izzie

24 ✨ reader

[izzierenee13]

one day, i hope to tell the stories of us & not be heartbroken. i hope to tell the girls i had to leave because if i hadn’t, the result would’ve been more permanent. i hope you forgive me one day, because had i not been selfish, you would’ve buried your little sister.

-things i’ll never get to say to you.

[ashstfu]

[parasocicle]

you guys don't get it I am in LOVE with her. I need her so bad she's funny and smart and kind and gorgeous GOD IF YOU CAN HEAR ME

[gracescoolbeans]

but nights with you are better [A.Giarratana]

paring: angela giarratana x reader

summary: sleepless nights aren’t so bad when you have angela to keep you company

warnings: none, just fluff; a few dashes of anxiety; sleepy angela being way too cute; shameless nerdy prudes must die plug; not proofread!

wordcount: 1.1k

a/n: i’ve been having a really hard time falling asleep lately so i wrote this fic instead of actually doing something about it 😅 i’ve been wanting to write angela fics since i started this blog but i’m finally committing! i have far too many ideas and not enough time but i’ll make it work somehow…hopefully 😶 anyway, hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

A sigh tumbles out of your mouth as you roll away from your girlfriend and stare up at the dark ceiling above you. You close your eyes and try to fall back asleep to no avail.

Looks like another sleepless night.

You turn your head to look at the brunette next to you, a part of you wanting to reach out and wake her. The two of you haven't been living together for long and you were still getting used to sharing a sleep schedule with someone else.

More than that, you were slowly becoming an expert in getting up out of bed without making a shit ton of noise. It wasn't as easy as it sounded. Especially because Angela's ears were somehow completely tuned to you.

You were making it work, though, and the slight challenge was a small price to pay to live with your girlfriend.

You and Angela had decided moving in together would fix both your need to find a better place to live (with slightly more manageable rent) and her need to spend more time with you in between her endless gigs. Her work ethic was admirable, albeit slightly unhealthy. At least this way, you could keep an eye on each other.

Of course, you'd sort of forgotten to mention the troubles you usually have with falling asleep and staying asleep. You didn't necessarily consider yourself an insomniac, but you did go through days, weeks, sometimes even months, of struggles that couldn't be soothed with warm tea or less screen time.

Your girlfriend, on the other hand, couldn't seem to get enough of sleep. She could nap anywhere as long as she was somewhat comfortable. It would be awesome if you weren't so jealous of her ability.

Angela needed her sleep, though. She worked way too hard for way too many hours and her only form of self-care was simply a plate of pasta and a glass of wine.

That's why you decided that instead of waking her up with your endless tossing and turning, you'd get up and put a comfort movie on the TV and chill there until you got sleepy again.

Instead of a movie, though, you stumbled across Nerdy Prudes Must Die and decided to watch it for the hundredth time. It didn't replace the soft sound of Angela's voice next to your ear when she held you against her, but it was good enough for now.

So, you snuggled up on the couch with an unbelievable amount of pillows, a warm blanket, and a slightly grumpy Spork next to the couch.

That's exactly where you were when Angela made her way out of the bedroom in search of you. "y/n?"

You turn your head at the sound of your girlfriend's voice, a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips when you take in her sleepy appearance. "Hey, babe. Why're you awake?"

"Dunno," she shrugs as she struggles to suppress a yawn. "But I got worried when I didn't feel you. You okay?"

Her concern, paired with her extra raspy voice, makes your heart swell. "Yeah, I'm fine, just couldn't sleep."

She pouts, walking over to join you on the couch. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"So you could be grumpy and complain?"

"Good point."

You chuckle as you move over to make room for Angela. She manages to fit in between you and the couch, her arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you against her chest.

"Wait, what are you watching?" She asks.

"What do you think, doofus?" You reply, playfully elbowing her stomach. "Don't talk so much, though, it's my favorite part."

Your favorite part, of course, being the entirety of Dirty Girl. Angela, on the other hand, always has a hard time watching that part since she's way too focused on herself and her "mistakes". 

What she calls mistakes, though, you call her acting quirks. Quirks that turn Grace Chasity into one of the most complex and entertaining characters you've ever seen.

"Do I really have to watch this?" She grumbles, leaning down and burying her face in the side of your neck.

"You can go back to sleep if you want." Your hands find their way on top of hers and you allow your fingers to trace the backs of them, along with the slightly protruding veins that cover them.

"Not while I'm listening to myself."

It's hard not to find her constant complaining funny and you barely manage to hold in your laughter. She's always slightly more sensitive than usual when she's tired, so you take pity on her...for now.

Thankfully, she stops pouting long enough for you to watch the best part of the whole musical. You don't miss the way she sings the song under her breath even though you decide not to call her out on it.

"How many times have you seen this?" She asks once she's sure your favorite part has passed.

"A lot," you say, feeling your cheeks heat up with the admission. "I watch it when I miss you."

"Baby-" She tries her hardest to hold in a laugh but ultimately fails. "You could have just woken me up!"

Angela's clear amusement does little to soothe your growing embarrassment. You try to squirm away from her to avoid any further teasing but she simply holds you tighter, pulling you closer until you're flush against her once more.

"Sorry, sorry, you know I'm just teasing," she mumbles, pressing a line of kisses to the side of your neck.

"You're annoying," you huff.

Despite your words, you sink back against her once more, tilting your head slightly to give her better access to your skin.

"You know you love me, princess."

"That doesn't make you any less annoying."

Her kisses trail up your neck and onto your jaw before finally landing on your lips.

"I'm serious, by the way," she whispers once she pulls away. "Wake me up next time. I don't care how tired I am. I want to be here with you."

"Hmmm..." You pretend to think about it for a second just to steal another kiss from her. "You've got yourself a deal, angel."

She laughs again as she rests her chin on your shoulder, silently going back to watching the musical with you.

You make it all the way to Hatchet Town before your eyes grow far too heavy for you to keep them open. 

Angela gently shifts you until your head rests against her shoulder. She watches you for a few moments until she's sure you've gone back to sleep.

She knows her back will be awfully sore tomorrow morning and you'll definitely have a kink in your neck but it's a small price to pay for a few more hours of cuddles. Not just cuddles, though, she was banking on you staying asleep until morning this time.

She'd stay up all night to keep an eye on you if she had to. You're far more important to her than some extra hours of sleep.

[lazysoulwriter]

my list! ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

that's my content! 💗

Paul Mescal ♡

Pedro Pascal ♡

Joel Miller ♡

Drew Starkey ♡

Rafe Cameron ♡

Lewis Hamilton ♡

Charles Leclerc ♡

Lando Norris ♡

Harry Styles ♡

JJ Maybank ♡

Chris Sturniolo ♡ | Matt Sturniolo ♡

[eroselless]

─────────────── the spaces between us // 1

series summary: when you accept a job as an au pair in the irish countryside, you expect to spend your days caring for your little new pal but its all upended when his charming uncle arrives to stay for the holidays. [2.2k]

[paul mescal x reader]

masterlist | part 2

warnings: kinda angst, sort of complicated family dynamics

note: heyyyyyy. i've been slowly coming back to writing as the semester has been ever so slowly winding down. as a little treat, i went to see gladiator and kinda became obsessed with paul mescal (as you do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯). i've been using this story as a sort of escape and a way to relax after a long day at my practicums. i've also been feeling rather nostalgic about my brief time in ireland a couple months ago so i thought, why not. hope you guys enjoy this part :)

The bus rumbles along a narrow, winding road that hugs the cliffs of the Irish coastline. Outside the rain-spattered windows, the world stretches in endless shades of green—rolling hills dotted with grazing sheep and small houses, each one weathered by time. In the distance, the sea churns relentlessly, its grey waves crashing into the rocks below, throwing up a fine mist.

You press your forehead against the cold glass, your reflection staring back at you—anxious and pale. The unfamiliar landscape feels vast and unending, twisting something in your stomach as you take it all in. A sharp ding from your phone jolts you upright, the notification reminding you that your stop is next. You sling your bag over your shoulder and make your way to the front of the bus, stepping down onto the gravel as it crunches beneath your boots.

The chill in the air bites at your skin, making you pull your coat tighter around your neck. Ahead, the path curves toward a house perched high on a hill. It stands apart from its surroundings, its modern lines and large windows almost defiant against the rugged beauty of the countryside. To one side of the property, a smaller, traditional-looking cottage sits quietly, its windows dark and shutters drawn tight, as though asleep.

This is exactly how Niamh O’Dwyer described it in her emails. The grey stones of the main house blend seamlessly with the stormy clouds overhead. Despite the allure of it all, you hesitate at the edge of the gravel path. The silence presses in, broken only by the distant crash of waves. You take a breath and step forward, every crunch of gravel underfoot seeming to echo through the still air.

You knock lightly on the door, shifting nervously as the sound of footsteps approaches from inside. The door swings open swiftly, and Niamh herself appears. Her tailored blouse and pressed trousers fit her perfectly, her auburn hair swept back neatly. Bright blue eyes scan you with a gaze that is sharp but not unkind.

She calls your name, her Irish accent lilting yet crisp. “Glad to see you made it in one piece. Come in before you freeze.”

You step inside, clutching your bag awkwardly. The warmth of the house contrasts starkly with the damp chill outside, and you take a moment to adjust. Everything about Niamh—her posture, her voice, her movements—seems as polished and deliberate as the house itself. The cedar-and-floral scent in the air feels curated, like everything else in the space. She takes your coat, leaving you in the kitchen as she hangs it neatly on a peg before returning.

“Let me show you around before you meet Callum,” Niamh says, her tone efficient but not unkind. “He’s napping, which means I have approximately fifteen minutes to get you oriented before chaos ensues.”

You follow her through the house as she walks you through the layout and the routines you’ll need to know. Her voice remains steady as she details Callum’s favorite toys, his bedtime rituals, and the parts of the house that are strictly her space. The house is modern yet understated, with granite countertops and sleek furniture that somehow feels more like a showroom than a home.

When the tour circles back to the kitchen, you find yourself staring out of its massive windows. The Atlantic stretches out toward the horizon, and the waves lap at the cliffs below. The view is breathtaking, though it makes you feel small in its vastness.

“This will be your domain as much as mine,” Niamh says, leaning against the counter. Her sharp gaze rests on you, appraising but calm. “I’ve had a few au pairs over the years, but none of them stuck for long. I hope you will.”

The weight of her words settles uncomfortably in your chest. “I’ll do my best.”

Her eyes flick over you once more, and her expression softens ever so slightly. “Callum’s a sweet boy, but… he’s had a rough time since the divorce. I need someone who’ll be patient with him.”

You nod, your heart tightening at the mention of Callum. “I’ll take good care of him.”

“I believe you will,” Niamh replies simply, glancing at the clock. “And with that, it’s time. Are you ready?”

Callum is small for his age, with tufts of brown hair and wide, curious blue eyes that seem to take in everything around him. When Niamh brings him out, he clings to her leg, his gaze flicking toward you with a mixture of shyness and fascination.

“Callum,” Niamh says gently, crouching down beside him. “This is the person I told you about. She’s going to take care of you while I’m at work.”

Callum glances at you again, his small hand clutching his mother’s trousers tightly. “Like Mam?” he whispers.

The question catches you off guard, but you crouch down to his level, smiling softly. “I’ll be here to play with you and help you with anything you need.”

Niamh ruffles his hair lightly, her lips tightening ever so slightly. “Go on, Callum. Say hello.”

He steps closer hesitantly and holds out a small hand. “Hello,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You take his hand, his fingers warm against yours. “Hello, Callum. I think we’re going to be great friends.”

For a moment, he studies you with an intensity that only children seem to possess, then nods solemnly. Something in your chest eases as he flashes a tentative smile.

The days pass quickly as Callum begins to settle into a routine. At first, he watches you cautiously, his wide eyes tracking your every move. But gradually, he begins to open up—a smile here, a giggle there. He peppers you with questions, each one more relentless than the last.

“Why is the sky blue?” the 5 year old asks one afternoon as the two of you sit on the plush carpet in the living room, the soft glow of the fire lighting the room.

“Because it reflects the sea,” you reply with a smile.

“Why does it reflect the sea?” he counters, tilting his head.

