this inside shot of peter is so poetic because the world remembers spider-man but peter parker is forgotten by people he loves and "trapped" inside the mask where people will never truly see peter
summary: you and nick orbit each other for far too long—both choosing celibacy, both pretending the tension isn’t eating you alive. a small fallout cracks the illusion, and one wrong date with someone else makes it painfully clear who owns your heart. when you and nick finally collide, it’s not impulsive—it’s inevitable.
cw: mild smut, depictions of p0rn, nick’s a bit of a sadist n im so excited to get filthier
nick’s hand is resting on your thigh while he drives, the weather permitting you to wear a skirt again and you take advantage of the opportunity. you find it hard to watch him for too long; steering the car with one hand whilst the other gently traced your skin, he looked deliciously good.
“where are we going?” you finally ask, uncertain if you’d spent mere minutes or hours in this car with him.
“somewhere,” he simply says, and your face goes warm when he uses that tone; he must know how much you like him and it was painful.
you tell him about your mother non stop texting you ever since last night, prying for more details about your mysterious man that you expertly dodge, satisfied knowing that she knew you were happy at the very least. you don’t tell him that part, but she won’t give up on demanding a name, and you play that off as though you don’t want her putting your business out there for gossip. she absolutely would — with good intentions, of course — but it doesn’t stop her from listing names she’s familiar with.
that was the problem growing up catholic in chicago. everyone seemed to know someone, no matter how far removed. perhaps her friend sally didn’t have an idea, but maybe her younger sister, did. maybe her younger sister heard through the grapevine that someone had seen your mother’s daughter with some boy. people talked constantly, especially as catholics.
nick’s parking the car on the street, just outside of a smoothie stand, the remainder of the street covered with skyscrapers and other small, niche shops.
“i was craving one,” he says with a light tone of amusement, exiting the car first again. you push the passenger door open to join him before he’s there already, shoving the door closed again and meeting your gaze through the window with a firm glare.
you smile slightly and let him open the door for you. when you get out of the car, he’s standing close enough to kiss again, but you decide against it. you glance up the street, not surprised to see homeless and people talking to themselves aloud. you hold onto nick’s arm to go inside the smoothie bar.
the inside is retro and quaint, the old photos lining the walls each covered in a small film of dust showed how the restaurant used to look like when it opened on the south side for the first time many decades ago.
there’s a lot of people there. many of them sat at the tables, some in groups and some alone. there were a few couples, although you weren’t entirely sure nick would want to stay here.
in line, you stand behind two men, who seemed to barely notice you and nick walking in. the one directly in front of you glances back, and nick’s too busy ensuring his car is locked through the window of the bar to notice this man notice him and then you immediately after.
he turns around again and nick’s facing forward once more. you decide to brush it off as a passive glance, too comfortable with the idea that nobody recognized the person you’re with.
“i’ll be right back,” nick says, stuffing his car key in his pocket, stepping towards the bathroom. you internally reprimand yourself for not even attempting to stop him. suddenly, the simple glance that man gave you from before was recalled as terrifying.
it’s silent for a moment and you watch nick enter the men’s restroom, praying for a swift return while also reminding yourself that you were just being overly anxious for nothing.
when the man in front of you turns around again, and the line seems endlessly stuck for whomever was in front, you nearly vomit out of fear. not that you’d been caught with nick, but over whatever this man was about to do or say. he looks down at you, and the man standing beside him turns his head, too.
“you his girlfriend?” he asks, and you’re frozen. you can’t shake your head, nod or speak even if you really wanted to. you felt your face turn a bright red immediately, and it was only a second of more silence before he’s skipping his question, “your body, my choice.” he says, eyes drifting down your frame you were suddenly insecure about, “always.”
the man beside him scoffs a laugh and continues looking forward again.
“wonder how he’d take that when it’s you,” the man not looking at you says and the first man turns back around, just as nick emerges from the restroom. your too stunned to say anything still, and nick comes back to your side as though nothing had happened at all.
“you okay?” he asks, and you’re quick to nod slightly, wanting to move past the interaction entirely despite your stomach still turning.
you recalled watching a video in which nick expressed the same sentiment that guy told you, except it sounded dangerously malicious coming from him. as though it was a threat of some sort. your heart’s pounding and you don’t hear the chatter throughout the restaurant anymore, just your heart in your ears. you wanted to leave more than anything, but you couldn’t exactly do that without clueing in nick or making a bit of a scene.
“what’s wrong?” he asks again, his voice low and concern etched in his expression as the line finally moves, and the men in front of you order.
nick notices the tense glance you sneak at the back of the man’s head. he straightens, his tongue gliding over the front of his teeth before he’s looking at you again.
“what did he say to you?” nick asks, his eyes scanning you as though he was assessing the damage. they get done ordering and you shake your head in response, fearing the pair would overhear you talking to nick.
they move aside to wait for their order, and nick’s grilling stops briefly to order. you hadn’t looked at the options at all so you simply order the same as nick, eyes shifting as the men now stood somewhere behind you. instinctively, you tug at the hem of your skirt, crossing your legs and hiding behind nick’s figure as much as possible while he pays. “tell me,” he demands again as he’s putting his wallet back in his pocket.
you shake your head again, glancing back to see the pair against the corner; trying not to make their observing of you or nick too obvious, as you locked eyes with one of them briefly. you move aside and nick follows, grabbing onto your hand before you can venture too far.
you attempt to ignore nick as he pulls you closer to him, trying to be as discrete as possible. he’s almost amused, it seemed, despite the fact that you were shaking in his touch. you began to wonder if you had taken the interaction the wrong way. perhaps it wasn’t the threat you thought it was, but your head was moving too quickly to think about any other rational way of taking that comment.
you notice the two men engage in a brief, quiet conversation with one another and use the opportunity to tell nick what had happened the moment he went to the bathroom. his brows raise, and he’s still grinning.
it was strange to meet someone that smiled or laughed in the face of true adversity; especially when that adversity outnumbered him two-to-one.
“that one?” he asks casually, nodding his head to the man that initially spoke to you. you nod discreetly, trying to meet nick’s gaze again but failing.
nick doesn’t say anything else, but his eyes never leave that guy for very long. his jaw was clenching and you regret ever telling him anything about it. he kept a normal exterior and only you knew anything about the fire burning beneath it.
when the two men’s smoothies are placed on the counter and the server calls for them, nick is quick to leave your side, dropping your hand without hesitation.
you don’t have time to stop him, the scene unfolding before your eyes too fast. nick approaches the counter before they can, grabbing one of the freshly served styrofoam cups, looking pissed and hurling it at the pair, the white cup exploding into a burst of thick, pinkish liquid drenching their clothes, hair, faces. the restaurant comes to a complete, screeching halt, and the only thing heard is the boys beginning to shout any thought of obscenity at nick.
you sprint for nick, finally being torn from the daze and into reality. you grab his hand, his arm — any part of him you can grab before dragging him towards the door. thankfully, he starts moving along with you, racing back to the car before cops could be called or something even uglier ensued.
nick gets in the car barely a second after you do, turning over the engine with swiftness as you watch the two men burst from the smoothie bar, covered in pink liquid, nostrils flaring in rage, a worker in uniform behind them with a phone to their ear, and nick takes off.
your panting and processing what nick had just done, and he’s speeding down the street. you hold onto the door handle for support, only now having a moment to click on your seatbelt, “nick, slow the fuck down,” you warn and beg.
he does slow down, but he’s still speeding, glancing over at you briefly. “fucking pussies wait until i went to piss to say anything,” he seethes, and you’re silent, only staring at the road and hoping to god nick drives as good as he thinks. he laughs; at what, you really don’t know.
“they were just repeating you, nick,” you finally blurt out; terrified by his reckless driving, his boiling anger and those two assholes from before. your eyes burn from fear and rage, and you turn your head so he doesn’t see it.
“are you serious?“ oh, he was enraged, now. you use your free hand to gently wipe under your eyes, tears threatening to slip through despite you only feeling angry. “that was a blatant threat.”
“just take me home, please,” you say, trying to fight your voice from failing you, and it only comes across as weak and quiet.
