#anyway i think i do want him to keep his original brown eyes when he's fed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jasonsmirrorball · 5 days

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keep me here (with your skin on mine again) [17.6k]

summary: it's been a long time coming. he's the bane of your existence, but there's no denying it. your roommate is hot.

cw: gn!reader, afab!reader, smut, jealousy, friends with benefits arrangement, original characters, stephanie brown cameo, intoxication, blowjobs, spit, fingering, handjobs, piv sex, minor voyeurism, references to past voyeurism, masturbation, slight dubcon re multiple orgasms as there isn't a discussion but it's consensual, references to reader's clothing – they wear clothes described as 'short' and 'tight', and 'slutty' at one point (not degradingly), mention of reader wearing a hair towel, presumably after a shower, use of 'cunt', arguments, miscommunication + reader and jason are both petty and imperfect !! minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked

Jason just about falls over himself laughing when you open the door and immediately you scowl. He doesn’t say a word, teal eyes taking in your outfit before his beautiful face screws up, a loud guffaw punching out of him. The force of his amusement is strong enough that he sinks to his knees, clutching the door-frame to steady himself.

“Oh–” you scoff, and he has to yank his fingers away before the door slams on them. “You’re so insufferable!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You hear a pause before he dissolves into laughter again, and you resist the urge to stamp your foot.

“No you aren’t. What the fuck do you want?”

“I can’t talk to you through the door, can you open up?”

You pout. “No.”

“Please? I swear I won’t laugh.”

You make a face at that, disbelieving. “You’re full of shit.”

Another muffled snort through the door. “Okay, I swear I’ll try not to laugh,” Jason amends.

You open the door and he struggles to keep a straight face. You know what you must look like, the hair towel, the pair of pink, heart patterned, fluffy pyjama pants and your bed socks.

“I’ll close this door again,” you remind him when you catch him eyeing the print on your socks, crossing your arms impatiently and he nods, biting his lip to compose himself.

“I thought you were going out.” Jason voices this out loud and you cut an unimpressed look his way when his voice wobbles with the weight of keeping his amusement at bay.

“I am.”

“Oh. Is that the look for tonight?”

You sneer at him. “Is this what you came to ask me?”

“It’s all I wanna talk about now,” he admits, shrugging. He points at your pants and you bat his hand away, hissing. “Where on earth did you get these from?”

“They’re comfortable–”

“I’ll say.”

“–and I got them from my parents, ass hat,” you finish pointedly, hands on your hips.

“Do they hate you?” he drops his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, eyes widening into faux sympathy and you roll your eyes.

“Whatever, man. What do you want? You’re interrupting my getting ready time.”

He lets out a breath obnoxiously, leaning into the door frame.

“Yeah, for bed, it seems.” You stare at him blankly, fighting the urge to strangle him with your bare hands. “Anyway, do you have my charger? Think I left it in here last night.”

Briefly, you consider telling him that you haven’t actually, despite knowing exactly where it is, having been plugged into the outlet between your bed and the wall during your marathon of Gilmore Girls last night. You end up opening the door, waving a hand dismissively at him to check for himself before you move further into your room, returning to your walk-in to contemplate your outfit for the night.

Jason enters the room and you see him move around in your periphery as you push the hangers around. He lingers in your room after he finds the charger, twisting the cable around his fingers absentmindedly.

“You should stick with that outfit,” he remarks, taking a seat on your bed. You look over your shoulder and he elaborates, helpfully, “I think it’ll be a real hit at the club.”

“I’m sure,” you say dryly. “The men’ll be falling all over me.”

He cracks a delighted smirk, nodding. “Exactly.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” you inform him, emerging from the wardrobe and tilting your head to the door. “C’mon, you found your charger. I need to get ready.”

He boos you but stands up anyway and you push him out, palms pressing into his shoulder blades. Jason, ever resistant to making anything easy for you, ever, leans his weight into you, slowing down to a crawl. “So mean. You don’t wanna hang out? You’re breaking my heart, here. I thought we were best friends forever.”

“We’ll be best friends forever if you get out,” you retort, shoving him over the threshold and he cackles.

He’s still laughing long after the door slams behind him.

Jason becomes your roommate on a Wednesday morning. You remember this because you have a full day of classes on Wednesdays, and you’d spent the night before anxiously cleaning in preparation for his arrival. He moves in while you’re in class, and sends you a text as you’re getting out at 5 that he’s getting takeout and did you want anything from the Korean restaurant a few blocks away?