“Because it’s magic,” you answer, your tone conspiratorial.

His giggle is warm and bright, a sound that fills the room and lingers in the air. “You’re funny, Mamaíín,” he says suddenly, the Gaeilge term slipping from his lips effortlessly.

The nickname catches you off guard. Though you don't know what it means, it feels too intimate. The way his little voice says it is far too heavy with unspoken meaning. Niamh overhears one morning and corrects him sharply—you hesitate to correct him yourself, unsure if it would do more harm than good, and you notice Niamh watching you differently after that, her sharp gaze lingering on you in quiet moments.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Bedtime becomes a cherished ritual. Callum clings to you as you read to him, his small hand resting against yours. Many nights, he insists you stay until he falls asleep, his voice drowsy as he whispers, “Just five more minutes.”

One quiet evening, after Callum is asleep, you find yourself alone in the living room, staring out at the horizon. The waves rise and fall steadily, their rhythm grounding and hypnotic. You love the silence of the countryside, the stillness it offers, but some nights it leaves you restless, your thoughts echoing too loudly in your head.

The crunch of gravel under heavy footfalls pulls you from your reverie. You frown, squinting at the figure moving through the darkening landscape, the sun having almost disappeared from the sky. He walks with a casual ease, his strides unhurried and deliberate. You move closer to the door, peering through its frosted glass as he approaches.

The knock is gentle but firm, and you open the door cautiously. The man standing there is tall, his broad shoulders draped in a dark coat speckled with snow. His hair curls slightly at the edges, glistening with moisture, and his smile is warm but faintly amused. Something about the squint of his eyes reminds you of Callum and Niamh.

“Paul?” you ask, blinking momentarily. He smiles and extends a hand. Niamh mentioned him briefly—a stay in the cottage over the holidays.

“You must be the new nanny,” he says, your name rolling off his tongue in a voice that’s deep and lilting. His gaze is steady, curious but friendly. The word nanny makes you pause for a second—it feels a bit off, not quite what you’d call yourself. But you brush it aside, taking his hand in a firm shake.“That’s me. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he replies, his eyes briefly scanning the house behind you. “Callum told me you’re funny.”

You smile, a small laugh escaping. “He likes to say that.”

Paul nods, the faint amusement in his expression softening as his gaze returns to you. “Well, you must be doing something right if he’s saying good things about you. He’s a tough nut to crack.”

“He’s a good kid,” you reply, stepping aside to let him in.

Paul steps inside, his boots leaving faint wet prints on the floor. His presence fills the space immediately, and you can’t help but feel like the house has changed just by him being here.

Paul steps further into the house, his gaze wandering curiously over the photographs on the walls and the furniture arranged with meticulous precision. His presence feels unhurried, yet somehow commanding, as though he belongs here, yet has been away too long.

“She still loves those old frames,” Paul remarks, pausing by a photo of himself and Niamh, their smiles frozen in a moment that looks like it was captured at a birthday party. “Mum used to have ones just like these in her house.”

You nod, unsure how to respond, so you motion toward the kitchen instead. “Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea would be great, thanks,” Paul replies, settling himself at the kitchen table. He moves with ease, his broad shoulders and relaxed posture making the room feel smaller, cozier. His hands rest loosely on the table, their rough edges faintly tensed.

You set the kettle to boil, reaching for a pair of mugs. Paul’s eyes follow you as you work, his gaze steady but not intrusive.

“You’ve done well to keep this place looking so tidy,” he comments. “It’s not easy with a kid like Callum running around.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, smiling softly. “He’s been… spirited, but it’s been nice. I think we’ve found our rhythm.”

Paul lets out a low chuckle, the sound warm and genuine. “That’s saying something. Callum can be a whirlwind when he wants to be. I’m glad he’s warmed up to you, though. Niamh’s been worried about finding the right fit.”

The kettle whistles, breaking the momentary silence. You pour the boiling water into the mugs and place one in front of him before sitting at the kitchen island. The quiet intimacy of the room feels suddenly magnified, blanketed in the dim, hazy light of the early evening.

Paul takes a sip of his tea, his cerulean eyes meeting yours over the rim of the mug. There’s a softness in his gaze, an unspoken curiosity that sends a slight chill up your spine. “So, what’s it like being here? In the middle of nowhere, with a kid who never stops asking questions?”

You chuckle, your eyes flickering out the window to the darkened landscape beyond. “It’s peaceful. Different from what I’m used to, but in a good way. Callum’s questions keep me on my toes, though.”

Paul’s smile widens slightly, a faint glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “He used to ask me why the moon didn’t fall out of the sky. Wouldn’t let it go until I gave him an answer that satisfied him.”

“What did you tell him?” you ask, smirking.

Paul leans back slightly in his chair, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Told him it was magic. He believed me, of course. Kids always believe in magic when they’re young.”

Your smile lingers as you take a sip of your tea. “Magic’s a good answer. It’s been my go-to with him, too.”

Paul laughs gently, his gaze softening. “You’re good with him. It’s clear to see. I think Niamh made the right choice this time.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and you shift slightly in your seat, suddenly aware of the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Paul nods, his expression thoughtful as he sets his mug down, empty. “Well, I should let you get some rest. I’ll head over to the cottage for the night. Niamh mentioned I’d be staying there.”

“Oh, right,” you say quickly, standing. “Let me grab you some sheets and a pillow. Everything else should already be set up.”

You hurry to the linen closet, pulling out a set of clean sheets and a pillow before returning to the kitchen. Paul stands near the door, his coat draped over his arm. His back is turned to you, the stretch of his shoulders visible through his white shirt, making you look away quickly.

“Here you go,” you say, handing him the bundle. “It’s just across the garden path. I’m sure you know where to go. But let me know if you need anything.”

Paul takes the sheets, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

You open the door for him, the cold night air rushing in as he steps outside. He pauses on the threshold, his gaze meeting yours one last time. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” you reply, watching as he heads toward the cottage. The crunch of gravel under his boots fades into the dark, leaving you standing there, the house suddenly feeling much quieter than before.

A/N: one last thing, I am aware that Paul's actual sister is younger (and is named differently), but I'm just making the family stuff up :)

[willowpains]

my mind cannot comprehend the lack of paul mescal fics in here… LIKE IT SEEMS IMPOSSIBLE people are not writing their asses off about him and his characters

[storiesforallfandoms]

our own after party ~ damien haas

word count: 3258

request?: no

description: while everyone else is gone out drinking after vidcon, they decide to get to know each other alone

pairing: damien haas x female!reader

warnings: swearing, rpf

masterlist (one, two, three)

Keep reading

[pedropascallme]

After The After Party

Pairing: Damien Haas x f!Reader

Summary: “‘Have you ever noticed,’ Courtney popped her lips together, spreading the gloss, ‘That Damien only ever offers to host when he knows you’re going to come?’ She turned to you again, leaning back, elbows on the sink. ‘Almost like he just wants an excuse to have you over.’”

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI) p in v sex, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, dom/sub dynamics, praise, creampie, soft!dom Damien who is also incredibly needy, mentions of drinking/alcohol, brief mention of gambling. If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: This is so dialogue heavy and I won't even apologize for it. Dedicated to the idiots to lovers mfs out there <3 (part 2 | part 3)

Long shoot blocks, you’d learned, usually devolved into long nights out. The cast and crew—or, at least, those of whom had the time and the desire to let loose—often found themselves in bars with high ceilings, with music playing too loud, and drinks that were just strong enough. There were nights when you lost Arasha and Amanda to the grimy dancefloor as soon as you passed the threshold, and nights when you watched from afar as Chanse cozied up to a beautiful stranger.

You liked listening to your friends talk and laugh as if you weren’t all exhausted after the grueling work week.

You liked feeling like part of something.

Some nights, though, when Shayne and Spencer got tired of hugging the wall, and when you’d all realized how expensive it was to go out as often as you did, someone would offer their house as a respite from the outside world. It was a chance to avoid prying eyes and the same top 40 hits that seemed to play at every bar.

Now, you found yourself at Damien’s house; someone had dimmed the lights, and from your spot on the couch you could hear glasses clinking in the kitchen as Tommy poured various liquids into a makeshift mixer. Your friends held mugs of alcohol, pretending to be above the culture of red solo cups.

You watched Amanda and Angela play a card game you didn’t know on the coffee table in front of you.

“Your pile is huge—your pile is huge, oh my god!” Amanda’s voice carried over the other noises around you. You leaned against Angela’s shoulder.

“Because you’re playing wrong! You’re cheating! You’re literally cheating and it’s so uncool.” Angela tried to grab Amanda’s cards, and you smiled at their back and forth. You were admittedly distracted, but trying to play it cool, pretending your mind wasn’t elsewhere as Angela jostled your head.

You watched Damien out of the corner of your eye. He stood across the room, toying with one of his rings, nodding along to something Alex was saying.

You tried not to stare, but there was something so attractive about the way he looked in a space all his own; he didn’t command attention—Damien hated being the center of attention, especially when it was easily avoidable—but he had a way about him tonight that just seemed so relaxed, and it was hard to ignore. Especially when he was already taking up most of your thoughts as it was.

For as long as you’d worked with Damien, he was someone you looked forward to seeing. He wasn’t the only reason you got out of bed, but he was certainly up there on the list. Thoughtful, considerate; he was a generally good-natured person. He made the days go faster, making jokes and ensuring you felt included as a newer member of the cast.

And you liked his laugh, and the way he listened, and the soft color of his hazel eyes that looked somewhere close to green in the light.

It was no secret that you found him alluring, but you felt that it was better to keep those thoughts out of his orbit. If not for your sake, for his. It just seemed unfair to come onto him after you’d spent so much time together as friends, especially when he had given you no reason to think that he felt anything for you beyond camraderie.

You sat up from your position on Angela's shoulder, moving your head to get a better look at Damien. He noticed, shooting you a smile. You reciprocated it, offering a small wave, keeping your elbow low and fingers folded near your palm. He waved back, and you both quickly returned to your respective conversations.

Amanda and Angela had gone back to playing their game, light-hearted fighting words replaced by laughs as they smacked cards down.

There was a tap on your shoulder, and Courtney pulled you up from the couch.

“Come to the bathroom with me.” She set a cup of something that smelled strong on the table.

The rules of the bar still applied to house parties, and you had no problem tagging along on trips to the bathroom, sitting pretty while your friends fixed whatever makeup was still left of that morning’s full beat. You followed Courtney down the hallway and into the bathroom.

“You’re bright red, you know,” They wasted no time in grilling you, running the water and dabbing it under their eyes to wipe away streaks of mascara that had rubbed off.

“I had a Tommy special.” You sat on the edge of the bathtub.

“That’s not—you can handle your liquor.” Courtney turned, combing through their hair with her fingers, “You’re not blushing just because Tommy gave you one vodka cran.”

“It wasn’t a vodka cran. It was a vodka soda.” You could tell where the conversation was headed, and you tried to veer it off track.

“You’re not as slick as you think you are.” Courtney raised a brow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He hasn’t even spoken to me tonight.” You contradicted yourself, markedly aware of what she was referring to and feeding into the topic, but disputing what you could.

“You’re oblivious.” Courtney laughed, fishing lip gloss from her pocket and turning back to the mirror.

“What do you mean?” You stood behind them, watching her reapply the color to their lips.

“Have you ever noticed,” Courtney popped her lips together, spreading the gloss, “That Damien only ever offers to host when he knows you’re going to come?” She turned to you again, leaning back, elbows on the sink. “Almost like he just wants an excuse to have you over.”

“He doesn’t do that. Damien is always offering to host. Doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.” You retorted.

“Not true,” they shook their head, “On days that you're not around and we don’t feel like going to the bar, Tommy always hosts. Or Amanda. Or Ian.”

“Tommy has more alcohol at his place.” You ignored the rest of the list, still trying to change the subject.

“Dude,” Courtney was laughing now, “It’s like you don’t want to see it.”

“See what?” Your ears began to feel hot.

“That he likes you as much as you like him.” The words had a tone of finality. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Bec—are you serious? Why wouldn’t I be nervous? Why would I run the risk of ruining a perfectly good friendship? Or, you know, whatever it is—however you might describe what it is!” You started to ramble, digging yourself into a hole, “What happens if something happens and then—it could ruin work, Court. It could ruin everything!” You suddenly became aware that you were whisper-yelling. You cleared your throat, returning to a normal tone of voice. “It could ruin everything. That’s why people don’t fuck their coworkers.”