“i’m taking you to my house, that was the plan,” he says and you don’t argue, mainly because you were already too frustrated and flustered to say anything more. “it doesn’t matter what i say. i never said her boyfriend wouldn’t chuck a drink at their faces.”
you remain quiet but hear him refer to himself as your boyfriend in the not-so-hypothetical scenario. he’s so angry he doesn’t realize it, or does and doesn’t care.
“you can’t be mad at me,” he demands, and glances over when you don’t expect him to, watching you wipe the liquid frustration from beneath your eyes. you notice the car slows to a safer speed and his hand comes to the back of your neck, gently burrowing into your hair and he sighs heavily. the simple action reminded you of the night before but you push the thought from your mind quickly.
the car is silent while he drives with his hand remaining at the back of your neck and head, his fingertips slightly digging into you and by his grip you could tell he was still upset. you don’t turn your head towards him for as long as you can help it, letting your eyes lose the redness you were certain resided there. you were struggling to imagine a better way for that to have played out, and you were never particularly angry with nick, but rather the fact that you were positive this would only be one of many more strange interactions to come. despite knowing that you would have to grow accustomed to it and eventually find a better way to handle those situations, you were comforted knowing nick would be there with you, too.
you sigh softly, the final breath intoxicated by the recent events being released and it was as though nick could hear the frustration finally leave your body as his grip loosens slightly but his hand doesn’t move.
your phone vibrates and you check the notification in silence, another message from your mother coming through, asking if nick — or to her, ‘he’ — was related to anyone at the church she regularly attended or the diocese.
“is your mom still trying to find out who i am?” nick asks with a lighter tone, changing the subject and you nod slightly against his hand, grinning because you really did adore your mother. you respond to her, simply telling her that he is catholic.
she doesn’t respond right away and it’s a good sign. she just wanted to ensure he was catholic, not necessarily if he was related to anyone at the diocese or church. it was silent again and nick sighs.
“i am sorry for ruining our time there,” he finally returns to the subject, and your skin warms. it was obvious enough that nick was a person who rarely apologized unless he truly thought he was wrong. you were surprised to hear an apology of any kind from him. “i’ll take you somewhere later, okay?”
despite your apprehension about being in public after what happened, you still nod, because nothing was too intimidating to drive you away from nick. he’s gently turning your head towards him, his hand proving to be tactically advantageous there as he guided your gaze to meet his at a red light.
“smile, come on,” he urges with a tease, and you do, a soft giggle escaping you as he pulls your head just close enough to meet his lips. “good girl,” he praises and you almost can’t kiss him back, at least for too long because you’re smiling so much. the light turns green and nick doesn’t notice it until you point it out to him.
you finally arrive at his house, and he parks the car just outside. he performs the ritual of opening your door once more, and you wonder how long he can keep it up for. whilst you figured the niceties would fade, certain things nick did — such as a chivalrous door open, or keeping his hand at the back of your neck, for example — seemed to be more dominant in the sense that he simply enjoyed the prospect of control.
nick is holding your hand while you ascend the stairs to his door. he unlocks it by a code on the keypad, the sound of the lock receding audible enough as a queue for entry.
he’s closing and locking the door again behind him as you remove your kitten heels, entering into a living room with a couple of couches and a television, and photos lining the walls. immediately after the living room was the kitchen, and you’d be lying if you said the kitchen hardly looked to be used to it’s fullest extent. you almost wondered if he had a maid.
he leads you through the kitchen, down a short corridor with a few closed doors, and he opens the last one on the left side of the hallway. his bedroom is relatively tidy, save a few pieces of discarded clothing scattered on the floor and an unmade bed.
“i know you’re just itching,” he says in a teasing tone, reaching into the dresser that lined one of the walls for a pair of his sweatpants. they were plain black, and despite likely being too large, would do the trick for now and you couldn’t help but smile shyly when he gives them to you. “and…”
you feel like a barbie, watching him approach the small closet lined with hanging sweaters and sweatshirts. he pulls a black one out, littered with black and white writing you couldn’t decipher.
you gently pull your skirt down your legs, bending forward to grab the article and you can hear him laugh almost maniacally, and it makes you freeze for a moment before continuing to put on the sweatpants he offered. he approaches you with the sweatshirt in hand, his hand almost instinctively reaching for the back of your neck again.
“you’re so lucky i have to stream soon,” he says, his expression amused as he bites down on his lip.
“what?” you ask innocently, smiling at him. you’re taking the hoodie from him and his grip tightens slightly. you knew he’d watched you take the skirt off, but feigned ignorance.
“i should’ve really asked what your relationship with your father’s like,” he teases, and you nearly laugh in his face.
“non-existent,” you reply simply, smiling, “why? you wanna be my daddy instead?”
he’s blushing and chuckling, and you notice the bulging in his pants with victory. he’s flustered but he doesn’t let go of you, if anything his grip gets stronger out of frustration; sexual frustration, that is.
“we have time,” he says after a brief thought, and he’s pulling you closer to the bed, just a few steps away. he seats himself without you, swiftly undoing the zip and button of his pants to beat time. you find yourself on your knees between his legs, and you’re unsure how exactly you got in that position, too encapsulated by nick to worry about what your own body was doing to betray you. he leans back slightly, your hand reaching to wrap around the base of his cock just as before, and nick’s hand is back behind your neck, gently pulling the hair at the back of your head.
his chest is already rising and falling quickly, and it seemed every time you looked up to meet his gaze, his member grew harder and he was moaning.
“so pretty,” he compliments when he meets your eyes, tone thick with lust and want. you haven’t even put him in your mouth yet, and he was already getting weak.
you kiss the tip of his cock, feeling as though you missed it, oddly enough. he’s releasing a strained breath when your lips gently wrap around the tip, and you look up to him for approval of the same.
“oh my fucking god,” he seethes out, his head falling back briefly while his eyes rolled. you struggle against a smile that you wanted to flash at him, going further down him with better insight and slight expertise, now.
you’re stroking him and sucking on him until hot tears are spilling from the corner of your eyes as you test your own limits.
“you’re my good girl, huh?” he’s asking, his hand only lightly adding pressure to make you go deeper on him. his whines suddenly turn to a meaner, possessive tone, “take it all, baby. that’s it.”
you’re so far down that you can’t breathe anymore, but he loves it, so you just try to keep going until you physically can’t.
“all mine to fucking ruin,” he says darkly, and you can’t take anymore of his cock in your mouth, beginning to gag at the depth. he gives you just enough slack to lift yourself from the base of his member, but not enough to take him out of your mouth completely and you whine involuntarily.
he’s guiding your head and slightly lifting his hips to meet your mouth further, “you have no fucking idea,” he jests further, straining to speak between pitiful moans and it would be hard to believe his words if he weren’t so stern with them, “how bad i want to ruin you.”
he’s panting again, whining when your tongue makes contact with the tip of his enraged cock. you lips and jaw finally get a break, but he’s so close and his toes are curling into the carpet. you take the brief break to stroke him harsher than before, your mouth left agape before sucking him again, and he’s unraveling shortly thereafter. he orgasms with a strained groan, catching his breath and whining when your mouth and hand leave his now sensitive member. you swallow again, licking your lips and gently wiping around them, feeling messy when you meet his gaze again.
he’s putting his cock away before he’s pulling you up to his lap, his vice grip barely giving you a moment to process before he’s kissing your neck sloppily.
“don’t go anywhere. i’ll be done soon,” he promises in a whisper against your ear before gently kissng just below it. you nod mindlessly against him, finding comfort and stability as your hands rest on his shoulders. you look at him and his breathing finally catches up and stabilizes. “you can do what you want to; i want you there when i open the door again.”