You get home to the smell of tteokbokki, fried chicken and japchae on the counter. Your return home, usually greeted by the sound of silence, is met with quite possibly the most attractive man you’ve ever met in your life in your kitchen, looking up from his phone and nodding a casual ‘hey’.

It isn’t as though you aren’t expecting this. You’d met him several times before, at gatherings and mutual friends’ birthday parties. Still, Jason’s beauty manages to leave you reeling every single time. You stare for a moment, startled, before rushing out a jerky, “Hi!”

He’s silent for a moment before he parts his lips. You track the motion, feeling your throat dry at the awkward, lopsided grin he shoots you.

“Wasn’t sure if you wanted to eat together, or...”

Your eyes widen and you take a few steps forward. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you to start without me, I didn’t think I’d take this long, there was construction on the road and we had to go a different way–”

“You took the bus?” he questions, eyebrows creasing and you nod.

“It’s easier, there’s a stop a block away and it drops me off five minutes from campus,” you tell him, and he nods slowly. “Anyway, I’m sorry, you’re probably hungry, you didn’t have to wait for me.”

He shakes his head, disappointed. “You know, our relationship’s already off to a terrible start, Roomie. I really don’t know how you’ll come back from this.”

You stare for a moment before it hits you: he’s making a joke. You let out a laugh, moving further into the apartment. “You’ll survive a few more minutes, I’m sure.”

“I’m withering away as we speak,” he calls out after you.

You break in your newfound coexistence over rice cakes and stir fried noodles, sweet and sour sauce staining your fingers, sitting at the coffee table while Jason goes through the things he needs to get done, reruns of an old show playing on the TV that neither of you pay much attention to.

“We can go together,” you suggest, when he mumbles something about picking up his groceries, typing out a list on his phone. He looks up in surprise, as though he hadn’t expected the offer.

“You sure?”

You shrug, spearing a rice cake onto your fork. “If you want. I need to get a few things anyway.”

He considers it a moment longer, before nodding. “Okay.”

It takes some getting used to, having this man in your apartment. A week in, you nearly scream when you walk into the kitchen half asleep to find him at the stove – the lack of a shirt is no help in calming your racing heart. But the weeks pass by, and Jason becomes less of the attractive man you share a living space with, morphing into something else entirely as he gets comfortable. By the time you hit the three month mark, his looks are the least of your concern – he’s the bane of your fucking existence.

Kind of.

The two of you settle into your routine and you find out that Jason has a mouth on him. He delights in riling you up, tourmaline eyes flashing with barely constrained glee when you react in kind – bitching at him for coming into the kitchen when it’s your turn to make dinner and offering unbidden suggestions, or squabbling over who got it wrong when you forget to tell him to take a turn on your way to go grocery shopping. You maintain the last one is his fault. How can you forget the route to the store when we’ve gone nearly a hundred times by now?

He somehow manages to draw it out of you, the bitchiness you’ve been carrying with you since middle school and have tried to bury down–nobody likes a smart mouth, after all. But he doesn’t flinch from it.

If you didn’t know any better, you might even say he liked it.

– You do know better, though.

(That one night spent with your hands under the blankets and thoughts of ultramarine eyes is nobody’s business but yours.)

You meet his family. He meets your friends – the ones he doesn’t already know. You somehow end up watching a show together. His sweater lays at the foot of your bed. You’ve slept in his bed and vice versa. You’re sure he’s one of the closest friends you have. He irritates you to no end.

Bit by bit, Jason worms his way into your life and settles comfortably there.

It’s probably why your girlfriends feel so comfortable calling him on your night out and how the ensuing mess occurs.

Jason gets the call around 2 in the morning, the ringtone blaring through his skull just as he’s about to fall asleep. He jerks up, glaring groggily at his phone. He contemplates leaving it to ring, but he spies your friend’s name on the screen and he sighs, wiping a hand down his face.

They’re playing loud rap music when he gets inside, descending the stairs into the dark club. He passes girls supporting their drunken friends on their way out and gently shoulders his way through a group lingering by the double doors leading to the actual club. More than once, he feels an appreciative stare on the back of his neck but he’s preoccupied.

It takes him a moment to spot you over the crowd, squinting his eyes to make out your form through the dim lights. When he does, his throat dries.