Courtney said nothing, just held up their hand and made a point of showing you the wedding band around their ring finger. She cleared her throat.

“That’s different.” You tried to backpedal.

“How?” Courtney looked amused, eager to hear your half-baked reasoning.

“Cause of course that worked out. Look at how Shayne looks at you. Look at how obvious of a pairing you two are.”

“Same way Damien looks at you.” Courtney smirked.

“You’re reading into this more than I am.” You shook your head at them. “He would’ve made a point to do something by now.”

“Are we…talking about the same Damien?” Courtney laughed, and you responded with a tight-lipped scowl. “In what world would he ever make a first move?”

“The ideal one. Where everything goes my way.” You scoffed, folding your arms.

“Right,” Courtney put a hand on your waist, and you looked at each other. “Approach this with more confidence, is all I’m saying. Give yourself—give him—the opportunity to make something happen.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, unfolding your arms and rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, no, you’re right.” She gave you a cocky look, and you slapped their arm gently, “Don’t rub it in.”

“You’re hot,” Courtney rubbed her thumb over the exposed skin of your waist, “And sweet. You deserve the world. And I love the both of you more than words, but you act like you’ve never had a crush before.”

“Not like this.” You admitted, and they smiled.

“I know. But you have nothing to lose.” They looked around as if they were afraid someone might be listening from behind the shower curtain, “I have it on good authority that he feels just as strongly about this thing—” she gesticulated vaguely, “as you do.” She smiled, turning to open the door. You grabbed her by the arm.

“What did Shayne tell you—what did Damien tell Shayne?” You tried to pull them back as they turned the door handle, but she wiggled from your grasp.