“why do you assume i’ll be sneaking out the back door?” you question humorously, standing up in front of him to let him go, too.
he pulls you closer and kisses you again, deep and passionate. he doesn’t explain himself but he doesn’t need to, because you feel the same for him. he taps your nose gently before leaving without another word, going into a room across the hallway and closing the door behind him.
silence encloses the entire house, and you’re left to your own accord in his home. naturally, you observe his bedroom deeper, pulling the hoodie he was trying to give you earlier over your head, ‘WANGHAF’ sprwaled across the front.
there’s a dusty old baseball trophy on his dresser in the far corner, and a lot of awards for speech and debate from years prior. you strike gold, your smile widening as you notice a photo album left out on the dresser, grabbing it before returning to the bed, already flipping inside.
you see old photos of nick with his family and friends. in some, he’s a baby; in others, he’s a teenager, playing baseball for the school team. you were holding his life in photos, it dawned on you, as you inspect the mass family photos. whilst nick had only his mother, father and sister you had yet to meet, his extended family seemed massive.
and all catholic, too.
pictures of his baptism, standing before a priest, a group photo of him and a few other sharply dressed boys attending sunday services. judging by the chosen photos, he didn’t leave chicago very often, or perhaps vacation photos were stored elsewhere.
you put the album back where you found it, leaving the room to explore further. at the door across the hallway, you can hear nick talking behind it. his voice is muffled but controlled, his words calculated.
you didn’t have much time to admire his voice while he worked because a small, black creature rubs against your shin and purrs.
you look down, almost falling backwards at the unexpected intrusion and the black cat looks up at you, eyes wide and searching. it meows at you and you stifle a giggle, not wanting nick to hear you from just outside the door.
you didn’t expect nick, of all people, to have a cat, so it’s cute little face made your face light up faster than the photo album did.
you step down the hall and the cat follows, desperate for affection as you continue to explore, going down the hall to the other closed doors.
you open the one on the opposite side of the hall, and it’s the bathroom. it’s tidy enough, and the counter’s crowded with toiletries around the sink, the only one you noted being his deodorant. it’s only then, at a safer distance from nick’s door do you kneel down to pet the adorable cat, who almost immediately flops on it’s side, partially ornery and partially affectionate. you smile, because it perfectly reflects nick.
the cat’s collar reads ‘millie’ and you quickly figure out she’s a girl.
she lets you pet her briefly before she’s pretending to scratch your hand, her claws not making much contact with your skin and you laugh quietly.
“does he torture you like he does to me?” you ask quietly and giddily, “or am i just lucky?”
judging by how quickly millie swaps from purring to playing, you could only imagine nick’s relationship with her. she meows at you to get your attention when you stand up straight again, and she’s quick to follow you to the last door in the hallway.
it’s a simple and small laundry room, and seemingly nick’s most hated chore. you don’t probe further, leaving the room untouched before returning to the kitchen. millie follows, casually leaping onto the countertop to meet your eyeline easier, as she’s convinced you’d forgotten about her.
you pet her once, her head raised eagerly to meet your touch as you move to investigate the pantry, quietly pulling the door open and laughing a little too loud.
he keeps the bare necessities, and not even that. there’s a few cans of vegetables lined in the back, a bag of doritos, a box of honey nut cheerios, and two, you count, boxes of noodles. you glance back at millie in amusement, and she only looks at you like you were holding the world in your hands, meowing again.
you close the pantry, shaking your head before moving the refrigerator, which had a small pen and paper on the counter beside it.
you open the refrigerator, eyes scanning the door first, which was lined with a variety of condiments. the remainder of the fridge had eggs, a carton of milk, a container of baby tomatoes you were sure could be pitched, bottled water, and canned sodas. you genuinely question what he eats on a day-to-day basis before closing the fridge again, turning slightly to find millie now on the counter beside the pen and pad.
it seemed as though he had started a list of items to get from the grocery store, but it was still lacking. you knew he wasn’t particularly picky about food, but the simplicity certainly surprised you.
you add pasta sauce, butter and breadcrumbs, deciding that if he were into it, you would find enjoyment in teaching him a little more in the kitchen than cereal and eggs.
millie’s rubbing against your hands, barely giving you a moment of isolation to write a few things on the list. you don’t mind, instead brushing your finger against her despite it slightly altering your writing.
you move back to the bedroom again, and millie follows, of course. she’s quick, getting onto the bed before you can and she seemed to have a spot she already claimed long before at the edge, sitting down with slow blinks before you join her.
you spot a laptop charging on the bed, just beside the pillows and you bite at your lip, debating on opening it at all while you pet the cat.
you hear nick start yelling from the other room and you leap to action, opening the laptop with guilt puddling in your stomach. still, curiosity consumed you. it’s left unlocked, left in the midst of research, you assumed; government addendums from one week ago.
there’s a few other tabs open; rumble, X, reddit, email and — your cheeks brighten and heat instantly — pornhub. everything in you was telling you to leave the laptop alone, but there was one little devil resident at the back of your mind, scratching at it’s confines to see what he watches. your dragging your teeth against your lips, debating, anticipating, and hesitation. this was a huge invasion of privacy, though you were desperately curious on how to please him. knowing what he watched — what he liked — was a tempting factor.
you remind yourself to say an extra prayer tomorrow before finally clicking the tab open. you hear nick yell again from the other room, assuring your safety and you’re shaking in anticipation. there’s a video paused on screen; a girl with hair comparable to yours bent over a countertop, her chic dress pulled up over her ass, dick plunged inside of her wet entrance — all filmed from the man’s perspective. the title; pov: breaking her in (virgin fucked).
you lay on your stomach, crossing your legs as you continue to nervously shake, but you can also feel yourself getting more aroused by it. you drag your finger on the trackpad, viewing the video in the tiny window to inspect the rest of the film. she has him in her mouth, a fist full of her hair woven between his fingers, and then she’s laid naked on her back and legs open. the video continues and he fingers her and licks her, and it’s the longest portion of the foreplay before the camera’s focused on him finally thrusting inside of her. you can’t tell for certain due to blurring, but it looked like she had started to cry.
her crying doesn’t last long, though, because the next scene, she’s on top of him, setting her own pace before he’s taking over again, slamming into her from underneath until her expression is dumb.
the next scene was the one nick had paused at. you scan the entirety of it; he puts a hand at the back of her neck to keep her pinned there, free hand alternating between smacking her ass and gripping her hip so harshly it bruises. speaking of which; there were plenty of those around her neck after the next scene, where she’s laid back down on her back while his strong hand wraps around the top of her fragil neck. they’re like this until he cums inside, the last thirty seconds or so of the video spent using his fingers to keep it there.
you’re vibrating with desire, the devil in you wanting nothing more than to please nick the same way this woman does for her man.
summary: you and nick orbit each other for far too long—both choosing celibacy, both pretending the tension isn’t eating you alive. a small fallout cracks the illusion, and one wrong date with someone else makes it painfully clear who owns your heart. when you and nick finally collide, it’s not impulsive—it’s inevitable.
a/n: first spicy pt!!!! lock in folks many more to follow
cw: fingering, bj, handjob, some dirty talk, mentions of religious purity nothing too cray
“it’s not that i think you’re lying,” he says, his tone saying otherwise, “you make me fucking crazy. you touch me like you’ve done it before.”
you frown, mainly of confusion but you still tingle, now knowing you bore some sort of residence in his mind. your gaze was beckoned to his lips again, but nick continues to stare at your eyes with a hint of frustration.
“i’ve never been with anyone,” you say again, your eyes struggling to stay focused on his, and you began to feel like you were being punished. “i’m sorry.”
you’re not sure why you apologize, but it sincerely felt as though he had gotten angry. you didn’t know any better, and perhaps you were coming off too strongly.
“you make me want to…” he drifts off, forcing himself to pause and frustration drips from his tone, “you’ve no idea how hard it is to not act.”
it wasn’t that you wanted to sin, but he seemed to take it that way. you meet his eyes, pleading that he doesn’t stop the touches, the kisses; you couldn’t be around him if you wouldn’t be allowed to touch him. you couldn’t deny the attraction force, much like gravity, seeming to force the two of you together, again and again. perhaps you were too dazed in the potential relationship to know that it was all due to your own actions.
“it’s not like that… i — i just want you,” you explain, “i don’t want to disappoint you.”
he kisses you before the sentence can leave your mouth, nearly pushing you over on the cushions. he succeeds, finding himself on his knees between your legs, feverishly kissing and touching every inch of your body, and you don’t stop him; you can’t stop him. your hands reach his shoulers, playing in his hair and soaking in the feeling of him so close again.
his hands explore more, and it isn’t long until he’s gently rubbing your nether region, covered only by your pajamas and panties. your breath hitches, the feeling of someone else touching you there completely foreign. your legs instinctively attempt to close, wrapping around nick until he was the only thing keeping you grounded.
“nick,” you break out briefly, breathless and reconsidering the decisions that brought the both of you to this point.
