The attraction is inevitable.
Granted, there might be none when someone first meets Emmie. She might just be another face in the crowd. A person who’s not stunning but not overly ugly either. Unoffensive. Unremarkable. Forgettable.
Normal.
But, once people learn what she can do, *who* she can become, it doesn’t matter what she looks like anymore. Doesn’t matter who she is, only what part of herself that she can *change*. Make herself taller and slimmer. Her hair longer and her tits bigger. Her skin lighter. Her skin darker. Fatter. Shorter. Bottom heavy. No curves. Freckles.
Anything as long as it wasn’t her.
So, it’s inevitable, the way Nick’s eyes light up when she tells him about her power.
“Wait, are you serious?!” he says, wiggling on his bar stool as he leans forward, his grin wide and showing all of his teeth, “*Shape-shifting?* Dude, that’s super cool!”
In response, she shrugs her shoulders. Takes a sip of her cocktail.
“I guess,” she says, a sheepish twist to her lips, “S’not practical like yours.”
“So I can lift a couple of cars. So can a bunch of other people,” he rolls his eyes, makes a wide circle with his arm to gesture to the room and spills a little beer down his fingers in the process, “Enhanced strength ain’t shit. But, *yours*. Now that’s fucking cool. Some badass undercover shit.”
At that, she huffs out a amused breath and emboldened by her reaction, he smirks. Ducks his head and comically raises an eyebrow at her.
“Wait, don’t tell me your actually a *spy*?” he whispers, hunching his shoulders and cupping his hand around the side of his mouth like he’s sharing a secret, eyes flicking around the bar in a really obvious way and she can’t help the way she barks out a laugh, “You’re not gonna take me out back old yeller-style right? Choke me out with your thighs? *Though* I won’t really complain about that part, *not gonna lie*.”
She’s smiling now, cheeks straining with mirth and she leans forward. Gives him a sly look from under her lashes and haughtily juts out her chin.
“It seems you’ve caught me,” she says, tries to sound serious but her voice wobbles with humor, worsening when he plays along and dramatically gasps, “But you have left me no choice. You must pay for your crimes.”
“And what have I done?” he asks, cocky in the tilt of his head, the slope of his smile.
Emmie places a hand on his forearm, pushes off her stool a little to get closer. His throat jumps at the contact.
“You know what you’ve done,” she purrs into his ear, can’t help herself and brushes his skin with each word she speaks.
“Why don’t you tell me?” he challenges and wets his mouth, briefly catching his bottom lip with his teeth.
Lightly running her fingers up his arm, she smirks big and sharp.
“You haven’t been paying your taxes,” she whispers and he exaggeratedly groans, taking the arm she’s not touching and laying it across his forehead, bodily tossing himself to lean against the counter.
“*Oh god*,” Nick laments, and her eyes crinkle at the corners at his dramatics, “You’re not a spy, you’re *worse*. *You’re the IRS!*”
She’s laughing hard now, slapping at the table, gasping and snorting in a really unattractive way but she doesn’t care. He doesn’t either because he’s with her not a minute later, grasping at her hand as he nearly buckles over, cackling with so much force that his stomach hurts from it.
“Y-y-y-you are something else,” he gasps out, nearly goes into hysterics again when she wiggles her eyebrows at him.
“I t-try,” she replies, still giggling, cheeks flushed with glee and exertion.
It takes then a while to settle down but eventually they do, leaning against each other. They’re still clasping hands but they don’t make any move to pull away.
“*God*, I haven’t laughed that hard in *awhile*,” she admits, her voice a little hoarse as she turns her head away to dab under her eyes with a napkin, “Look, I made myself cry! I think I even have abs now.”
She grins at him when she’s done, ready to talk more when her thoughts suddenly screech to a stop, stuttering at the look on his face. His eyes and smile are soft, one hand under his chin, the other absentmindedly stroking at her knuckles and he appears content. Like he can stay there all day just like that, just looking at her.
“You have a nice smile,” he says, confident like it’s a fact and the tips of her ears go pink.
“N-nobody has ever said that to me before,” she says, embarrassed and happy at the same time, hand flapping around nervously like she can’t help moving around, “I-I don’t know what t-t-to say.”
“Really, *no one*?” he replies incredulously, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline, “You hang around blind people or something?”
That gets a chuckle from her but she shakes her head nonetheless.
“Yeah, really. At least, never to *me*,” Emmie says, can’t help the bitterness that slips into her tone, the acid that burns her tongue, “Maybe the other mes, but not to *me*. The *real* me.”
There’s a pause before he’s pulling away from her, slipping his hand from under hers and she thinks she ruined everything, chased him away with her melodrama. But, he only did that to turn on his stool and fully face her, to softly cradle her face with his hands.
“Maybe those people should get their fucking eyes checked,” Nick says, assured and unexpectedly fierce, sincere in his defense of her, “Because what I see *here*, right in front of me? Is someone who’s beautiful.”
And he doesn’t stop there, takes his thumb and swipes at her eyelid.
“Someone with pretty hooded eyes.”
Down the bridge between her eyes.
“A cute round nose.”
Across the tops of her cheeks.
“Soft skin.”
He stops at her bottom lip. Strokes it tenderly, almost reverent and she shivers from the sensation, captured by his gaze.
“I know some people wanna fuck Danny Devito or something, but that ain’t me. *I* approached *you* because I saw you sitting and drinking here by yourself and thought *“She’s really pretty. I wanna talk to her.”* I stayed before I knew what you can do. I *stayed* because you’re fucking interesting and witty and sarcastic and *funny*, *god* are you *funny*.”
He leans forward, until she can feel his breath across her lips, see the way his pupils are blown wide.
“And all I can think about is kissing the girl who made me laugh so hard I almost gave myself hernia.”
She shaking now, so overcome with emotions that she’s almost bursting with it and she surges forward, tangling her fingers in his hair and cupping the side of his stubbly jaw.
“Kiss me,” she says, urgently, *desperately*, more turned on then she has ever been in her whole life, “*Kiss me*.”
He doesn’t have to be told a third time because he’s on her like he’s never wanted anything else, pulling her into his lap with ease, hands all over her like he can’t get enough of her body. He kisses like he’s trying to devour her, all encompassing and *commanding*, moving her however he likes with those strong hands of his. She grinds on him and he *growls*, grabbing her hips and making her do it again, rolling with her in a way that hits her clit just right, that has her keening into his mouth.
“Hey guys!!”
They break apart to see the bartender with his arms crossed, an unimpressed look on his face.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says in way that shows just how *not* sorry he is and jerks his thumb at the door, “But you gotta take that outside.”
“Uh, sorry,” Nick replies, dazed and lips kiss-swollen while Emmie tries not to melt onto the floor from embarrassment, “We’ll leave right now.”
She climbs out of his lap and watches him dig into his pocket to grab his wallet before he suddenly stops, stares at his jeans. She’s about to ask him what wrong before she looks down and *sees it*, her whole face going red. Right there, on the front of his pants, she left a *wet spot*, right where she rubbed herself on him. The apology is on the tip of her tongue but he’s already giving the money to the bartender, his hand shaking. He turns back to face her and *oh*, his eyes are so black that there’s only a sliver of green around them.
“Let me take you home,” he says, voice low with promises and she shudders from head to toe.
“If you’ll have me,” she replies, breathless, a bashful smile on her face.
He gets up and slowly walks up to her, towering over her with his height. He’s standing so close she can feel his body heat.
“Just you,” he whispers, grabs her hand to kiss the inside of her palm, “And only you.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/cb1i1b/to_be_me_or_not_to_be_me_mf_flirting_superpowers