“You didn’t hear it from me!” She called back to you, leaving you alone in the bathroom to ruminate on the conversation. 

~~~

It was still early when people started to trickle out. You knew when Shayne and Courtney left that the party was over.

“Do you guys need a ride?” You sidled up to Courtney where she stood in the foyer with Shayne, “I don’t mind driving you home. I’m sober. Stone cold.”

“Oh my god—Steve Austin, I love your work!” Spencer called over to you while he herded a cheerfully inebriated Tommy through the door. Shayne let out a quick, barking laugh.

“No, don’t worry about it. We’re ubering.” Courtney moved hair from your face, and you saw something dubious hidden in her smile. She leaned further into your space, lowering their voice, “And you’re not going anywhere.”

“What?” You made a face.

“Give yourself,” they pressed a finger to your chest, “an opportunity.”

You grasped her hand, squeezing her fingers. Shayne looked on, and if he knew what you were talking about, he kept it to himself.

“I’m leaving. I’ll be gone—out the door right after you.” You argued, and Courtney raised her eyebrows, waving you off before exiting. Shayne followed close behind her.

You didn’t leave right after them. As it turned out, you didn’t really want to leave at all.

You liked Damien’s house. It was spooky year-round, warm in both temperature and color palette, and his couch was cozy.

It wasn’t just the furniture; Damien’s presence was equally as, if not more, comforting. He walked around picking up whatever had been misplaced during the night, trying to find the right spot for it all. He hummed quietly to himself, shooing the cats away with his feet.

“I’m sorry for not helping,” you shifted on the couch, lying on your side.

“Don’t be sorry,” he smiled, “It’s fun to organize.”

“That is such a you thing to say, you know that?”

“What is?”

“That organizing is fun.”

“It is. Especially when I have company while I do it.” He looked pointedly at you. You held eye contact.

“You can tell me to leave. If you’re done for the night.”

“Why would I want you to leave?” He looked genuinely curious as to why you would think he’d want you gone.

“If you’re tired, or something. I get it.”

“No,” he shook his head, grabbing a cup that had been left half-full on a bookshelf, “I like having you around.”

“Can I get that as a written statement? Signed, dated…” You sat up a bit, positioning your head on the armrest of the sofa.

“Absolutely not. Nobody can ever know.” He laughed, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“Come sit with me.” You leaned over to pat a cushion before returning to your reclined position.

It could’ve just been the liquid courage you’d ingested, but you’d only had one drink. It was hardly enough to make you feel a buzz, let alone get you drunk. Maybe you were just thinking too much about what Courtney had said, about giving yourself a chance, finding an opening to let him in. Or maybe you were just really, really comfortable where you were spread out on the couch. For once, though, the confidence seemed to be your own doing.

Damien put down the cup in his hand and settled on the couch. You rested your feet on his thigh, and he placed a hand on your shin.

You’d always felt that any one-on-one time you got with him had a deadline, like you were on a time crunch based off of when the next video needed to be filmed or when your friends would join the conversation. It made the moments alone with him all the more enjoyable.

You liked being here, alone with him.

You liked it a lot.

“You wanna do something?” Damien leaned his head back on the couch, stretching his arms out beside him. You tried not to pay too much attention to the way the fabric of his t-shirt hugged his arms and the broad expanse of his chest.

“Like what?” You quirked a brow.

"Something low energy that makes us feel like we’re doing something…” He mulled over the possibilities, “Smash Bros?”

You nodded. “Wanna make it interesting?”

“I’m not putting money down.”

“Because you’re scared?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “Scared you’ll lose. Wouldn’t wanna take a chunk out of your day rate.”

“You fucking wish,” you kicked at him gently. “I wasn’t thinking the gambling route.”

“So what were you thinking?”

“You ever played strip poker?”

Damien looked taken aback, and you regretted your proposal almost instantly. “Are you suggesting we play strip Smash?” He broke into a fit of laughter.

“We don’t—it was just a thought.” You tried to retract your suggestion.

“I didn’t say no.” He held your gaze, and you felt a tug in your stomach. “But if you get cold, tell me.”

“You say that like I’m going to lose.”

“Oh, is that what that sounded like?” He tossed you a controller, “Good. Cause that’s what I meant.”

You kicked at him again.

You lost your socks first. Then your shirt. You didn’t know whether or not to thank or chastise yourself for remembering to wear a bra. Your pants quickly followed, and though it was far from a matching set, you were relieved that your undergarments were at least presentable.

You were acutely aware of your own body now; the rise and fall of your chest and the way you moved your legs when you got caught up in the game. You didn’t notice Damien: how he bit the inside of his cheek so hard when you took off your shirt that he flinched; how he nearly lost his grip on the controller when your jeans came off; how he kept shifting in his seat.

You especially didn’t notice the way he looked at you. His eyes flicked over your face with a combination of pride and adoration, and they darkened significantly when his gaze dropped below your collar and took in your half-naked form.

“How far are you gonna take this?” Damien was grinning, his voice the only other sound against the backdrop of in-game blasts and the click of thumbs on controllers.

“Down to my skin.” You shot him a glance and he cleared his throat.

“Won’t be long, then.”

“Yeah?” You bumped your shoulder against his lightly.

“You’re oh-for-three.” He pointed out, and you pushed against him again, harder this time, in an attempt to throw him off his rhythm.

“Let me choose a different character.” You tried to reach for his hands to grab at the controller. He held it up and away from his body.

“I don’t think the character is the problem,” he laughed, face lighting up at the way you sneered in frustration. “I’m not pausing just so you can be Kirby.”

“Who said I wanted to be Kirby?” You chastised him.

“Did you want to be Kirby?” He looked smug when he turned to face you, his hands still out of reach. You realized how close you’d gotten to him over the course of your teasing exchange, and suddenly recognized that the opportunity Courtney had been alluding to was right in front of you.

You moved to straddle his waist, legs framing his body and tits inches from his face as you stretched out to grab his hands, removing the controller from his grasp. You tossed it to the side and Damien was frozen as you shifted to look behind you at the screen, your victory now swift thanks to the lack of any opponent.

You turned back to him with a smile. “Did you want to be Kirby,” you imitated him, echoing his taunt. “Lose the shirt, Dames.”

Damien looked up at you, frozen. The tension was almost visible, like fogged glass, and you had no idea how to clear the air. You were nearly certain that you had made a terrible mistake, that everything about tonight was about to go wrong.

You were unable to make eye contact with him—afraid that by looking at him you would completely fall apart and lose the edge you’d only just found. Throughout your mental battle with yourself, Damien still hadn't moved, his gaze fixed on your face.

You tried to make your fear dissipate by breaking the silence.

“What?” You laughed, a little awkwardly.

Damien swallowed. “I...sorry,” His eyes were wide as he spoke, “I just got…very nervous and—and really turned on.”

Oh.

He let out a small, huffed laugh, smiling up at you in a moment of awe. He blinked hard a few times before moving his arm to rest behind his head.

“That…that makes two of us, then,” you stayed where you were, placing your hands on your thighs. You licked your lips, exhaling, before finding the nerve to continue. “You still have to take your shirt off, though. You lost. Rules are rules.”

“Didn't you get to take your socks off first?” He narrowed his eyes playfully.

“You can take them off," your words were coy. "You want me to move?”

“I never said that.” He shook his head, leaning forward just enough to grant him the space to remove his t-shirt. He tossed it to the side, and you felt your whole body flood with nerves and anticipation when he leaned back against the couch on full display for you.

“Are you cold?” Damien brought his hand up to cup your elbow, and it was only then that you became aware of the goosebumps that had broken out over your flesh.

“No…No. Just…” You swallowed, moving slightly on his lap. “Just nervous.”

He let out a small laugh. “Do you—I mean…” He was entranced, unable to remove his eyes from your face for the fear that if he looked at any more of you, you’d be able to feel his reaction. You reached out to trace a hand over his chest, admiring him and letting the heat of his skin warm your palm. “Would you mind if…” He bit his lip, closing his eyes while your fingers grazed his flesh. He took a deep breath. “Can I kiss you?”

You stopped your hand, letting it linger on the center of his chest, just above his stomach. Damien gingerly placed a hand on your waist, and for just a moment you wondered if he could feel the desperation seeping through your skin.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can kiss me.” you nodded, maybe a little overzealous, “Please.”

You leaned forward into him. You could feel the weight of his hand on your body and the thrum of your own heartbeat in your chest as it threatened to break through your ribcage. You watched him suck in a sharp, deep breath before his other hand cupped your face. You closed your eyes, letting him guide you into the kiss.

It was tender. You moved slowly, in tandem with him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting yourself settle into him as you got lost in the way his mouth felt on yours. You let your lips part, making space for his tongue to dip between them and explore you further. You let out a quiet moan when he licked into you, and you let your own tongue delve beyond his lips to take a taste of what you’d been craving so urgently. His grip on your waist tightened in response to your sounds, and you took it upon yourself to test the waters, rolling your hips against him. You were rewarded with the feeling of his stiffening cock between your legs, and a gruff sound that caught in his throat. His hand moved from your face to the back of your head, applying light pressure to keep you steady as the kiss became hungrier, and he bit at your bottom lip.

When you parted, both of you pausing to catch your breath, he looked up at you, quietly chuckling to himself.

“What?” You let your hands wander over his shoulders, “Was it that bad?”

“What? No—god, no. No, I’ve just…I’ve always wanted to do that.” Damien smiled, moving his thumb in a soothing pattern over your hip, “I’ve always wanted to do that…” He trailed off, raking his eyes over you and letting both hands move up and down your sides.

“Really?” You posed the question with your eyes closed, lost in his touch. You let yourself fall forward on his chest.

“Really.” He sighed dreamily, “I can’t begin to explain to you how much space you take up in my head. The real thing is a lot better than the imaginary version.” 

“But you can do whatever you want in your imagination.” You pointed out, pressed against him and tracing lines over his collar with one finger.

“Yeah. Sure. But nothing I think up could ever beat this.” His fingers grazed the clasp of your bra, “And, full transparency, I’ve thought up a lot.”

You laughed, pushing yourself up with both hands on his chest to really look at him; his hair was messy, and his cheeks were flushed pink.

He looked flawless. You felt flawless.

“Damien,” your tone was saccharine, still tinged with a shy edge but steadily coming into your own with help from Damien’s clear reciprocation of your feelings, “Do you wanna show me all the thoughts you’ve had?” You watched his face go stern at your words, still hinting his amusement with a small, nearly hidden smile. “Do you wanna act on them?”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against him; somehow the feeling of your tits pressed against his bare chest was almost more intimate than the kiss you’d just shared. You squealed, tossing your head back, which he took as an opportunity to leave dainty kisses on your throat, muttering against your skin.

“I don’t think you’ve ever seen my room.” His voice was gravelly, parched from the kisses he left on your skin as he picked you up. You gasped, suddenly off the ground and in his arms as he carried you down the hall; one of his hands trailed down your body, and you felt his fingers dig into the flesh of your upper thigh to keep his hold on you. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, letting him overwhelm your senses.

You got lost momentarily, like time had paused or sped up or stopped completely, but then you were in his room. The lights were dim, just as they were in the rest of the house, and the shelves stacked with various tchotchkes and books that you were too distracted to care about in the moment.

You realized that a person could look like their home, in a way, and you recalled the moment earlier in the evening when you had found yourself so attracted to how Damien carried himself in his own space. It’s because the space was just as welcoming, just as comforting and soothing as he was.

He let his grip on you loosen, and you landed on his bed, hands still wrapped around him and tentative of letting go. But you didn’t have to; he lay next to you, rolling onto his side and pulling you against him in a swift maneuver that placed you comfortably on his chest.

He didn’t kiss you, maybe out of anxiety that he was moving too fast for your taste, or just because he felt the moment didn’t call for it, but he brushed his nose against yours and let his hands linger on your waist.

“Is this what you thought about?” You whispered, letting him continue his quiet ministrations, “Taking me to bed and touching me like this?”

“And so much more,” he breathed, hands moving up your back, trying to commit your entire body to memory. “I hope you—I didn’t mean for it to come off like I’ve only ever thought about fucking you.”

You moved to rub your thumb over his cheek. “What did you mean?”

“That I don’t want you to be my friend,” he smiled, and your heart dropped for a second before he continued, “That I think about you all the time in ways that friends don’t think about each other. And I…” He searched for the right words, “Even after a night like this, even after, you know, seeing everybody and having everybody over—even when a place is full of people, and noise…You’re still the only person I can pay attention to. Or think about.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, and he pulled away from you to meet your gaze.

“Does that sound really stupid?”

“No,” you reassured him, pulling him back towards you, “No, it’s…you put it into words, Damien.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I get it. I’ve been trying to figure out how to describe what you mean to me, and you just,” you laughed again, trying to collect yourself, “You did the work for me.” You smiled, tilting your head back with your chest still pressed against him, making sure he paid attention to what you were saying. “I love you.”

You watched his face change, something in his eyes and the curl of his lips looked different in a way you couldn’t pinpoint. You couldn’t look for long, because he was on you again in a flash, arms wrapping around you, engulfing you with his body and tugging you into him. His lips crashed against yours, and it was hungry, and messy, and passionate, so much so that you couldn’t be bothered to care about the clack of teeth or the small bead of spit that fell from the corner of your lip.

“I love you,” Damien’s voice sounded tight, higher than it had been all night, “I love you.” He freely explored your body now, big hands reaching over your ass and offering soft squeezes before grazing your sides and the swell of your breasts.

“You know how,” you managed to get a few words in between heated kisses, “you said you didn’t want it to come off as if you only wanted to fuck me?” You let out a small moan when he licked a stripe up your neck and to your earlobe, mumbling quiet curses to yourself at the feel of his tongue on your body.

“Mhm,” Damien acknowledged your words without breaking away from you, still nipping at your neck while you let your breathing mellow so that you could continue speaking.

“Want you to fuck me,” you put a hand in his hair, forming a fist in the silver strands and pulling him up to make eye contact. “Damien, I want you to fuck me.”

He looked almost surprised, like he had forgotten physical intimacy beyond kissing you was even an option. The look of mild shock was replaced with clear enthusiasm as he moved to get off of the bed. “I’d hate to make you ask twice.”

He shed his jeans, and you realized this was more of him than you had ever seen before; standing next to you was the man that took up all your thoughts, ready and willing to give you what you wanted, his eyes like pools of reverence as they trailed over your form.

You couldn’t help but feel excited, uncaring if you came off as desperate. You sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, situating yourself on your knees. Your hands found purchase on his chest and slowly moved down his stomach until you reached the waistband of his boxers.

“Eager,” he let your hands wander, watching on as you explored. You paused, looking up at him to wordlessly ask if you were allowed to go further. “Don’t be shy, baby,” something about his tone had changed, and the cheerful voice you’d come to know and love was replaced with a deeper, rasping sound that you thought you might like even more. “You can touch. Take what you need.”

The words reached your core before they fully hit your ears, and you shifted on your knees, pressing your thighs together to give yourself some relief. Sliding your hand under his waistband, you were met with the solid, smooth skin of his cock. He helped you pull his boxers down and over his length, letting it spring free, and you felt your mouth water.

He was big, thick, and while not surprising in the slightest, you couldn’t help but whine at the sight before you. You looked up at him, your hand wrapped around his cock, thumb brushing the reddened tip; you expected him to look smug, proud of himself, maybe, but he looked dumbstruck, in awe of the way your hand looked wrapped around him—in awe of the fact that it was you.

“Damien,” you prompted, and it broke him out of his haze. He nodded. “Can I…”

“Please,” he took a deep breath, “God, yes, please.”

You smiled. “Well, I’d hate to make you ask twice.” He laughed at your mimicry before quickly silencing himself with a shaky moan when you licked an experimental stripe up the bottom of his cock. He tilted his head to the side, unable to decide whether to get lost in the pleasure or to enjoy the view he had of you, bent over yourself on your knees and using your mouth in a way he’d only ever dreamed of.

You spit in your hand, gliding it over him and appreciating the way he felt in your hands; the warmth, the pliant weight. You made sure he was looking when you finally took his tip in your mouth, circling your tongue over him. You moved your hand in sync with the way you bobbed your head. He groaned, hand flying to rake his fingers through your hair, and the way he sighed out your name spurred you on more.

His other hand caressed your back, tugging cautiously at the straps of your bra.

“Take it off,” you pumped him in your hand, letting your tongue flick out to deliver barely-there licks to the tip of his cock. “Take it off for me.”

“Fuck.” He huffed, hypnotized by the way you used your mouth on him. He undid the clasp with one hand, and you let the straps hang off your body. You didn’t want to pause your movements, didn’t even want to slow down at the risk of having to go for even a second without hearing him moan your name; you shook the constricting material from yourself, taking him deeper in your mouth until tears pricked your eyes so that you could slip your bra off your arms. Damien let out a low groan, tightening the grip he still had on your hair. 

You took him deeper still, hand working what you couldn’t fit down your throat. When you gagged on him, he let out an absolutely filthy sound.

“You like that?” He was smiling with his mouth open, chest heaving with every breath, “You like choking on me?” You answered with a garbled “yes,” his cock still pressed against the back of your throat, one hand on his hip to keep yourself stable as your other hand stroked the base of him. He moaned. “You look so pretty. Always knew you’d look so good with my cock down your throat, baby.”

You couldn’t help the noise that you let out, something between a gasp and a moan that sent vibrations up Damien’s spine. You continued to move up and down over his cock before removing your mouth from him, spit dripping down your chin and a dopey smile on your lips.

Damien grabbed your face in one hand, fingers pressing hard against your cheeks as he pulled you up to his level. “You really are just so fucking perfect.” He kissed you, letting the drool that coated your chin drip onto his face. “Can I taste you? Can I taste how sweet you are?”

You nodded, the hand he still had on your face moving with you.

“Yeah? Say it.” He demanded, and you whimpered, enjoying the look of dominance on him.

“Want you to taste me, Damien.” When you spoke, his fingers pressed the inside of your cheeks against your teeth. “Want you to taste how sweet I am.”

He growled, moving his jaw in a circle as if to stretch the muscles in preparation for what he planned on doing to you. “How do you ask nicely?”

You felt an adrenaline rush deep in your stomach. It was one thing to be here with your pleasure in his hands, but to hear Damien say the things you’d fantasized about for so long made your head swim.

“Please…” One of your hands grabbed impatiently at his arm, “Please, Damien…want…want you to fuck me with your tongue. Please.”

He kissed you again, smiling against your mouth and removing his hand from your face to push softly against your chest so that you fell back onto the bed. He knelt on the mattress, holding your calves and pulling your legs open. You sank into the pillows at the head of the bed, letting them cradle and support you at an angle that allowed you to look down at Damien, whose face hovered over your core. His fingers danced over the waistband of your panties, and you wondered if he had felt the same tingly sensation when you toyed with his boxers as you did right now with his hands running over your hips and stomach.

He pressed his face against your clothed cunt, impatient and greedy for you. You moaned, one hand fisting the sheets under you while the other came to rest on your thigh, holding your legs open for him when your muscles threatened to snap them closed following the sudden contact.

“Fuck, Damien, that feels—that’s so good.” You squirmed under him as he licked over your panties, tongue brushing your clit through the fabric. You tried to push the material down, wiggling your hips to ease your panties off your body, but Damien caught your hands in his.

“Let me play, baby.” His doe eyes stared up at you from between your legs with a devious glint. You didn't listen, and instead continued to move your hips in an attempt to wriggle out of the fabric that kept his mouth from making direct contact with you. He pressed down on your hips, forcing you to cease your fidgeting. “Be patient.”

He licked a stripe from where your panties threatened to reveal your hole and up to your clit, and you arched your back in an attempt to encourage him further.