“please,” he starts, “i won’t fuck you,” he grits out, sounding unsure of himself, “please.”
your looking at him, stunned to silence. a man was between your thighs, begging to indulge in sin. your once steadfast resolve crumbles, and you’d let nick do anything to you if he asked like that. he’s kissing you again and his hand continues it’s gentle touches for a brief moment before he’s reaching up, now, squeezing at your soft breasts.
“i’ll be gentle,” he promises between kisses, eases. gentle everywhere but the hands on your breasts, slipping under your bra to feel you completely. you release a sound you were unaware you could make against his lips as they clash into yours repeatedly.
he pulls away only slightly, his fingers now work to peel the sweatpants from your figure, deliberate in leaving your underwear on. you shiver as his fingertips drag down your legs completely.
your exposed as nick’s hands reach your thighs, spreading your legs further as he watches the way your already damp panties hug your warmth.
“fuck,” he whispers to himself, his eyes meeting yours again as his hand gently rubs circles against your clit over your panties. the air gets sucked from your lungs, his warm hand expertly caressing you. he sees your internal struggle, biting down on his lip before his hand is slipping down the fabric of your panties. the pad of his finger touches you, circles, and pauses before repeating again. you gasp now, feeling him so close was so foreign but so pleasant. your wild eyes scan him entirely, searching for something to ease your nerves.
his hand picks up speed and your contorting beneath him, whining feverishly against his touch before his fingers are pulling your panties aside.
“you’re so fucking wet,” he says, almost amused, surprised to feel you practically dripping. your pussy clenches around nothing and he’s smiling and you hate that it makes you so fucking horny.
“nick,” you whine out, hushing his teasing tone and reminding him that he promised to be gentle; that included his words, too.
“sorry,” he breathes, one of his fingers prying at you. your mouth goes agape and you can’t look away from his face as he slowly slips his finger inside of you. he’s mesmerized, biting his lip as he watched his finger ease in. he’s studying you when he pulls his finger out, a second digit already testing it’s way.
the stretch is incredible, and you’re nearly prepared to stop him before his fingers bottom out again, and the discomfort melts into pleasure. your spreading your legs further, falling back into the couch with soft moans escaping your lips as he steadily pumps his fingers inside. “‘ts so tight.”
“fuck, nick,” you sigh out, your stomach tying into tight knots as he continues. the consistent rhythm has you gushing around his fingers and your head going light in no time. “i’m cumming!”
he doesn’t stop, not even when you’re crying out beneath him as you cum so hard, your body shaking and your mind going absolutely blank. you scream out, forgetting about neighbors that could hear while he helps you ride out the high, his pace finally faltering. you pant, seeing stars and forgetting all about your problems for a brief moment.
he’s pulling his fingers out of you and when you open your eyes, he’s licking the digits clean. you need him close — grabbing onto his shirt to pull him down until he’s resting on top of you like before, when he was kissing you.
you feel his tightened pants and it becomes increasingly obvious what’s expected of you next. you kiss him again, tasting yourself on his tongue but never breaking the kiss. with a strike of confidence, you slip your hand down, stroking against his hard cock that pressed harshly against his pants. he’s groaning when you squeeze your hand, exploring what felt the best for him as he lost all focus, now. you were too fixated on pleasing him that the fact that everything was new to you wasn’t as intimidating. he’s unbelievably hard, mindlessly thrusting against your touch.
“let me see,” you say after the kissing stops, soft and gentle as you press your hands against his chest for him to sit up straight again. he’s hesitatant to stop, his body already glued to this high if he was experiencing anything like you were.
he sits back anyways, and helps you unzip his pants in a needy, desperate fashion. he can hardly undo the zipper entirely before his hand is reaching beneath his boxer briefs to pull his cock out of his pants. he’s stroking the base of it and you swallow at the size, angrily staring back at you.
you’d seen this done in videos before — against your will, most of the times — but you couldn’t remember any of them telling you how intimidating the first one you see may be. nick’s watching you as you join his hand, getting accustomed to the way he touched himself as your hand gently followed along with his own. he moans out, biting down on his lip to stop himself. he pulls his own hand away, reaching out to touch you instead as you continue on your own, recreating the same movements he was and he whimpers.
you wonder what kind of noises you could illicit from him should you sit on his lap again and feel him deep inside of you. every promise of purity leaves you; you’re so certain it would be him.
you try to forget about the thought as you lean down now, lips mere inches from his angry, glistening tip and you have no idea what you’re doing, but you know better than to use teeth.
“oh, fuck,” nick breathes out as your lips graze his shaft, and your hand continues to stroke him with steadiness. he’s moving your hair to see you better; watching you learn how to suck his cock as you went along. “fuck, fuck — your mouth was made for me.”
he was panting and moaning and losing it as you kept going, hands constantly touching you; one rested on the back of your neck, a fistful of your hair between his fingers whilst the other kept it from falling back to your face. you could feel his vice grip but he doesn’t force your head down.
it was surprisingly easy, you noted, as your lips moved along his shaft with slight pressure, your tongue lapping at him makes his grip tighten. he says your name breathlessly and it makes your skin run hot.
“i’m gonna cum,” he pants, his jaw twitching and his cock becoming impossibly hard in your mouth. you pick up speed, listening to him whimper and stifle moans until he cums with a loud, needy breath slipping out of his lips. it tasted slightly of salt and you were swallowing his cum like you’d seen in porn before, continuing to stroke his cock for every drop until he’s groaning again, hissing slightly. when he’s done, your hand and mouth have slowed to a stop, and you finally peel your lips from his member to catch your breath.
nick’s panting and looking at you with stars in his eyes and you hope he’d been put under the same spell as you. he’s stuffs his spent cock back in his pants with one hand while the other guides your head closer; he kisses you with desperation and you don’t feel like you did something wrong anymore.
he pulls his lips away but keeps your forehead against his. he was still catching his breath and re-entering the present; you could tell by the slight haze in his eyes.
“i don’t care about marriage,” he breathes, “i want to fuck you so bad.”
he kisses you again, and you finally have the gall to press your hands against his chest, breaking the kiss short before your resolve crumbled again.
“not tonight,” you say in response, quick and certain. despite being blinded by arousal, your senses return some time after an orgasm. you felt obligated to be the voice of reason as he escapes the euphoria of lust. “not now, nick.”
he meets your eyes again and he’s begging, but it only reminds you of what you had previously thought about; nick and you had hit it off — scarily quickly — and it became increasingly obvious as time went on how similar the two of you were. it didn’t matter if your body treated him like he’s a new, strange person, because your mind was making you think you’d known him for ages. you felt like a teenage girl, hiding her dating life from her mother and sneaking around with him.
there were about two and a half million people living in the city alone, and it was by pure chance you met nick and got lucky. you didn’t want to spoil it by moving too quickly or worse, make a mistake you can’t take back.
his eyes soften and you relax. he looks to be in a deep thought for a few moments before he speaks again, “okay.”
you kiss him gently, your lips tapping against his once, twice, before kissing his cheek the same way. his warm hands feel your bare thighs, and you’re reminded that you still have your pants off, discarded lazily on the floor beside you.
the movie that has long been over still sat frozen on the now dim screen, illuminating his face in a beautiful dark blue hue. it was getting late, but you don’t bother checking the time, because nick seemed to notice it, too.
“i should probably go,” he says, hesitant to move from his spot, and the curtain that once shielded you from the rest of the world — the one that made you forget about everything else — begins to fall. when he does stand, you almost stop him before he’s able to talk again. “i’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”
summary: you and nick orbit each other for far too long—both choosing celibacy, both pretending the tension isn’t eating you alive. a small fallout cracks the illusion, and one wrong date with someone else makes it painfully clear who owns your heart. when you and nick finally collide, it’s not impulsive—it’s inevitable.
nick parked the car before your apartment complex; it’s intimidating height barely visible due to the darkened night if it weren’t for the lights on in some windows.
“i’ll walk you up,” he insists, exiting the vehicle swiftly to open your door once more, you knew, because he was quick to circle the car. you giggled as he nearly jogged, the wine doing you favors for your nerves enough at this point, and nick was slowly turning more into an excited boy on christmas morning.
“you don’t have to,” you assure as he opens the door, once more offering his hand that you take. this time he doesn’t let go.