He hadn’t seen you after he’d been shepherded out of your room, pulled into a phone call with his younger brother who’d decided that nearing midnight was the perfect time to complain at length about their father. Damian hadn’t let him go until long after you’d left the house, your voice echoing through the walls with a “I’m going! Bye!” that he’d distractedly replied to in between making the appropriate listening noises to his increasingly agitated brother.

You’re holding your friend’s hand at the bar, smiling dreamily and swaying in place when the song abruptly switches to something slower. The clothes you wear leave little to the imagination, short, tight, sinful. He bites his cheek hard, swallowing roughly as he makes his way over. Something green curls in his vision when someone gravitates closer to you, yelling something in your ear. The guy is all leery smiles and appreciative eyes, gaze lingering on the dip of your neckline.

Much to Jason’s displeasure, you don’t back away in disgust, only frowning in confusion and tapping your ear – I didn’t hear you. He repeats himself and Jason watches you process whatever it is that he’s said before a smile breaks out and you laugh, shaking your head. Your eyes glitter, and jealousy burns low in his gut. You don’t seem to realise you’ve ensnared the other man in your orbit, staring up at him over the rim of your drink.

Jason breaks through the crowd and calls your name. Miraculously, it isn’t lost to the crowd and you look away. He finds smug pleasure in the way you startle in surprise, the shape of his name on your lips. He ignores the other guy, leaning an arm against the bar and between the both of you, effectively blocking you off. God, if Dick could see him now. Just the other week, his brother had been giving him shit for the apparent territoriality over you, and he’d gone blue in the face denying it, despite the knowing look on Dick’s face.

“What are you doing here?” you reach up on your tiptoes to ask him.

“Here to take you guys home,” he shouts, leaning in to get his words across. And he doesn’t need to, but he rests his hand on your waist as he does, and you press closer, tilting your face up to pout at him.

“What?” you protest. “Nooo, it’s still early!”

He grins at you unsympathetically. “It’s nearly 3 am, baby, c’mon. You look like you’re going to fall over.”

He only realises he’s made a slip up when your eyebrows crease but you say nothing, only staring up at him with moony eyes before smiling and placing your drink down to put a hand in his, mouthing an ‘okay’. He signals to your friend behind you, who’d called him earlier and watches the exchange with interest. She turns and shouts something over her shoulder, waiting for the third of your party to finish her drink before tugging her along. The three of you hold hands and follow him through the club in single file, a sight that he’s robbed of finding any amusement because he’s trying much harder not to pop a blood vessel at having to stop every few moments. The cause is, of course, you: each time he looks over his shoulder, another man has stopped you to flirt with you. He sends up a prayer for patience, hopes anyone is listening, and continues to pull you along.

The third time, he whirls around to tug you firmly into his side, barking out a harsh, “Fuck off.” at the guy and cutting a scolding look your way for answering his advances. It’s a waste of time, because you’re just grinning up at him in amusement, giggling. He sighs, steering you in front of him and nodding for your friend to take the lead. By the time he ascends the stairs to the exit, he’s sure his blood pressure is through the roof.

“Get in the car,” he sighs and you unlatch yourself from his side – a consequence of simultaneously risking twisting your ankle a block back and falling into oncoming traffic. He’d near grabbed you by the scruff of your neck in pulling you away from the kerbside and further onto the pavement, keeping an arm around your shoulder tightly.

“Okay.” You draw out the word playfully but sink into the passenger seat obediently, your friends following suit.

He shuts your car door, and sighs once more.

The door to your apartment opens quietly closer to 5 in the morning than he’d like, and he’s glad he’s not working the next day as he trudges through the threshold with you in tow, cradling a bag of takeout carefully as you toe off your shoes.

He throws his keys carelessly onto the counter, where he knows you’ll find them when you wake up and move them to the bowl in the entryway – where your keys are meant to go, a fact you’ve reminded him of unhelpfully when he’s running late and his keys aren’t where he left them. Between now and then, he’ll forget this fact, he always somehow does.

Now, you place the paper bag next to his keys and wander away – he looks over his shoulder and finds you shoving your feet into his house slippers, a shaking hand pressed against the wall to steady yourself as you put them on. The sight sends a bolt of affection through him and he turns away, focusing on washing his hands. He calls your name once he’s done, jerks his head to the tap. You don’t protest, only leaning into his side and sticking your hands under the stream of water.