“God, Damien, please!” You pleaded, begging for him to touch you without the obstacle of the fabric that remained on your body. “Want it—said you wanted to taste me, you can taste me—you can taste me, I need it. Please, let me feel your tongue, please—”

Damien snapped your waistband and you yelped, effectively ending your rambling.

“You’re pretty when you beg," he kissed your stomach, and you let out a whimper. "But if you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll fuck it.” Damien’s words weren’t harsh, you could hear the joviality buried under the severity in his voice, and somehow that made it even sexier.

Your arousal was heightened when, as you moaned at his words, you felt two thick fingers plunge into your cunt. Your breath caught in your throat, and you choked out his name.

“Oh my god!” You cried out, looking down to see that he had moved your panties to the side to give himself access to your entrance. His fingers pumped in and out of you, curling to hit your more delicate spots, and the sound was utterly indecent.

“You’re soaked,” Damien was smiling with his top teeth, watching his fingers as they disappeared inside of you. “What got you so wet, baby?”

“Because…s’cause…” You didn’t have the energy to talk, too focused on the way his fingers pushed against the walls of your cunt, forcing your body to make space for him.

“Because why?” He goaded, thumb rubbing circles on your clit as he pushed his fingers deeper, “Because you like the way I touch you? Hm? Because you’ve been thinking about this as much as I have? For as long as I have?”

You nodded, mouth agape and eyes threatening to roll back; maybe you looked pathetic, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, completely content with his fingers thrusting into you.

“Aw, come on. If you still want my mouth, you’re gonna have to do better than that.” He removed his fingers from inside of you, using the slick that coated them as lubricant to massage your clit.

“Wanted this for so long—so fucking long, Damien.” Your words came out rushed and breathy, “Thought about you like this all the time. Thought about—about you when I came, every time I came.” You couldn’t stop yourself from telling him the truth, the words tumbled from your lips as easily as taking a breath.

Your admission made him pause his movements, and for a moment the dominance in his face faded into something more tender. But he gathered himself, finally pulling off your panties in one fell swoop, then taking one of your legs and hooking your knee over his shoulder while you continued to babble to him.

“Keep talking, princess,” the nickname made you dizzy with desire, and you whined out for him, your eyes wide and watery when his breath fanned over your now bare, slick coated center. “Keep talking. Tell me all about it while I taste you.”

The first swipe of his tongue against your clit sent shockwaves through you, and you whimpered before recollecting your train of thought.

“Th—oh!” You quickly lost your words again when Damien began to ease his tongue into your entrance, toying with your hole before plunging into you with a purpose. He squeezed your thigh, and you took it as encouragement to continue. “Thought about this all the time—about your mouth against me. Using your mouth on me until my legs got sore from the way you’d hold me open.” He groaned against your cunt, and you extended a hand to comb your fingers through his hair. “Thought about all the ways you could use me. All the ways I would let you use me—fuck, like that, please!”

He had his face buried in you, your slick dripping down his chin and his nose pressed against your clit. You could feel the movement of his tongue inside of you, and you tugged on his hair as the sensation spread over your body.

“Thought about getting on my knees for you. I would let you have me whenever you wanted—wherever you wanted.”

Damien growled. “Yeah?” His brow quirked and he looked up at you momentarily before diving back into your heat, “Have to take you up on that.”

You whimpered, the muscles in your thighs and abdomen tensing from the onslaught of pleasure, and the feeling let you know that you were approaching your peak.

“Knew you would make me feel so amazing, Damien, knew you’d make me cum like nobody else ever could.” You were stringing words together faster than your brain could think them up. But even if they came out jumbled, every last word was true.

“Want you to cum on my mouth,” Damien was grinding his hips against the mattress, the relief he got from the fabric of the sheets dulled his intense arousal only momentarily, but he chased the feeling. “Please, baby, give it to me.”

You pulled his hair, admittedly harder than you had intended, but with the moan he let out, it seemed he didn’t mind. His tongue worked wonders as he extended it over and into you. Right when you thought you were already done for, limbs going slack and the pleasant tingle in your core reaching a fever pitch, Damien wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, letting his tongue flick against the sensitive bud.

It felt good to scream out for him, to let his name fall repeatedly from your lips as you yanked on his hair, but it felt better to hear his voice and the words that rang out from between your legs.

“Beautiful,” he was mumbling, still licking into you, trying to savor the tangy flavor of your cum. “So fucking beautiful, baby. Look at the pretty fucking mess you made. Did such a good job.”

You tugged again on his hair and he let you guide him up to face level. When he leaned in to kiss you, you opened your mouth instantly, and he slid his tongue between your lips. You sucked on it happily, eager to taste yourself on him, eager to experience everything you'd always imagined being able to do with him.

In turn, he held you close, so you wouldn’t slip away like you did when he woke up from his dreams.

You let the kiss linger, leisurely grasping at each other and appreciating the newfound lack of constraint. You curled yourself into him, lying on your side and tangling your legs with his in an effort to get as close to him as you could.

“You look so pretty when you cum,” Damien mumbled, lips grazing your pulse point, dipping down and sucking faint bruises onto your collar. “I want to see it again.”

“You can see it whenever you want,” you closed your eyes, relishing the gentle pressure he was putting on your skin so that the marks would form in small spots across your chest. You cupped his cheek in your hand, and he reluctantly stopped licking the bruises that had begun to pop up. Your thumb stroked the skin under his eye. “I want you to see it again now.”

Damien leaned into you, trailing kisses over your jaw. “You want me to fuck you?” He licked a stripe up your neck and over your chin. When his tongue reached your mouth, you opened for him, letting him lick between your lips, kissing him fervidly and moaning softly. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you? Want me to fuck you even though I just made you cum?" He growled into your mouth. "You need more already?"

“Yeah,” you smiled shyly, rubbing your face against the stubble on his cheek.

“Needy thing.” He removed his hands from you, then snaked his arms through the gap in your bodies and put his hands on your shoulders, pushing you against the mattress and onto your back.

He straddled your legs, keeping you immobile on the bed and kissing down your chest. He nipped at the plush flesh of your breasts, unable to contain himself, unable to hide the obvious pleasure he took in seeing you this way.

“Damien—” You sighed when he circled his tongue around one of your nipples, your fingers wrapping around his bicep.

“I know. I know. Sorry, I just—God, you’re beautiful.” He smiled, more to himself than to you, but the joy on his face was palpable, and you were sure he could detect the pride you felt at being the one to make him feel this way.

He used his knee to spread your legs, opening you up for him, moving his own legs to situate himself between your thighs. One of his hands ran up and down your leg as he stroked himself, lining his cock up with your entrance. When the tip of him rubbed between your folds, you whimpered, moving your hands down his arm and squeezing his forearm.

“Is this what you want?” Damien was looking down, examining how perfectly his body meshed with yours. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah,” your words were barely above a whisper, “Want you to fuck me.”

He moved his hand further up your body and squeezed your hip. “Where are your manners, princess?” He smirked, “Say please.”

“Please, Damien,” you stared up at him wide-eyed, captivated. “Please.”

“There you go.” He squeezed your hip again in recognition of your obedience. Slowly, as if he was worried he’d break you, he pushed into you, watching your eager, waiting cunt swallow every inch he offered you. You moaned, squeezing his arm and leaving small, curved marks where your nails dug into his skin. You watched his eyelids flutter, head tilting back with his mouth ajar, letting out a deep groan as he squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again to meet your heavy-lidded gaze.

“Big.” It was all you said, stretched and full of him in a way nobody had ever filled you up before.

Damien swallowed a laugh, flashing a domineering smile. “Big?”

“Too big.” You clarified, not entirely meaning it; you were thrilled to be this packed with him, but it had been so long since you’d felt a satisfying sting like this that it would take you a moment to get accustomed to it.

“You can take it, baby. I know you can.” He pressed his palm over your stomach, brushing his thumb across your skin soothingly. “You tell me if it’s too much, ok? Use your words, say it’s too much, and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t want you to stop.” Your voice came out strong momentarily, so eager for him that the possibility of him leaving you empty made you tense. “Waited so long…” You said, mellowing slightly, “Want you. Want you to…to use me.”

Damien made a throaty noise, something between a laugh and a moan that both relaxed and lit a fire inside you. Unhurried, he pulled out of you, his hands on your hips to give himself proper leverage. You exhaled slowly, mind set adrift by the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls; his rounded tip, every vein that ran up his length—you were certain you could feel it all.

You whimpered when he had pulled out enough so that nothing but the head of his cock penetrated you. You swayed your hips, trying to spur him on, but even with just the tip you felt you had ample stimulation.

He didn’t stop you, just watched on as you tried to fuck yourself with the tip of his cock just barely inside of you.

“You need some help?” He raised an eyebrow at.

“Please—fuck me, please.” You nodded excitedly, aching for him.

He smiled, eyes fixed on your face as he rammed back into you, watching your mouth contort and your tits bounce as your body absorbed the force. You screamed out for him, arching your back, which gave him the ability to push the remainder of his cock as far into you as he could.

“Fuck Damien! So—feel…so full!” You felt a tear fall over your cheek, overwhelmed by the bliss of having his cock buried inside of you and the rough way in which he made it happen. He leaned over you, supporting himself on his forearms as he caged you between them, and met you at face level. He thrust in and out of you shallowly, bringing his lips to your cheek and kissing the path of the delighted tears you had shed.

“Yeah? Feel full?” He whispered, still moving his hips, his cheek pressed against yours so he could speak directly into your ear.

“Yes, Damien—God, yes!” You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to immerse yourself in all of him. You searched for any part of him that you could reach with your mouth, planting sloppy kisses on his collar, his shoulder, the crook of his neck.

“Good.” He kissed your cheek again, before licking the wet, salty trail that your tears had left behind. “Want you to feel me for days after this.” He found your lips and kissed you, the pace and intensity of his thrusts increasing. “And when you can finally walk straight, I’m gonna do it to you all over again.”

You scraped your nails up his back, moaning for him and desperate to have him follow through on his threat. He buried his face in your neck, and you could feel the tug of his stubble on your skin as he panted against you, fucking into you aggressively in a way you’d always dreamed he would.

Each thrust felt deeper, and there came a point where you felt a pleasant pain in your side as his cock brushed your cervix.

“Damien—Christ, you’re so fucking deep,” Your nails jabbed harder into the skin of his back and he let out a hiss. “Please, like that. Just like that, don’t stop. B-bruise me, please, please!”

“I won’t stop, princess,” Damien’s words were snarled, gruff in your ear as his lips grazed just below your earlobe. “I promise. Wanna leave this pretty pussy so nice and sore.” He sucked a mark under your jawline, "Wanna ruin you."

You moved one hand, fingers lacing through his silver hair and yanking at the brown roots to pull him from his spot in the crook of your neck. He took the hint, rising up to meet you, his mouth finding yours and biting at your bottom lip.

“I love you,” you couldn’t bite back the words, not even if you tried; not when his cock was hitting spots you didn’t even know were there, not when he was using all his upper body strength to stay above you just so he could gaze down upon your tear-streaked, fucked out face, not when it was something you’d been dying to tell him in this capacity for as long as you could remember. “I love you, Damien—I love you.”

“I love you,” he echoed your words, voice softening and face relaxing. “I love you so much. I do, I love you so much.”

You raised your hips to meet his thrusts, and Damien moaned out your name, muscle in his jaw tensing before he let his mouth fall slack. He paused momentarily, sitting up while still buried inside you, to take your legs in his hands and press your knees back to your chest. You were bent in half, completely at his mercy and loving it. You yelped, the new angle giving him the ability to drive harder and deeper into you; the control he had over your body made your head swim and your cunt squeeze around him. He leaned over you, smiling through the pleasure that clouded his mind to jeer at you affectionately as he continued to escalate the manner in which he fucked you.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He watched you, your head lolling to the side and practically drooling as you looked back up at him, pitiful moans and gibberish the only way you could communicate. “Lose your voice?”

You swallowed hard, gasping for air and overcome with the feeling of him. You searched for the right words.

“Make me—oh!—feel so good,” you panted, “so fucking good.”

“Who makes you feel so good?” Damien pressed, plunging his cock as deep as he could, his hips firm against the back of your thighs.

“You do!” You felt all of him, and still, somehow, you craved more. “You do—you, you!”

“Yeah? Say it princess. Say Damien you make me feel so good.” He grabbed your chin, forcing you to stare up at him with your lust-blown eyes. “Say it.”

“Da—Damien,” you whimpered as he fucked you in quick bursts while waiting for you to speak. “Damien, you—you make m-me feel so good.”

He pressed his lips to yours, further enhancing the way your body was already contorted, and you moaned into his mouth at the feeling of being used like a toy by him.

“That’s right,” Damien licked into your mouth, “You make me feel so good, princess.”

He pulled back from your face, straightening once more; he grabbed your legs and threw them over his shoulders, gripping your thighs close to his body and using them to pull you onto his cock. The sounds you made were high pitched and pathetic, eyes rolling back while he placed kisses on your calves where they were slung over his shoulders; he nipped at you, teeth just barely grazing the flesh of your legs as his lips did a bulk of the work. The tickle of his five o’clock shadow was a welcome match to the gentle pressure you felt in your abdomen brought on by the way his cock stretched you.

He wrapped one arm around your legs, leaving you powerless to his movements as your head pushed back into the pillows from the sheer delight of feeling him inside of you, heightened by the depth and momentum with which he fucked you. He let his other hand drop to hold your hips, thumb caressing your skin with unidentifiable shapes.

You couldn’t remember getting fucked like this before—if you ever even had been fucked like this before. Somehow Damien knew you inside and out better than anybody else did, maybe even better than you knew yourself. This was proven by the way he drove his hips into you, hauling you over his cock and making you feel the delicious drag of his length in a way that made you feel full to the point of near discomfort. The electrified jolts of satisfaction when the tip of his cock pressed up against your more delicate, hidden spots, were eased by the soft way he touched you. The feeling wasn’t confined to your walls; his fingers brushed your clit, the ghost of a touch sending shockwaves through your system. You wriggled your body, unable to contain yourself and responding physically to the way his digits teased you while he ruined you with his cock.

He was rough, wild, and everything you needed. When you looked up at him, you could still see the kindness in his features, hear the compassion with which he moaned your name, feel the romantic way he squeezed at your body even while he was fucking you stupid. His groaned words of praise, of affirmation, when he managed to gasp your name between panting thrusts brought you to the edge just as much as his physical prowess did, and you let it be known how you were feeling.

“Damien—” You reached out, grasping at his arm where it wrapped around your legs, his other hand kneading your clit in slow circles. You felt your cunt tighten around him, walls fluttering in preparation for your oncoming orgasm, hips bucking on their own accord as you chased the ecstasy he brought you.

“Give me another, princess,” he grunted, pounding into you, his fingers deftly tracing over your clit. “Doing so good, give me one more.”

You turned your face to the side and buried it into the pillow under you, biting into the cloth to silence your increasingly loud screams. He reached down to grab your face, once again pushing your knees to your chest and earning a loud gasp of his name as you wiggled your hips against him, relishing the feel of his cock throbbing deep inside of you.

“Show me that pretty face,” he cooed, sweat lining his temples from exertion, “Let me hear those pretty sounds.” He pressed hard against your clit, and your body responded explosively; you screamed for him, reaching for his shoulders to pull him to your chest and kiss him as a warm feeling spread from your center and out to your limbs. You could feel it in your chest, the fulfillment traveling over every inch of your body, muscles responding in kind with small twitches as your cunt squeezed him tight.

Your legs squirmed free from underneath him, and you wrapped them around his waist, keeping him close to you while you rode out your high, circling your hips over his cock. He moaned into your mouth, the kiss devolving into a messy exchange of spit and sweat and teeth, lips chapped and swollen with passion. You bit his lip and he growled, leisurely swaying his hips and punctuating his thrusts with eager whines.

“Where,” he was breathing heavily, once again finding solace in the crook of your neck. “Where do you want it, baby. Tell me. Please.” He was practically whimpering, begging you for permission to finish by communicating where it was you wanted his cum.

“Inside,” you moaned, the aftershocks of your orgasm lulling you into a sleepy heap of oversensitivity and devotion.

Damien growled as he took in your request. “You’re—fucking christ, you’re sure?”

“Please,” it was all you could say, desperate to feel the culmination of his pleasure inside of you. “Pill. Need it, Damien. Cum inside me. Let me feel it, please.”

Damien groaned at your words, brow knit and mouth open. He sped up his pace, pushing himself up from you and supporting himself on his hands. You whined, content and aching for him.

“Fuck, I'm gonna fill this pussy up so deep.” Damien squeezed his eyes shut momentarily before opening them and looking down at you, “Fuck—gonna cum, baby, I'm—fuck!” His hips stuttered, and you wrapped your legs around him tighter, keeping him secure against you. He dropped down onto you, still providing shallow thrusts, though much gentler than before. “I love you,” he whispered, lips pressing against your neck as he engulfed you with his own body, cock spent and twitching inside of you, “I love you.”

“I love you,” you repeated quietly, and when he kissed you, you could feel that he meant it; the words echoed in your mind as he eased his lips against yours, taking time now to really savor the way you moved against him and enjoy how perfectly you fit together.

You focused on catching your breath, and he removed himself from atop you as he collected himself. When he slipped his cock from you, you whimpered at the new emptiness, and he kissed your temple.

You both stayed there, lying in bed together while you came down from the high-energy tryst. You still couldn't remove yourselves from each other completely, limbs tangling together and hands gliding over sweaty skin as you appreciated the tranquility together.

“Do you want water?” He asked, nose rubbing against your cheek.

“Yeah,” you gulped a breath, “Yeah. Thanks.”

He got up on shaky legs and found a pair of sweatpants, walking to the kitchen only to return seconds later with a glass of water. His face was radiant and his cheeks dusted pink as he beamed at you.

“Thank you, baby,” you guzzled the cool liquid, mouth dry from the way he'd made you scream.

“Say—” Damien looked down at you, giddy, “Will you say it again?”

You smiled, tired eyes taking in his form. “Thank you, baby.”

He sat down next to you. The mattress shifted with his weight, and you inched yourself towards him.

“I like hearing you say it.” He seemed timid, like after all that had happened, he was still worried you’d reject him.

“I like saying it,” you nuzzled your face into his stomach, resting on his thigh. His hand came down to pet your hair, thumb occasionally brushing over your temple.

“Will you stay here tonight?” He asked, “Only if you want to, I mean—but, I’d like it if you did.” He laughed to himself, “And then, you know…if you wanted to stay every night—I’d like that, too.”

“Well, good, cause the U-Haul is on its way over.” You turned your head to look up at him from your spot on his leg.

“Wow, those guys work fast,” he smirked down at you. “And then, when you, uh—when you finish moving in…could I take you out on a real date?” His face looked so gentle, “You know, away from everybody we know. Just…just us?”

“I would like that.” You smiled, turning to place a kiss on his stomach. He examined your face, still stroking your hair.

“I’m sorry if anything I said was…if you think I was moving too fast—or if I said something you want to pretend I didn’t say yet. Or at all.” He winced, nervous.

“Damien,” you sat up, shuffling to kneel in front of him and cupping his cheek, “I love you. I don’t want to pretend you never said it.” You placed a kiss on his nose, and he tackled you back onto the mattress, kissing your face.

“Thank god,” he breathed a sigh of relief, “Because I don’t think I could ever take it back.”  

“You’ve said it before,” you laughed when his head dipped under your chin to suck new marks onto your neck to match the ones that he had made prior.

“I know,” he mumbled against your skin, “But it’s—this is different. I mean it…different…” He smiled, sharp teeth on display, and you laughed again, enamored.

“Good,” you played with the hair that curled against the back of his neck, “I mean it different, too.”

Damien pulled you against his chest and rolled over, leaving you to straddle his waist and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” he sighed happily.

“I love you, too.” You left kisses on his collar bone before pressing your face against his neck.