“i want to,” he says casually, confident. his hand was warm, holding onto yours, pulling your body closer to him as you walked. you shivered, convinced it was from the breeze again but dismissing the fact that — thanks to wine! — you were warm all over. he opens the door for you, “why don’t you give me your number, too, so i can delete this god forsaken app.”
you giggle, guiding the way towards the elevators, nick following whilst pulling out his phone, handing it to you.
you get in the elevator, at which nick looks to you with a quizzical expression, “seventh floor.”
he presses the button with the number seven on it and the elevator shifts after a brief moment. you type your number into his contacts, adding your full name and ‘(tinder)’ after it with a victorious giggle. you add a contact photo, suddenly aware that the night was about to end. you angle the camera to show the both of you, turning your head to plant a gentle kiss against nick’s cheek while he stared, unamused at first, at the camera.
after retreating, you notice his smile and save the photo as your contact picture before returning his phone to him. he puts it in his pocket, and the elevator stops on the seventh floor.
you both step out, and nick follows you to your door as you fumble with the key you slipped in your handbag.
“so, we’re on for saturday?” he asks, despite never solidifying a plan before. you turn, and he’s close. you feel your back against the wall, leaning against it for support as you nod, smiling.
“yeah. just let me know the plans,” you say, finally securing the key, but you don’t move. you’d never done it before, but you were excited to kiss him — you were excited for him to kiss you. “thank you for dinner. i had a really good time.”
“it’s my pleasure,” he says, leaning in ever-so-slightly before you meet him halfway, hopeful you didn’t seem as eager as you truly were. he kisses you; soft, sweet and you feel his warm hands at your sides. your head goes dizzy, and you feel powerless in the comfort of his lips. fireworks, you thought. your stomach turns in desire when you feel his fingertips dig into you, the vice grip only ceasing when you pull away slightly.
you felt like you might scream or faint or throw up or kiss him again and again. your face was certainly a deep red, now, and you felt so hot you were beginning to sweat. your legs were becoming useless, too.
“goodnight,” you finally say, parting before you could embarrass yourself in front of him. you unlock your door, slipping inside with a wild grin and rosy cheeks.
“goodnight,” he says and you close the door, shameless as you lean in towards the peephole, watching as nick walked back towards the elevator, something continuously drawing his attention upwards before he was out of view.
you stomp quietly, a scream teasing your lungs out of sheer giddiness. you undo the straps of your shoes, stepping out of them with urgency as you finally skip towards the bathroom. looking in the mirror, you see the wild blush and sigh, relieved and dazed.
by the time you remove your makeup, undo your hair and change back into pajamas, you were still floating. you couldn’t possibly go to sleep like this, deciding to sit at the couch, just as you did before, and turning on the television for netflix.
your phone vibrates and you check it before opening netflix, eager for nick to contact you again. you hoped he would open up more through text, now, but you tried not to keep your hopes up.
the notification was from caleb, asking if the time was good because he matched with another girl, too, and she was available saturday.
you decided there was no harm done on him if that were the case; deleting the app with a few taps of your finger, confident in the connection with nick after kissing him.
as if on queue — like an achievement simply came across your screen — an unknown number texts you.
‘made it home. deleted tinder. any ideas on how to entertain myself for the next few hours?’
you smile, saving the contact as nick fuentes without introduction.
‘i’ll let you know when i find out’
you respond and he reads it immediately. your chest warms and you mindlessly put on a show netflix expected you to continue watching. you didn’t watch, but instead put all your attention to nick even in text.
‘a few ideas come to mind. i send you a link to my show, you send me a link to your onlyfans’
you laughed, having heard from him that his content was just about as raunchy; that you probably wouldn’t enjoy it, which you hesitated to believe until he began to discuss politics, simply to see how quickly you’d grow bored.
‘im not that type of girl’
‘i send the link after the second dates only.’
the television catches your attention for a brief moment as nick typed a response, indicated by the dots appearing. you change the television to youtube, simply searching his name out of curiosity and because you wanted to see him again.
‘i should’ve known better. why’d you put (tinder) next to your name?’
you smile, selecting the first video you saw with a clip of nick’s face; a commentary over his actual show, because apparently it wasn’t allowed on youtube.
or anywhere, really.
‘wasn’t sure how many girls there were. wouldn’t want any confusion of course’
the message was lighthearted but nick reacts to the text with a thumbs down emoticon, and the video begins playing on the television.
nick’s in the midst of ranting about the republican party, his frustration making him seem like another person but it intrigued you nonetheless.
‘i’m what they call a lone wolf’
you snap a photo of your television, your feet kicked up on the ottoman comfortably as nick’s show paused behind commentary overlapping it. you send it to him.
‘i can tell’
you smile after, watching as the dots appear and disappear, and again. an image of a computer screen in a dimly lit room, onlyfans pulled onto the tab, nick’s free hand resting across the keyboard in preparation for a search. you laugh aloud, only finding comfort in nick’s voice playing in the background; the content never piqued your interests enough to follow along outside of him.
‘give me something. what firm do you work for?’
you respond with the firm name; with little difficulty he would search for it, find it’s website and find my page in the staff tab.
he does, and he sends a photo of his computer again, your professional photo and short bio and contact information littered the screen.
you text nick for hours, until eventually your texts begin to space by minutes and he accuses you of being half asleep. you fall asleep watching the videos youtube plays, even after the initial one was long gone, and a text coming to your phone of a simple goodnight.
the days pass on, each morning spent texting nick between meetings, appointments, and other work things and again every night. he was a fire cracker; the conversations came endlessly and with ease, and you never knew what his response would be.
on thursday, he’d requested a picture while you were at work, researching for a brief, the deadline of which approached quickly. you spent any spare time texting him.
‘send me a picture’
you smiled, knowing what he meant but finding humor in teasing him anyways.
‘you’re naughty’
you take a photo of yourself, smiling softly at the camera but just for nick. just as you send the photo, he responded.
‘you have no idea’
after a few moments, he texts again.
‘i want to see you again before saturday’
when you offer the idea of your apartment on friday, it’s mainly for the fact that you wouldn’t have to dress out of pajamas after work. nick had certainly picked up on this by now, making occasional observations that you were quick to change into comfortable clothes whenever the opportunity arose.
‘you won’t take advantage of me?’
you read his text with a giggle but don’t respond yet, continuing with your work before the deadline could pass without your knowledge. you had felt like you were living on a different plane of existence pretty much all week; time’s passage only exciting you more until you saw him again. work chatter turned to a bore becaue nobody could make you feel like nick does.
that night, he would call you as you prepared cookie dough. you hoped he liked chocolate chip and he calls after a few minutes of no texts from your end. when you tease him about missing you, he says that he does and by the time friday night comes, you were too focused on kissing him again that you nearly forget to put the cookies into the oven to bake upon getting home from work.
you don’t know what time he would arrive because he doesn’t text ahead, but instead appears at your door with a gentle, swift knock. you begin the timer on the oven before rushing to the door, going on your toes to peek through the hole to see nick — so deliciously handsome in casual clothes — holding a small bouquet of flowers you hadn’t expected. you fight the urge to squeal and kick your feet as you unlock the door for him, surprised to see him again without the door in the way.
“hi,” he says, sweetly and shyly. judging by his expression, it was as though he wasn’t expecting to see you there, pleasantly surprised nonetheless.
“come in,” you say quicky, stepping aside to invite him inside. he moves, and by the time you close the door, you’re turning towards a bouquet of flowers and him — so close again.
you’re busy with the scent of flowers and the euphoria of him there that you hardly realize he’s coming closer again, his free hand gentle against your neck to steady your unexpected movement. he kisses you again; shut out from the rest of the world behind your closed door. it felt good and exciting, like you were doing something you shouldn’t be but loved it anyway.
he’s pulling away, bringing the flowers closer to present them but you don’t let him; you can’t let him. you’re pushing back against him, kissing him again and again. he fumbles back, arm wrapping around you as he sets the bouquet down on the countertop. you feel the smile he was trying to fight away; perhaps it was another laugh, but you didn’t care. you’d waited for what had seemed like an eternity since last you saw him. you felt misplaced without it ever since.
