?” Jin asked, licking his lips dry, his chin still shiny from your wetness. 

“Mmh.” You nodded, too fucked out to give a more intelligible reply. Your limbs felt heavy, your tongue too big for your mouth. But there was no denying the glorious satisfaction that settled deep in your core. “Fuck me now?”

“You’re insatiable,” he scolded lightly. It was hard to take him seriously when his eyes gleamed with something close to endearment. Still, despite his words, he wasted no time lining up his erection with your waiting center. 

You took a moment to appreciate how utterly gorgeous he was. When you looked at Jin, you knew you were looking at a man. His forehead shined with a sheen of sweat, his chin still wet from your juices. And his fucking shoulders. You had never really paid attention to other people’s shoulders before, but you somehow knew that no one else’s shoulders could ever compare to Jin’s. 

“Ah, fuck,” he grunted above you, frowning slightly as he eased himself in slowly. “You’re so wet, I’m sliding right in.”

You bit your lip, trying to remember how to breathe. It was hard to accommodate his impressive girth, but the stretch felt so good you couldn’t help but let out a long moan. Jin slowly thrust the rest of his length in, one of his hands gliding over your smooth thigh only to hike it up over his hip. He kept his grip steady before pushing back into you, drawing out another pleased sound from your lips as he reached impossibly deeper within you.

“Look,” he grinned between heavy pants. Wiping the side of your mouth with his thumb, he wiped your spit over your cheek. “I told you. You’re drooling all over yourself because of my cock. Cute.”

If you had been more self-possessed you would have rolled your eyes and shot back a witty remark. But at the moment, you were having a hard enough time remembering your own name... Every fluid roll of his hips into yours rubbed the insides of your walls deliciously, your walls clenching around him as you neared your release. You couldn’t believe you were already so close to crumbling apart again, not when it usually took so much effort to get you off. 

“Are you gonna cum already? Mmh fuck, good girl. Make a mess of the sheets and then I’ll feed you my cock like I promised.” He picked up the pace of his thrusts, intent on making you fall apart one more time. Jin reached down to circle down on your clit with precision, timing the swipes of his fingers with the rhythm of his hips. The rapid flicks against your sensitive spots felt too good; you couldn’t help but grind into his touch for more friction.

You shook and moaned, pleasure striking down upon you without any warning. A cry of ecstasy fell from your lips, your nails scratching down his back as you tried to ground yourself to reality. Jin groaned loudly as your walls clamped down around him, squeezing out his own orgasm. Feeling him cum in spurts inside you made a shudder ripple through you, prolonging your high. You felt like you were floating; your limp and spent body still vibrating from the aftershocks. Every limb was thrumming with pleasure. 

Jin rolled over next to you, his chest rising and falling from the exertion. His hair was matted with sweat, his body cloaked in a thin layer of perspiration. But as you eyed the pink flush on his cheeks, you inwardly admitted that he was probably the most handsome person you had met in your life. 

But not only was he devastatingly handsome, but he had given you the fuck of your life. Instead of the usual fast-paced hammering you had been previously subjected to, Jin had taken his time and built your orgasm brick by brick. It was difficult to accept guys like him actually existed in this world...

“If you want seconds, you just have to ask.” He caught your gaze mid-appraisal, a cocky smirk settling on his lips. 

“You just came.”

“My refractory period is quite short, actually. And I can usually last a lot longer my second time.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, his hand already sliding down to play with your dripping center. You shied away from his touch, still too sensitive.

Well, of course he would have the stamina of a pornstar... This guy was just too good to be true. You half-expected to be woken up from a very lucid dream and be brought back to the cold, harsh reality. Guys like Jin were a rarity. And after tonight, you probably would never meet him again. You would only be left with a distant memory and new standards that would be impossible to meet. 

Regret churned in your gut. What was done was done. You tried to focus on the positive side of things... You did just have a mind-blowing orgasm. That was something you ought to be celebrating and not moping about.

“It’s okay, I can go get you cleaned up right now. We can go for a round two next time.” Your eyelids felt heavy but you smiled at him in thanks when he got up to get a wet towel for you. 

You didn’t mean to fall asleep but when you woke up, the morning sunlight filtered through the sheer drapes. Basking under the warm rays of light, you stretched out your sore muscles. 

Last night had been a dream, hadn’t it? The space next to you on the bed was  disappointingly empty and void. Maybe you had just dreamed everything up, after all... Releasing a sigh, you slowly got up, hand reaching over the bedside table to check the time on your phone. Frowning, you rubbed the sleepiness from your eyes, fingers wrapping around a slip of paper after fumbling around blindly. 

It took a moment for your vision to sharpen into focus but when it did, a lazy smile pulled at the corners of your lips. Next to a scrawled phone number was signed off ‘call me for round two xx your favorite five star dick guy’. And, well, who were you to turn down a good fuck?

.

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