~~~

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but when you awoke the next morning you momentarily feared that it had all been a dream; that you were back in your own bed, alone, hungover and suffering from the memories of some distant fantasy.

But you were still with Damien. His arm draped over your waist and his face pressed between your shoulder blades as he snored quietly.

You could get used to this.

You leaned back against him, eager to tell him that you loved him when he woke up.

The sun was just barely up, and the minuscule amount of light that made its way through the window illuminated tiny bits of dust that passed through the rays. Zelda had made her way into the room at some point in the night, and her soft purring sent tiny vibrations over the blanket, her body nestled into the curve of Damien’s knee behind you.

You stretched, aimlessly reaching out and inevitably grabbing hold of your phone. You dimmed the brightness, scrolling through notifications you had missed the night before; tagged pictures, drunken Instagram stories, a few Venmo requests and a few more Venmo payments.

Courtney had texted you only about 20 minutes before you had woken up.

Court: How was the rest of your night 👀

Court: Does Shayne owe me $10

Court: Or did you end up going home

You let out a silent laugh, rolling your eyes a little at the betting pool that seemed to have erupted over your love life. You twisted in bed, opening your camera and zooming in on Zelda where she sat comfortably against Damien’s knee, the backdrop of his bedroom on full display. You took a picture and sent it to Courtney with no explanation, amused by your own vague confirmation that you had spent the night with Damien—and planned to do it again. Often.

You put your phone down and it started to buzz on the nightstand, lighting up with Courtney's contact picture. You considered picking it up, but then Damien’s arm tightened around you, pulling you to him while his hand spread out over your ribcage just under your breast. He kissed your back, still half-asleep, before he resumed snoring.

You decided that you would talk to Courtney later, turning over to bury your face in Damien’s chest, letting his breathing lull you back to sleep.

[nightwriter357]

Just friends

Okay so this is my attempt at actually writing a real slow-burn romance where they don't just jump each other right away. So obviously so smut in this one.

You are Damien and Shayne's roommate, navigating the ups and downs of life and love. Hope you enjoy 💜

I want something just like this

You walked out of your room to the kitchen, Damien and Shayne were sat on the coach. You had been roommates for almost two years now and you always had fun together, whether you were out with friends or just chilling on the couch and you really needed it today.

Shayne turned his head, "Hey, you going out?"

You gave him a skeptical look and gestured towards your PJs, "does it look like I am?"

Damien turned around and looked at you, "you could go out like that."

"Yeah, right," you replied, reaching for a chocolate bar from the cupboard. Comfort food was the best remedy for your mood.

Shayne got up, stretching his arms. “We can totally wait if you want to get ready.” His smile was genuine, but you could see a hint of concern flickering in his eyes.

You sighed, "No, I'm good today. I just want to hang out here" you plopped down on the couch next to Damien, "maybe watch some bad movies."

Damien removed his jacket and leaned back, a playful grin spreading across his face. “You know that is a very tempting offer.”

Shayne raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “There wasn’t any offer, though.”

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you held the chocolate bar out in front of Damien’s face. “I’m officially offering.” The idea of not being alone tonight felt comforting.

Damien’s eyes darted between you and Shayne, then he took a bite of the bar, a smirk playing at his lips. “Sorry, dude. Like I said, very tempting offer.”

Shayne pretended to be heartbroken, but it didn’t last long. He grabbed his keys off the dresser, the sound clinking in the quiet apartment.

You pulled a blanket over yourself, grinning. “Give my best to Courtney.” You made exaggerated kissy faces at him.

He shook his head, laughing. “There are going to be other people there, you know?”

Damien echoed your expression, teasing Shayne. “Not like you’re gonna notice.”

Shayne opened the door, throwing a cheeky middle finger back at you both before stepping out, the door clicking shut behind him.

You leaned back on the couch, laughter bubbling up between you. Turning your head, you said, “Thanks for staying.”

He let out a small laugh, looking down before meeting your gaze again. “Like I said…”

You finished the sentence with him, a smile forming. “Very tempting offer.”

Damien leaned back, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “So.. what type of bad movies are you thinking?”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his question. “There are different types?”

His enthusiasm was infectious, and he nodded vigorously. “Oh, definitely. There’s the ‘so bad it’s good’ category.”

You laughed, already picturing some infamous films. “Like ‘The Room’ or anything by Neil Breen?”

“Exactly!” he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Then there’s the charmingly bad movies.”

You smirked, recalling your own cringe-worthy moments. “Like watching someone’s high school film project?”

“Yeah, and then there’s the ‘so mediocre it’s bad’ films,” he continued, gesturing animatedly. “Or you have such high expectations that it feels really disappointing, but could be good on a rewatch.” You nodded, as he continued. “And the worst is when you think it’s good because of nostalgia, but it’s actually very bad.”

“Wow, they’re all very tempting offers,” you replied, a playful grin spreading across your face. “There are also the movies that have just aged really badly.”

“True,” Damien said, recalling a few painful examples. “Like a ‘Shallow Hal’ type of film.”

Your eyes lit up, and you leaned forward with excitement. “Ooooh, let’s do ‘Shallow Hal.’ I have such a crush on Jack Black!”

Damien raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming. “Really? Wait—no, I feel like I get it.”

You started the movie and sat on opposite sides of the couch with your legs meeting in the middle. You still felt a bit sad but Damien's company was almost healing. You could just sit here and be quiet if you wanted to, talk and laugh through the movie and probably even cry and have a mental breakdown and he would still stay, smiling at you, from his end of the couch.

A scene began to play, Jack Black was dancing with a group of women on screen, his energy infectious.

“Do you think that would help?” you asked, nodding toward the screen.

Damien looked over, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “What’s up?”

You took a breath, contemplating your words. “If I learned how to dance, do you think it could help me find someone?”

He chuckled, a teasing glint in his gaze. “I think you’d have to be a pretty bad dancer for that to matter at all.”

You crossed your arms, feigning annoyance. “I think I could be quite good, you know. I read this thing about how you just do the numbers 1-10 with your hips.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You saw it on TikTok, right?”

“Yeah, but shut up, it had captions!” you retorted, laughter bubbling up.

“Okay, show me the moves then,” he challenged, a playful grin on his face.

“Okay, I will! But you can't be seduced by this, remember? We’re friends. Any sexual energy oozing from me is unintentional.” You gave him a mock-serious look.

“Oh really? Is it just the oozing when you dance or all your normal oozing as well?” His tone was teasing, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“I never intentionally ooze!” you shot back, placing a hand against you chest.

You started with the 1, demonstrating a trust forward with a little wiggle at the end. “This is the 1,” you explained, your hips moving in rhythm.

“Okay, I see it,” he replied, a grin spreading across his face.

“For the 2, you start out in the front, gliding through the number,” feeling more confident.

As you attempted the 3, you nearly lost your balance, laughter spilling out between you. “Whoa!” Damien exclaimed, clutching his stomach as he doubled over.

The 4 nearly sent him over the edge with laughter as you seemingly forgot what the number looked like in the middle of the movement.

“The 5 is similar, but this time...” You tried to demonstrate, but Damien ended up falling over, his laughter echoing in the room.

“Hey, is the ooze getting to you?” you teased, barely holding back your own giggles.