“you’re —” he breaks out briefly, “taking advantage of me.”
you stop finally, smiling bashfully as the weight of your actions hit you. despite his satisfaction, the overwhelming feelings you had were becoming an embarrassment to act upon.
nick’s smiling and pulls you close again, this time one arm wrapped around you, pulling your waist close to his and the other gently cradled your neck, kissing you again as if to say it was okay.
the timer goes off and you nearly jump out of your own skin and nick’s grip. he’s hesitant to release you, but does anyway whilst you scurry to the oven, inspecting the cookies on the baking sheet.
nick watches you as you pull the sheet from the oven, allowing the cookies to cool on the stove top. nick’s close again while you turn off the oven, and rather than kissing you again, he steals a cookie, breaking the soft treat in half until gooey chocolate ran from the inside. you say nothing while he eats one half, holding the other out for you to eat. it’s still hot, but he’s holding it so it must not be scalding; you bite the cookie and the feeling of nick’s fingertips brushing against your lower lip make you look at him. he’s smiling and you’re trying not to giggle hard enough to spit cookie all over him whilst your tongue gently cleans melted chocolate from his fingertip.
“we should probably do something else,” nick says, his tone sincere but betraying him as he ogles at you. you giggle and laugh and he’s struggling to keep his composure, his cheeks turning a bright red. he started it.
you find yourselves on the couch instead. nick wants to watch a movie about desert storm, and you relinquish the remote to him as you had no better ideas. you weren’t intending on giving a movie all of your attention tonight anyways.
he’s leaning back into the couch, legs spread whilst he searches for a movie and his free hand is mindlessly grazing against your shoulder as you curl beside him, legs pulled to your chest and basking in his warmth, breathing in his scent. you’d never been so infatuated with another person before; the feelings unnerved you completely, the only remedy was moving closer to him.
he’s focused on the film, but his touch still lingers against you — your shoulder, your knee, — you try to watch the movie, always being drawn back by his touch, a small sigh or even a short rant about the politics behind it. you’re stealing touches whenever the opportunity comes along and he doesn’t mind. you ask questions when he rants, so he can talk for longer. you’d like to say you were learning from the experience, but you were deep down only desperately attempting to get through the evening without making out with him again, despite how much you’d like to. you couldn’t retain any of the information he was saying even if you wanted to.
“that was completely inaccurate,” he says with a sigh once the movie was over, music played whilst the credits rolled and he finally meets your gaze. you’re almost falling asleep by now, lulled only by his presence, and you blink at him. “do i bore you?” he laughs.
“kind of,” you stretch your arms, a grin of satisfaction plastered on your face. he doesn’t respond, so you change the subject and indulge ever so slightly in your sinful ideas; you sit on his lap, straddling him. he’s blushing and smiling and everything you are right now, too. his hands relax at your hips, occasionally reaching to wrap his arms around you as you spoke to him again. “i like having you here, though.”
“i like being here,” he says, a hint of overwhelming relief in his tone.
“really?” you ask, pride swells in your chest. he nods, and you can’t help but let your hands feel and explore his shoulders, his neck. his eyes roll back slightly before he releases a breath. “why?”
“psychotic feminists and their fleet of middle-aged baristas have been harassing me; they found out where i live, been showing up at my door…” his eyes are closed as he speaks, the troubles rolling from his tongue as you gently massage his shoulders. you’re convinced you could ask him anything right now and he’d answer with complete honesty without hesitation.
he looked like a man at peace.
“have you called the police?” you ask, pausing slightly to gather his attention once more. he nods again, unbothered.
“yes. they leave and nothing happens after,” he explains, a small shrug.
when your hands massage his neck and your fingers massage his ear lobes, he opens his eyes again slowly and pulls you impossibly closer simultaneously. you blush and pretend not to notice the erection growing in his pants as it presses against you. you don’t notice the way you’re pulling at the hair on the back of his head and he smiles again.
“wait ‘til they find out,” he starts, and you can barely keep eye contact, “all that stress they’re giving me gets rubbed out by you.”
you smile and he laughs at the double entendre. you’re struggling to focus at all and he seems to know exactly what he’s doing, “you want them to harrass me, too?”
“no,” he sighs, his amusement finally fading but his arousal doing the opposite, “you’ll be my little secret for as long as i can help it.” you listen and don’t respond; you’re so close together he’s nearly buried between your breasts.
your phone vibrates on the couch beside you two and for the first time you were so thankful of modern technology for putting a pin in this position. you move to answer the phone, reaching for your cell; you barely see it’s your mother calling before leaping to the opportunity of a break before putting it to your ear.
“hello?” you ask, and you see nick stand. your eyes follow him to the window, his interest piqued by the bookshelf lining the wall just beside it, full of books that were dusting, now, but required for paralegal schooling.
“hey, honey, it’s me. you sound confused, you told me to call tonight,” she says, the interference from the phone proof enough that she was rechecking the day of the week. “you’re so into your work, your own mother has to reach you by appointment only.”
if nick heard that he would have laughed at you. you roll your eyes at your mother’s scolding and that nick was still your first thought. he’s flipping through one of the books from your shelf.
“sorry, i just was watching a movie.” you explain, not technically lying. his eyes glance to meet yours for a brief moment before he continues inspecting the book.
“really?” she sounds genuinely surprised, “remember we used to watch movies together all the time?”
you did remember. the last one was about a princess and a frog, many moons ago. still, you smile and nick looks at you for a couple of seconds before moving on to another book.
“yeah, i remember,” you say anyways, nostalgia runs through you and you almost forget about the handsome man before you as he plucks out a book about government structures.
“i’m just glad you’re doing other things, too… this semester off should do you some good, huh?” she asks, concern laced in her tone. you look at nick, worried for a moment that he’d heard the conversation, but he continues on undisturbed.
thanks to the attorney’s at work who offered to put you through law school, seeing you as an asset rather than an employee, you were attempting to get through law school full time while also working the same amount.
you managed your time perfectly, but your mother was convinced you would die alone at the rate you were going. a couple of calls made by your mother to the attorneys you worked for later and you were forced to take the semester off by the hands holding the money.
“i hope you’re not still spending every night alone,” she says, “lucy’s daughter lives in the west loop, i can see if her girlfriends can tag you along when they go out.”
you swallow, your throat suddenly runs dry.
“no, no, no, i don’t need you to do that,” you say, and nick looks at you again. you realize just how hard you try to avoid interaction outside of work. on top of that, the idea of being accompanied at a bar by a bunch of women forced to bring you seemed like hell on earth. you had to save face, “i actually met someone. a guy.”
nick looks away, hiding a grin before walking closer to the window, his gaze averted downwards toward the parking lot.
“what?” she’s shocked; you hear something metal clack in the background as though she’s just dropped something. “a guy? send me a picture. what’s his name? is he from the area — would i maybe know his parents?”
“mom…” you try your best to bring her attention to the amount of questions she blurted out in a minimal time frame without tipping nick off. he turns to reapproach you, seemingly becoming bored.
“what!? i can’t be worried about some shmuck dating my baby girl?” you close your eyes for a brief moment, suppressing your bubbling irritation and when you open them again, nick’s leaned over, head close enough to your phone to hear your mother chirp your name before starting up again, “send me a picture and i won’t ask anymore questions for now.”
you push nick away, earning a silenced giggle before you take the phone from your ear, swiftly sending her the picture from the elevator without nick seeing you do so. you hear your mom continue to talk though you don’t listen, and nick is back at you again.
“i just sent it,” you say, using one hand to steer nick elsewhere, but he was resilient and easily bypassing your attempts at privacy.
a brief moment of silence passes before your mom exclaims, “oh, he’s cute!”
nick does something similar to a dramatized fist pump, overhearing the approval of your mother.
“don’t send it to anybody, mom,” you say quickly, as it wouldn’t be surprising to know she sends the picture to all her girlfriends, asking if they know who’s son he is. god, hopefully none of them knew who he was just by looking at him. “we just met.”
“okay, i won’t,” she murmurs, barely listening as she’s likely inspecting the picture still.
“i gotta go, i have a conference call tonight and the client’s in another time zone,” you lie now to exit this painfully interrogative conversation, “love you, mom.”
“i love you too, sweetheart. we’ll talk soon,” she promises and you hang up before she can start again and go against her own word.
“you had me worried,” nick says, drawing your attention up as he stood at the edge of the couch, just beside you, “by how fast you jumped out of my lap, i thought it was a boyfriend calling.”
you roll your eyes, shaking your head as nick toys with your misery. still, your cheeks turn red and you can’t look at him directly anymore, recalling the compromising position from before.
summary: you and nick orbit each other for far too long—both choosing celibacy, both pretending the tension isn’t eating you alive. a small fallout cracks the illusion, and one wrong date with someone else makes it painfully clear who owns your heart. when you and nick finally collide, it’s not impulsive—it’s inevitable.
cw: slow burn eventual porn w plot
his features first flash across your screen, mid-july on a dating app you’d downloaded against every single thought you had about how poorly it could turn out. it had become the only option as it seemed most of the dating pool wasn’t particularly courageous in approaching one another in public at random. they had to see the page of quick facts and a short bio before they could commit another second of their attention.
you hated it, and it felt unnatural, picking men out of a seemingly endless flow of choices. you pressed X on every man thus far. if it wasn’t looks from the first glance — you knew they weren’t your ‘type’ (?) — something about the way their bios read made you gulp and reconsider pressing the ‘check’ mark, indicating you were open to conversation should they also be open to it.
nick was a twenty-six year old catholic, living in chicago; he had dark brown hair, brown eyes, stood at five-foot-ten, liked discussing politics and preferred dinner dates over long walks on the beach. you skimmed his bio, which regurgitated most of the information you’d already gathered once more before turning into a mild tangent of why he, too, joined the app against his own beliefs; meeting women was difficult in this day and age. you giggled at the words, grinning stupidly at your phone as he explained that, essentially, he didn’t wish to waste time on a woman unless he knew, somewhat, what they were like beforehand. perhaps that could explain the lack of meet-cutes nowadays.
you hesitated for a moment, skipping through his photos; he dressed professionally, and really was attractive. and he made you laugh before he even met you; that counts for something.
you press the green check mark before moving on, becoming bored after a few more rejections, and one other green check for ‘caleb’, a notification appears that you’ve ‘matched’ with nick from before; he’d seen your profile, your photos, your bio — and clicked the green check mark, too.
after one last glance at caleb’s profile, you notice the only thing in common between the two was that they both seemed out of place in the sea of conventional, new-age societal expectations as you never believed in opposites attracting very much. caleb was cute, too, however. he had blond hair, lived in chicago, was twenty-seven, liked fishing and was a proud workaholic.
nick messages you first and you briefly forget about caleb.
‘hello’
something about the simple, friendly greeting seemed so intimidating. you stare at the message for a few seconds, suddenly nervous and biting at your lip.
you begin to work up the courage to respond when dots appear, indicating he’s typing another message.
‘i can pick you up at six for dinner tonight. send me an address’
you hesitate to respond with a greeting, as he clearly took the wasting time aspect very seriously. you’d expected to text a few people tonight and perhaps make plans for the following weekend. despite this, you admired the urgency, as though testing to see if you were worth the trouble as his bio had rambled about, and you were a bit too competitive for your own good.
you send him the address of your apartment complex, deciding that so long as he didn’t know your apartment number, or floor for that matter, it would be fine.
shortly after pressing send to nick, a notification appeared and caleb had also matched with you. the swiftness of responses were becoming almost unnerving, and you decided that the two were plenty for the time being. caleb takes a few minutes before saying anything, and nick simply read your message without a response. you bite your lip, keeping an eye on your phone for further notifications as you mosey towards your closet. you had four hours until nick would pick you up, so you had ample time to prepare, despite the lack of details.
you observe his dating profile again, almost memorizing the overall tone as you decided what to wear. he was a self-proclaimed catholic, so you went on a limb that he expected modesty, which wouldn’t be a problem with your wardrobe; filled with professional work clothes — pencil skirts, blouses, tasteful dresses that fall to your knee — and comfortable pajamas or other old t-shirts. your entire working life, if you weren’t dressed to work at the office, you were slipping in comfortable clothes after hours.
you decide on a black dress. it was simple, a little tight around your curves but you paired it with a cute, black cardigan to throw over your shoulders upon heading out the door.
hours pass as you shower, change into the dress, throw on some light makeup and sporadically message caleb back and forth when time and your attention managed. you were too focused on your date with nick that caleb’s insistence on your choosing of the restaurant, the date, the time — just about everything — slipped your mind as you brushed it off as caleb’s desire to please you, not as a hint towards incapability.
you send a message to caleb that essentially read, once more, that you wanted the details to be left up to him.
you ignore your phone buzzing after nick messages you that he was waiting outside, certain it was caleb sending a few responses. he liked to respond in multiple, relatively consistent messages after usually half an hour of waiting to respond in the first place. he was certainly trying to throw the responsibility back to you, so you lock the device anyway and leave your apartment with your phone, handbag and cardigan in hands.
your heart begins to thump as you make your way to the lobby, feeling immediate and incurable anxiety as you realize that perhaps you weren’t ready to date again. perhaps you should apologize to nick — through text — and send him on his way. the idea crosses your mind for a brief moment as you force your shaking legs to move towards the entrance anyways.
you were only given another moment with the thoughts of abandoning the app entirely before your gaze met nick’s, who stood just outside of what you presumed to be his car. he had seemed almost caught off guard once he saw you; up until this point his eyes searched the building and his surroundings. he wore dress pants and a nice shirt, slight relief coming over you that you didn’t over or under dress in comparison.
he says your name as though it’s a question and you flash a short smile in response, “hey. nick, right?”
“yeah, that’s me,” he says, sounding nervous as he opens the passenger side door to the car, his entire attention available to your discretion as you got in his car. he didn’t say much, but his face was a soft red color and you assumed he could be just as nervous as you were.
he circles the car and gets in. before he can even start the vehicle, you decide to stop him. if he was just as nervous as you were, you figured taking the reigns on some conversation was righteous. “i don’t want to disappoint, or — anything…” you stumble out, uncertain of how to say what you want to say to a near stranger, “i haven’t done this… ever. i don’t know all the expectations, but i’m not going home with you, tonight.”
nick laughs — he laughs — as the nervous exterior of his cracks.
“that was not my expectation,” he says, starting the car finally, “but good to know.”
he sounded sincere and you accept it with relief, glad to know he had somewhat of a sense of humor and could accept a certain degree of boundaries thus far. you become slightly more comfortable as he shifts into drive to leave.
“where are we going?” you ask softly and quietly, almost too afraid to speak over the radio that played so quietly in the background. you couldn’t even tell if it was a song or a talk show, but nick hears you anyways.
“gibsons. do you like italian?” he asks, despite your certainty that you had no choice but to like it tonight; gibson’s always seemed so sophisticated, likely taking reservation only as it was always busy in west loop.
“yeah, i do,” you say in response, admiring his hands as he steered through traffic, stealing glances at the side of his face — he was more handsome in person, you thought — before he speaks again.
“you look really nice,” he says, almost in passing as he doesn’t give you enough time to take the compliment, “what did you mean, that you’ve never done this before?”
you blush and turn slightly, no longer stealing glances in fear that he was doing it, now.
“this. i’ve never dated, before,” you say softly, holding onto the thought that you had to be honest, otherwise there was no point in going out at all.
“ever?”
you shake your head, silent and almost expecting another laugh, but he doesn’t. you glance at him once more; he isn’t amused, but seemingly in thought.
“don’t take this the wrong way,” he begins, pausing for long enough to make you squirm in preparation for whatever he was about to say — certain it would be some sort of jab. “but… how? why?”
you frown slightly, initially confused by the question but quickly brought into deep thought by it. men from school — high school and college — were never worth much time, especially over studies. you worked with old lawyers, surrounded by men twice, sometimes thrice, your age; many of whom were married or borderline in need of an in-house, in-work, in-everything nurse. you smile at the realization, but it quickly disappears before nick can notice.
“i don’t know,” you finally say, “just never really had the time, i guess.”
he nods, and you steal glances again. he’s very attractive — you couldn’t deny that, and nor could your subconscious. it felt natural to look at him.