“Yeah, I’m completely powerless,” he admitted, pretending to fan himself dramatically.

You let your hips swing in a circle before bringing them forward, confidently declaring, “And this is the number 6. I feel like this one is actually good,”

Damien nodded in approval as he shot you a playful glance. “You know, I feel like these would all be better if you did something with the rest of your body. Like your arms are just hanging at your sides.”

“Oh, you mean like this?” you asked, raising your arms as you moved your hips into the shape of a 7.

“Yeah, that’s more like it!” he said, a gleam of encouragement in his eyes.

You laughed as you attempted the 8, managing to get stuck in the movement like a loop.

“Did you just get stuck in the 8?” he asked, amusement evident in his tone.

You continued to let your hips swing. “I think so. I don’t think I can stop,” you replied, unable to suppress your laughter.

“It is fitting; it’s shaped like an infinity sign, after all,” he said, smirking.

“Maybe I can just do a smooth transition into the 9,” you said, focusing on breaking free from the loop.

As you gathered your focus, you prepared for the last move. “And now for the 10!” you declared, shifting your weight and attempting to incorporate a final flourish. You wiggled your hips dramatically, throwing your arms out in a final pose.

Damien clapped, his laughter echoing in the room. “Wow! That was something.”

With a playful bow, you let your arms drop and returned to the couch, the blanket falling back into place around you. Even though the movie was silly and severely outdated parts of it made you think, what do I have to offer anyone?

Maybe that’s why I’m single,” you muttered, the playful mood shifting slightly.

Damien looked over, his brow furrowing in concern. “What do you mean?”

You leaned back into the couch, feeling a mix of self-deprecation and humor. “I don’t know how to cook, I don’t know how to dance. I’m just a big bag of potatoes.”

Damien chuckled, a playful glint in his eye as he leaned closer. “Hey, potatoes are actually a very good source of nutrients. They’re versatile, long-lasting, dependable.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips. “Okay, so your response to that isn’t ‘no, of course you’re not a bag of potatoes’? It’s just a celebration of potatoes?”

He shrugged, unfazed, with a teasing grin. “Well, I like potatoes.”

You laughed, shaking your head at his unexpected enthusiasm. “Yeah, I got that.”

His grin widened, and you could see he was genuinely trying to lighten the mood. “Seriously, though. Being a bag of potatoes isn’t the worst thing. They’re pretty great! You're pretty great”

You couldn’t help but smile at his attempt to reassure you. " I wish more people saw me like you do."

Damien leaned in, his expression sincere. "So it is about that guy you were seeing? That's why you've been in PJs eating chocolate for days?"

Feeling a warmth spread through you, you nodded slowly, grateful for his support. “Yeah, I'm just trying to figure it out, you know?”

He nodded reassuringly, "go on."

"You know how everyone has that ‘worst person they ever dated’? Do you think I’m someone’s worst?” You asked, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and insecurity.

Damien paused, caught off guard by the weight of your question. His brows furrowed slightly, as if he were contemplating something. “Honestly? No,” he replied, his tone steady and sincere.

“Really? How can you be so sure?” You leaned forward with a smirk, intrigued by his certainty.

He met your gaze, a soft smile creeping onto his lips. “I can’t imagine you being anything less than someone’s best"

You looked down, fiddling with the blanket as your voice softened. “Wow, thank you.” you could feel a tear forming, " I think I've just been feeling like a worthless piece of shit lately"

"Hey" he leaned in pulling you into a hug, your face resting on his chest as he stroked your hair. "He is obviously an idiot."

You hugged him tightly, "I know, it shouldn't be that hard to be with someone."

He drew circles of your back with his finger, "You're absolutely right, it should be easy, like this"

You closed your eyes for a second as he held onto you, "yeah, I want something just like this"

Damien's breath hitched for a brief second, and you noticed a flicker of something in his eyes—it looked almost like disappointment. He held your gaze for a moment longer, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Yeah.”

You took a breath, feeling the connection between you. “Thanks for being such a good friend,” you said softly.

[smoshyourheadin]

smosh masterlist

spencer agnew

>sunshine and soda cans

>it’s always been you

>it’s okay, you can cry now

>the start of something

>butterflies that flutter by

>i’ll make you banana pancakes

>special news

>disbeleif

>hi or high

>cuddling w spencer hcs

>college spencer hcs

>let’s give it a shot

>good things

>welcome to the family

>requests open!

shayne topp

>surprise?

>requests open!

damien haas

requests open!

trevor evarts

>dating trevor headcannons

>requests open!

chanse mccray

>requests open!

keith leak jr

>requests open!

ian hecox

>requests open!

anthony padilla

>requests open!

courtney miller

>requests open!

amanda lehan canto

>requests open!

angela giarratana

>cuddling w angela hcs

>requests open!

arasha lalani

>requests open!

alex tran

>requests open!

[drceydoessstuff]

WHERE THE FUCK ARE ALL THE DAMIEN FANFICS. WHY DID EVERYONE JUST PACK UP THEIR SHIT AND LEAVE OR LIKE DROP DEAD. WHERE ARE THEY. WHERE DID THEY GO. HIS BEARD?

PLEASE

someone

HELP

me

love ya!

[k1llmeplsffs]

someone needs to start writing marcello hernandez fics that man is so cute

[marcelloshdz]

double duty

summary: when you're asked to host and perform on saturday night live, you and marcello hit it off quite well. marcello x female!singer host. requested by anonymous.

“i’m so excited to be here!” you cheered as you walked through the hallways of NBC studios. you were pulling double duty on saturday night live this week, and you were absolutely over the moon. you’d been a fan of the show for as long as you could remember, and this was quickly becoming a “pinch me” moment. you were walking with some of the producers and writers on the show, getting a little tour of the studios. the writers had already pitched you some amazing sketch ideas, and you couldn’t wait to work on them and see what ended up in the final show.

the week quickly became very busy, but you were also making sure to take the time to soak it all in and truly enjoy your time there. you were having so much fun working through the sketches and meeting and making friends with the cast. you were a huge fan of the current case, and you couldn’t believe that you were getting to work with them.

it was wednesday afternoon, and everyone had just settled into their seats for the table read. as you made your way through the scripts, your cheeks were hurting from laughing. everyone had written such incredible sketches, and you couldn’t believe that you were getting to be part of them.

the first hour passed by, and you’d made your way to a sketch that you were in with marcello hernandez, playing a couple. admittedly, you’d been a bit nervous about working with him, as you’d become a fan of his (and developed a bit of a crush) in the three years he’d been on the show. you sat at opposite ends of the table as you read through the script, stifling laughs and playing off of each other very well. you looked around the table as the cast was laughing through the sketch as you and marcello and the other cast members that were part of the sketch read through the script. once you reached the end, the two of you exchanged the briefest of glances, and he shot you a soft smile. you smiled back, feeling your face flush as you moved to the next script. 

the rest of the week flew by, and it was finally show day. you’d been hanging around the studio all day running through the scripts a few more times before rehearsals. you’d also been rehearsing your songs, settling on your set designs. you were performing your two most recent singles, ahead of your album release coming within the next couple of weeks. 

you finished rehearsal of your first song, ready to take a break as they ran through weekend update. as you left the stage, you ran into marcello. he shot you a wide smile as he walked over to you.

“hey!” you said with a smile.

“hi. i liked your song.” he said softly.

“thanks.” you said awkwardly, standing there in a brief silence before he spoke again.

“so, i just wanted to let you know that our sketch got moved. we’re gonna be the first one back after update, instead of going before. that’ll give you more time to get ready before your first performance.” he said. 

“get ready, calm my nerves, all the same.” you joked.

“nah, you’ll be great.” marcello reassured you. you smiled again, whispering a small thanks before you had to move to rehearsal for the next sketch. 

before you knew it, it was finally time for the show. you stood backstage watching the cold open before moving behind the infamous door. your heart raced in your chest as the announcer read through the names of the cast members during the intro sequence, followed by your name as host and musical guest. 

“ladies and gentlemen, y/n!” rang through the speakers. you pushed through the door and down the stairs, taking your place at the edge of the stage. you smiled wide, waving at the audience and taking in all the cheers. 

“wow, wow, wow. thank you very much. my name is y/n, and i am so grateful to be here hosting saturday night live!” you began your monologue, hitting all the jokes in the right places, and getting amazing laughs from the audience.

you ran through the first few sketches, getting many words of affirmation backstage from the cast and crew between set changes and commercial breaks. before you knew it, it was time for your first performance. 

“ladies and gentlemen, y/n.” you’d brought a close friend of yours to new york with you for this week, and the producers were kind enough to let them introduce your first song. 

you made it through your first song without a hitch, taking in all the applause that erupted around you. you were then rushed backstage, and allowed to take some time to take a break during the commercials and while weekend update was on. you met up with marcello for another quick little run through of your sketch before it was time to go back on stage. 

the premise of the sketch was you bringing him over to meet your friends for the first time, and him not making a weird first impression. basically, a different version of his now-famous “protective mom” sketches with pedro pascal. hearing him calling you his girlfriend gave you butterflies in your stomach. way more than you’d like, but you’d never admit that out loud.

heidi gardener, ego nwodim, and bowen yang were also in the sketch, playing your friends, and taking the sketch to new heights. the jokes were getting laugh after laugh from the audience. you and the other cast members were even having trouble keeping it together. 

once the sketch finally concluded, you took in as much of the applause that you could before being rushed off the stage to get back and change for your next performance. just as you were stepping out of your dressing room, marcello found you and pulled you into a tight hug.

“you killed it! thanks for doing it with me.” he said excitedly, and you could hear a smile in his voice.

“thanks for trusting me! i know you had a heavy hand in writing it, and i’m glad it was picked for my episode.” you pulled away from him, giving him a wide smile before being whisked off to your spot on the performance stage to get ready for your next song. 

they began counting down from the commercial break, and you took a couple deep breaths before they came back. 

“once again, y/n.” you heard marcello’s voice announce from the main stage. your heart fluttered in your chest at the way he sounded saying your name.

you finished your second song, and the episode began to wrap up. once it was over, everyone gathered on the main stage for good nights. you said your thank yous to the cast and crew, thanking everyone who came in for cameo appearances, and wishing everyone a good night. 

later that night, marcello found you at the after party. you both already had a couple of drinks in you, and had loosened up after a stressful week.

“hello again.” you said, sitting up on the barstool and giving him your full attention. 

“hey. i just wanted to congratulate you on a successful week. when you were confirmed for host, i gotta admit, i was really excited.” he said. 

“oh yeah?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. he laughed and nodded. 

“ooooh yeah. i’ve been listening to your music for a while. my sister is a fan, and she’s played a lot of your songs for me a few times.”

“mmm, she’s smart.” you laughed. “i didn’t know you were gonna be introducing my second song. that was a nice surprise.” you said, marcello taking a step closer to you.

“i’m glad you thought so. i asked specifically if i could do it.” he said with a smirk.

“wow, aren’t i special?” you asked, reciprocating his smirk. you sat up straight on your barstool as he continued to close the space between you.

“very.” he said softly, fingertips drumming along your thigh. “so, i never do this, but,” he took a deep breath, “would you maybe wanna hang out some time? outside of all of this.” he said.

“sure. i’d like that. i’ll be in new york for a few more days before heading back to LA, so we could get together before i leave.” you said, nodding excitedly. you exchanged numbers and made your plans.

“this is an off week, so i have all the time in the world.” he said with a smile. 

you and marcello spent the rest of the night together, talking and getting to know each other. it could’ve been mostly the alcohol, but you were so comfortable with him.  you enjoyed being around him, and you loved talking and laughing with him. 

at the end of the night, marcello walked you outside to your uber that was taking you back to your hotel. 

“thanks again for a great night, and a great week. i really enjoyed getting to work with you.” you said to him as you stood on the sidewalk. 

“and i you.” he said with a smile. just then. your uber pulled up and he opened the door for you to get in. “text me when you get to your hotel.”

“i will.” you said. before climbing into the car, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, his face immediately turning a bright crimson. “see you later.” 

you watched from the window as marcello stood on the sidewalk, smiling and waving as your uber drove off. you let out a sigh of content, still not believing that tonight was even real, and that you’d already made plans to see each other again.

you turned to your friend, who raised an eyebrow at you.