“me neither,” he finally says, making you turn to look at him fully, now. you admire him for a brief moment again. “why were you on the app, then?”
you look away, noting that you’ve nearly arrived at your destination before smiling mischievously, “i have the time, now.”
he laughs softly in response, glancing over to catch your eyes for one moment before going back to the road. up until this point, you hadn’t taken note of any traffic, pedestrians, buildings; only that you weren’t far from the restaurant. it felt almost strange, not having to focus on the background while you were with another person. you weren’t sure why, but you liked it.
you decided not to indulge in an entire story about why you hadn’t dated until now, waiting for nick to work towards details over dinner. showing all your cards now only called for silence during dinner, which you were certain would be painfully awkward.
you wanted the date to go well. you wanted to impress nick. he was confident, handsome, and you liked his general attitude.
“you look nice, too,” you say softly and with a harsh heat hitting your cheeks shortly thereafter as a smile came to nick’s face.
“caught that, huh?”
you smiled, deciding the date would go just fine as he parked the car, a dramatic sigh escaping him as he gets out.
you drape the cardigan over your shoulders as nick — either impatiently or gentlemanly — opens your door for you, offering his hand for balance as you wore slight heels.
you take the offer with a blush again, wondering if your face would permanently stain red at this rate, a soft and almost inaudible thanks escapes you as you exit, walking alongside him towards the restaurant. the wind brushes against your legs and you shiver, never accustomed to the consistent wind and slight chill in chicago.
you walk alongside nick in the restaurant, towards the hostess who scribbled something down in front of her before offering a welcoming smile to you, “hi! do you guys have a reservation?”
“yes. fuentes,” nick says, and you remember the name for later. she skims her notebook before nodding once.
“perfect, follow me,” she ushers, moving through the restaurant to find a small table fit and prepared for two. you thank her before she parts again, taking a seat opposite of nick, setting your handbag and phone on the table.
“fuentes?” you ask.
“nick fuentes,” he says a slight shrug accompanied him, “nicholas fuentes, but i prefer nick. about a quarter mexican.”
you nod along in understanding, skimming the menu for a moment.
“yours?”
you tell him your last name with a short glance, catching his slight nod. he’s looking at the menu, too, and you decide to find something appetizing quickly before conversation can pick back up.
you choose the carbonara, and seemingly just in time as his body shifts again, signaling he’s about to say something.
“did you grow up around here?” he asks and you nod, a slight roll of your eyes without consciously thinking about it. he smiles.
“yeah. did you?” you ask, though you have an idea of what his answer is. he nods again, sighing.
you smile, stifling a giggle despite the lack of any attempt at being funny from him. he seems to enjoy your reaction, anyways.
“what do you do for work?” you ask, and you immediately begin to feel like you were making the date too much like an interview.
perhaps that was the point of a first date.
he smiles and you can’t decide if he’s amused by your question, something you did, or the answer he was about to give.
“politics. i run a show,” he says vaguely before elaborating, “yells-at-a-camera-in-my-room-alone type of way.”
you smile softly, “is it fun?”
he laughs a little too loud, as though he didn’t expect the response. a few heads turn to glance but you don’t bother yourself with them and they swiftly return to their meals.
“it’s alright,” he finally says. “pays the bills.”
when he was done smiling, his face would ease back to his natural expression and it made you bite your lip, shifting your gaze for a moment; he was painfully cute.
“what about you?” he asks, and you remember that he just explained what he did for work. your turn.
“onlyfans, mainly,” you say, trying to keep a straight face. thankfully, his unfamiliarity with you worked like magic and he seemed to fall for it for a brief moment. something similar to devastation flashed across his face before you giggle, “i’m kidding, of course.”
obviously. you’d never even kissed a guy, let alone took a compromising photo of yourself like the models were paid for.
relief washed over his expression as he released a small exhale he seemed to have kept in. he smiles, shaking his head, his finger tapping on the table towards you.
“you’re very funny,” he says, slightly sarcastic but you still caught him off guard, so you took it to the chin.
“i’ve worked at the same law firm since i graduated high school,” you say seriously this time, “i’m a paralegal.”
his brows raise as though he’s impressed and the waitress comes by for drink orders. you both get water and nick requests a glass of wine.
“for you, of course.” he smiles, “i’d like to see how funny you can be.”
he’s sincere again, and it makes you smile; proud to be able to make him laugh, or at the very least, crack at his hard exterior with brief, surprised smiles.
“you don’t want a glass?” you ask, hesitant as she swiftly returned with the drinks. he shakes his head, and you thank the waitress before she parts again.
“i don’t drink,” he says simply, and you drop the subject. you knew better than to press, so you gaze at the red liquid swishing around in the wine glass. “you don’t have to drink it, if you don’t want to.”
no, you wanted to; you needed to to ease your nerves. the date was going perfectly yet your body still felt tense and unsure, despite the laughter.
“it’s okay. thank you,” you say softly, lifting the glass to your lips to take a small sip, the alcohol burning your throat but settling warmly across your body. “i’m still not going home with you.”
he laughs again. another unexpected chuckle as he smiles and slightly raises his hands in defense. “you’d be taking advantage of me,” he jokes, “i don’t do all that ‘hook-up culture’ crap.”
the waitress reappears to take your orders. nick ordered the same as you, as though he planned to have you order first. as though he hadn’t looked at the menu at all.
she leaves and the opportunity to continue the conversation arises once more. “it’s a miracle i even downloaded tinder. it’s just hard to meet women — or, anyone, really — without knowing if their values align or not, you know?”
you nod, following along as you’re convinced he’s very much in touch with his faith and morals.
“what was it about me?” you ask, curious as to the answer. obviously something must have made him press the green check mark to match with you. he smiles.
“you were the only one i matched with,” he says, as though the app is now in the past tense. as though this relationship was already beginning to form. “i didn’t waste much time going through a bunch of girls. i just saw you, and…” he drifts off, and it was as though there was nothing in specific that made him match with you, but perhaps you entirely.
“i wasn’t expecting to go out tonight,” you say lightheartedly, smiling brightly at him until he blushes.
“i like that you’re quick on your feet,” he admires honestly. you weren’t certain if he was referring to your unexpected comments or the swift preparation for the date, but you digressed. “you’re very,” a small pause, “beautiful… it’s just hard to imagine you’ve never dated before.”
you tilt your head slightly, “i could say the same to you.”
another smile paired with a cute blush. it makes you mirror him. “i mean, you’re honest?”
“of course i am,” you slightly frown, partially offended he’d hesitated in believing you but inevitably taking it as the compliment he meant it as. a part of you understood; you weren’t exactly as active as many of your friends or peers. it was considered normal to have slept with at least three different guys in two years of college, but the time never came for you, and it was initially a burden of embarrassment, but after talking to nick, it didn’t feel as heavy. “wouldn’t be a very interesting lie to tell.”
you only say that because the idea of attempting to make up a sexual encounter from scratch made you cringe and cause your stomach to flip. he smiles, seeming to finally believe you after another moment of thought.
he raises his brows again in surprise and amusement as you take another sip of wine, your waitress coming with the food before nick could comment on it.
“thank you,” you say softly to the waitress, who seemed to operate rather dismissively as she simply nods, grins briefly to you and leaves again. nick watches before his gaze returns to you, eyes softening ever so slightly.
your phone buzzes as she walks away, and both of you instinctively glance to see the notification from tinder; likely caleb messaging again.
you dismiss the notification after seeing it was caleb, and he had finally offered next saturday at four for a movie. picking up your fork, nick finally speaks again.
“how many have you matched with?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.
“only two. you and one other,” you say, taking a bite at which you had to physically close your eyes to enjoy. you swallow, deciding that the back and forth with nick was fun, alluring, and natural enough to say, “he wants to go out on saturday.”
nick nods, taking his first bite as you timidly look down at your plate, wondering if this so-called back and forth with nick was a mutual thing, and even if it was capable of being more.
“cancel on him,” he finally says, bringing your attention back up with hopeful eyes, brightening when you saw he was serious. “go out with me on saturday instead.”
you couldn’t form a response quickly enough, giggling slightly with a bright, wide smile, as though you’d just earned the goal you’d set out to achieve for the evening.
in fairness, you kind of did.
“where would we go?” you ask, watching him shrug as he thought quickly. he didn’t have a plan, yet was suggesting you ignore caleb and continue on with him instead. you smiled slightly, amused and flattered.
you and nick orbit each other for far too long—both choosing celibacy, both pretending the tension isn’t eating you alive. a small fallout cracks the illusion, and one wrong date with someone else makes it painfully clear who owns your heart. when you and nick finally collide, it’s not impulsive—it’s inevitable.
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