“what are you smiling like that for?” they asked.

“just over the moon about tonight.” you said, evading a direct answer.

your uber ride was quiet as you rode back to the hotel. once you were finally back in your room, you took your phone out and text marcello to let him know that you were back at your hotel. he immediately replied, telling you that he couldn’t wait to see you again, and he wished you a good night.

you wished him a good night as well and got ready for bed. you slept peacefully that night, excited that you were going to see marcello again in just a few days. 

[jackmans-poison]

I AM KICKING MY FEEEEET 😭😭😭

[k1llmeplsffs]

someone needs to start writing marcello hernandez fics that man is so cute

[fallenangelsrollthedice]

The problem with being obsessed with someone long before they went tiktok viral is that none of the Fanfiction that's been written now will even come close to the Fanfiction I've been writing in my head

[handfulofhoney]

hi!!! I was just wondering if you could do another fic of Andrew taking care of you while sick? I loved the last one, and I would love another one. hope you are well <3

you’re my medicine

ship: andrew hozier-byrne x reader  rating: M (nothing explicit; references to adult themes) word count: 2.3k warnings/tags: neighbors, sick reader, fluff, flirting, homesickness, little bit of miscommunication if you squint notes: apologies to anon – this is literally six months late, but inspiration did eventually strike! I took this in a slightly different direction that my last sick prompt. Andrew lives in the flat next to yours and helps you out when you get sick. he’s just being neighborly, right?  if you like it, this one definitely has potential for a part two! title from “medicine” by your favorite color. divider credit to thecutestgrotto. read on AO3 here!

You’ve lived in Dublin for two years now, and it’s been two long years of carving out a life for yourself. Working long hours pouring into your career, trying to keep your head above water, and attempting to meet people. You hadn’t yet been able to build the community you dreamed of – but someday you’d have it. You’re sure of it. Until then, you’re content with the acquaintances at work who are nice enough and saying hello to your neighbors in the hallways of your apartment building (well, one neighbor in particular). 

You actually hadn’t recognized him the first time you saw him. You had been carrying a huge armful of groceries,  two full totes swinging at your hips, and were trying to get the front door of the building open. The pile of food and house goods threatened to topple as you precariously balanced them on your arm, fishing for the key. Someone had come up from behind and said, “Hey, I got it” and opened the door for you. You’d thanked him, but had been so focused on not dropping your food shop that you’d scurried up the stairs without a second glance. It was only later that night as you thought back on it that you’d realized it was him. Andrew Hozier-Byrne. Hozier. You’d felt foolish for weeks afterward, but eventually the embarrassment waned. 

Since then you’d seen him a few times here and there. Wished him a Merry Christmas over the holidays, got his mail for him when he was gone for a few weeks, and once you even chatted in the front doorway. It had been late one Saturday night and you’d both been out, happening to come in at the same time. You’d talked about your evenings (him with a group of lads for a stag night, you out with coworkers who might become friends) and joked about your landlady, Mrs. Delaney. It had felt good. 

Him being hotter than the devil in August didn’t hurt either. The way he had leaned on the doorframe, body relaxed and towering over you… curls in his face, damp from the rain shower… it had taken your entire willpower not to brush them from his cheeks and take him to bed. Or to at least try. But no. Eventually, you both realized you’d been talking for the better part of an hour and said a lingering good night. You hadn’t missed the way his eyes trailed across your mouth, or the way he sighed loudly at the prospect of parting. Settling into your bed that night, you’d thought maybe this was the start of something. 

However, after that it was radio silence. A nod in the hall or a quick wave. You hadn’t had a conversation like it since, and it had been over a month ago. You’d basically given up hope. He’d clearly just had a couple of drinks that night and wasn’t actually interested in you. When you had a particularly bad mental health day, insecurity crept in and you think maybe he had been interested at one point, but that conversation somehow showed him you weren’t worth it. Not cool enough, not clever enough. Not pretty enough. It was enough to drive anyone mad. 

The weeks went by, and the world moved. You made plans with a girl from the office to go to a museum on an upcoming weekend later this month. Your boss complimented you in your department meeting last week, saying he was glad you’re on the team. You’d gone on a really fun date, though you’d ended up texting him you didn’t think it was going to work (he’d felt the same; you’d actually made other plans to meet up as friends). Friends from home had even talked about a visit later in the year. Life was alright, all things considered. You’re even contemplating getting a cat. 

Then, the apocalypse hit. One of your coworkers, Mom Margot (as opposed to Uni Margot, a girl on another team), said her son (Harry; five; very adorable) had come down with some god-awful illness that had been making its way through the schools. The next day, Mom Margot had called in sick and had been out for a week. Unfortunately for you, your cubicle is directly next to Margot. Knowing it was coming should have prepared you, but you’re pretty sure there was no way to be fully ready for whatever misery this was. 

It hit hard and fast, your illness taking you fully out of commission. You seemed to have every symptom under the sun: sneezing, coughing, sore throat, body aches, fever, the works. At first you’d thought you’d get over it quickly with just some paracetamol and lots of water. No such luck. You’re on Day 4 and counting, and you wish you had the energy to get more supplies. Cough drops. Tissues. Maybe a bucket of ice cream (to both soothe your throat and comfort you). Your mom has been texting you throughout the day, and while her worrying is appreciated, it doesn’t help much in the moment. 

It hurts, you realize. You’re laying on the couch, looking at your ceiling. It’s half past eight and you still haven’t eaten dinner; the energy to cook left you sometime this morning. It hurts not having anyone. No one on this side of the Atlantic who cares that you’re sick. No one to run to the store, no one to make some soup on the hob. No one to put their hand on your forehead and cluck sympathetically, “You’re burning up. Go lay down and I’ll make you a cuppa.” It hurts more than you’d like to admit, even to yourself. 

Since moving to Dublin, you’ve often been aware that you’re on your own. It would be impossible not to be aware of it. Most of them time, you’re neutral to okay with it. It’s part and parcel of making a dramatic move to a brand-new place. Sometimes, you even love it. The freedom and joy that come with being completely on your own. For the first time, however, you feel truly lonely. It’s an aching, crushing feeling.

Wallowing in some much-deserved self-pity, you miss the first knock on the door. A beat passes before there’s another knock, more insistent. You feel a spike of panic; who would be knocking on your door? Getting up, you shuffle to answer it. Before twisting the doorknob, you send a quick prayer that it’s not a serial killer.

Standing in the doorway, worried expression on his face, is Andrew. Truly the last person you were expecting, but it’s a welcome surprise. 

“Hello?” You croak out. Your voice sounds wretched, and you wince. He looks at you with round eyes. 

“Er, hi. God, you do look awful. I mean,” He shakes his head roughly. “Not awful, not even close, but you really are on death’s door.” You look at him, confused. “Mrs. D.” Andrew says by way of explanation, and then it makes sense. Mrs. Delaney, the landlady, has a penchant for nosiness and gossip, though it comes from a good place. “She said you were ill, and, I… well, I just…” He trails off, and a flush of sudden embarrassment covers his cheeks. 

“I am quite ill.” You say, the tiniest smile appearing on your lips. Him checking on you is sweet. Means more than you can put together. “Been sick for a couple days.” As if you timed it, you cough into your used tissue. 

Andrew nods, suddenly unsure of what to do or say. “I’ll… let you get on with it, then.” He says, and you feel your heart constricting. You wanted this to last longer, but it seems he just wanted to check if you’re alive. Andrew glances into your apartment, and furrows his brow. “Do you live with anyone? Or have anyone to help you out?” You shake your head, not able to get into all the details. His expression softens. “Do you need anything?” He asks. 

The question, in its earnest simplicity, takes you off guard. It hits you in the gut and you can feel the burn behind your eyes as tears threaten to make themselves known. You swallow it down and shake your head. 

“I’m okay. Thanks, though.” You’re lying through your teeth, but you figure he doesn’t know you well enough to tell. 

“Right.” He shrugs. “Well, I’m next door if you do need anything. Obviously. You knew that. Anyway, feel better.” Andrew turns on his heel and walks back toward his own flat, leaving you feeling, somehow, worse than you did before. 

An hour passes, slow and miserable. You managed to throw together the world’s most unappetizing sandwich and got most of it down. You’re covered in blankets on your couch, flipping through trashy television, when there’s another knock at the door. 

Upon opening it, you see outside your door is two grocery bags, full of things to help you get through being sick. There’s a note attached, written in scrawling handwriting. I didn’t believe you. –AHB You bring them inside and unpack them on your counter. Medicine, throat lozenges, soup (two kinds), a loaf of bread, and more. He even threw in a chocolate bar. 

You feel tears threaten again, but you realize they’re of a different sort. The kind gesture – even if he doesn’t want to ravish you in the hallway of your apartment building like you’ve fantasized about many an evening – feels so damn good. The simple act of having another human care about you, taking time out of his life to do something for you, made you feel better than anything flu remedy money could buy.

– – – – – 

You’re halfway through Day 6 and you’re finally, finally able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Your fever has broken, your cough isn’t as debilitating, and your spirits have lifted. There’s another knock on the door, and when you open it this time, there is a much smaller bag sitting on your welcome mat. Inside is a jar of dark syrup, almost an indigo color. It has a handmade label titled ELDERBERRY HONEY in handwriting that isn’t the same as the first. The note tucked inside makes your heart clench.

Made by my mum last winter. Immune support & antioxidants. Best in tea. –AHB

You clutch the little jar to your chest and hold onto it tightly. It feels like a precious gift, a hand outstretched. It feels like a warm hug, even if the glass is cool against your skin. 

If a few tears do manage to slide down your cheek, you ignore them. 

– – – – – 

The next day dawns clear and bright, and for the first time in a week you feel like yourself. Not 100%, but close enough that normal is within reach. After taking a long shower and making a strong cup of tea – with Andrew’s mum’s honey swirled in – you decide it’s finally time to approach him again. Even just to give your sincere thanks for his care and consideration. 

It takes longer than usual for you to decide what to wear. Keeping it casual while also wanting to feel good, you settle on a classic outfit of well-worn jeans and your favorite top. After running a brush through your damp, tousled hair, you swipe on some cherry lip gloss and head for the door. 

Before opening it, you take in a deep breath to steady the nerves that have been slowly building over the last hour as you got ready. You open the door wide open, about to step into the hallway, and walk directly into the solid figure crowding the doorframe. 

“Oof,” You let out. The figure, Andrew, puts his large hands on your shoulders to help steady you as you step back on your heels. You look up into his lucent hazel eyes and shutter a breath. He’s only a few inches away from you, and his hands seem to not want to leave you. The moment feels like it’s suspended in warm honey, but maybe that’s just the cough medicine working overtime. 

“Alright?” Andrew asks, and you’re not sure if he means from the tumble or from your illness. 

“Much better!” You chirp, and he breaks into a smile. “I was actually on my way to knock on your door! It’s definitely my turn. To knock, I mean. Thought I could catch you to th– hang on. Why were you outside my door?” His hands are back at his side, though his large frame still fills the doorway. All you can see is him. 

“Er, thought I’d come ‘round. See how you’re getting on.” 

“No gifts?” You ask, your tone light and almost teasing. His face colors but he plays it off. 

“Did they help?” You nod. “Good.” 

“The honey especially. I swear, that stuff has magic in it.” 

“God, don’t say that, it will make my mum’s year.” But his smile tells that he enjoys that you’re pleased with it. 

“Thank you.” You say sincerely. “For everything. The groceries, the honey. Just coming by, even. It’s meant a lot.” Andrew listens to you with a serious look on his face, taking in your words. 

“You’re welcome. I was happy to help.” A pause that stretches from a handful of seconds to half a minute. Your eyes slide to the ground, the pause starting to feel a bit awkward.

So, this is it. He had been doing a kind gesture for a neighbor, nothing more. He didn’t secretly want to be your knight in shining armor, didn’t want to whisk you away into your apartment and make you see stars. Didn’t want anything, it seemed. Great. Yeah, no, that’s completely fine. 

“But, hey?” You glance back up at him, and his hand has a scrap of paper outstretched for you to take. “While leaving parcels and handwritten notes is charming and romantic, next time you need me, you can just text. Day or… night.”