He doesn’t know why he’s not moving away. Your vantage point makes it a little awkward to wash your hands, and it’d be easier if you switched places. Still, he stays, privately, guiltily admitting that the weight of you is nice against his side. Your bare arm is soft against his, and he can smell the perfume you’d used tonight, faint but sweet. If he looks out of the corner of his eye, he can see the glitter of your necklace, thin chains resting against your collarbones and décolletage.

You bump your head against his shoulder, and he blinks, drawn suddenly from his thoughts. Your stare is unnerving, and he almost wonders for a moment whether you can read the shameful attraction in his eyes.

“Come eat.”

He hopes you don’t notice the relief in his sigh as he follows you to the table. The two of you eat in silence for the most part, Jason picking at the edges of the burger he no longer wants and you stealing his fries in between bites of your wrap.

He gets up to go pour you some water – he isn’t sure how much you drank tonight, but he’ll sleep better once you’ve finished a few glasses – when you suddenly break the silence.

“I kissed a guy tonight.” Jason pauses his rummaging through the cupboard for a glass, and hears you muse to yourself, “It wasn’t very good, but I kissed him anyway.”

“Did you.” He keeps his back to you, fingers closing around the glass gently before he takes a breath and turns around. Mechanically, he pours you a glass of water, watching the liquid fill the cup as you stand from the table to pad over to him. He can feel you at his back and when he turns to face you, he thrusts the glass at you.

“Drink.” You take the glass, and he watches you down it. When you’ve finished, he pours you another and nods at you in instruction.

“You okay?” you ask, once he’s satisfied. His gaze catches on the sheen of water on your bottom lip.

“’M fine,” he bites out, forcing himself to relax when you reach out to touch his shoulder, but he only ends up curling his fingers into fists, pressing them into the laminate counter behind him. Your hand flattens against his shoulder, palm resting just above his heart. He can hear it beat in his ears, picking up further when you move into his space. Your chest brushes against his, and he remains still, backed against the counter.

He could move you right now, he knows he could. You’re off-kilter, and he’s much larger than you. He’s picked you up before, for a laugh. It’d be easy to move out from under you. But there he remains, with you drawing closer.

“You’re drunk,” he breathes out against your lips when you’re a hair’s breadth away, moving to press forward. Your lips are parted slightly, and he tracks your tongue as it darts out to wet your lips, flicks his gaze back up your pupils, dark and blown out.

“Not really,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Not as much. I’m just tipsy.”

A breathless sound punches out of him, and Jason feels his lips twitch. Somehow, his hands have migrated to settle against your waist. He runs his finger over the edge of your top, feeling your warmth sear through it. It’s a flimsy thing, thin and slutty – meant for darkened corners and wandering hands. No wonder you’d garnered the amount of stares you had tonight. He flicks his gaze down, and his fingertips have skimmed underneath its hemming, pressing lightly into your sides.

Had the guy you’d kissed tonight held you like this? Jason, envious, swipes his thumbs over your skin and delights in the shiver that rolls down your spine. Your eyelids flutter, and in the dark your eyes are covered in a sheen of liquid moonlight, the universe bottled and staring back at him. He bites back a swear, feeling his jeans tighten.

“You should get to bed.” It takes an effort to force the words out, and they come out hoarse. You stare at him for a few moments longer, unknowing that with each passing second, the thread of his restraint is steadily fraying. Alcohol and drunken desire weigh your eyelids down, and he grits his teeth at your lingering touch before you step away, turning on your heel in the direction of your room.

A single, solitary light in the hallway remains to keep him company in the kitchen, rooted to spot as he hears a muffled sigh of frustration through the walls. Then, the sounds of a zipper, and the rustle of your bed sheets. He curses his keen sense of hearing then, blood turning molten when, a few moments later, you whimper.

He knows the sound. It’s burned into his memory, the day he’d come home early and inadvertently overheard you touching yourself. Hearing it again has him dizzy and unable to move, clutching the counter tops as you try, pitifully, to muffle your moans.

Several minutes pass by. You fall silent after that. Jason thinks he must’ve done something awful in another life, and that this must be his penance, to have you so close yet be unable to do anything about it. He remains in the living room until he’s certain you’ve fallen asleep. Only when all movement in the next room ceases does he move.

You wake up a little past ten in the morning, to your surprise. The light pours in through the open blinds and you squint, rolling over to bury your face in your pillow. Your entire body cracks and you groan at the sensation, stretching across the expanse of your mattress. There’s grit in your eyes from the mascara you’d put on last night, you can feel the coarse flecks of it clumping your lashes together, and your face feels gross.

When you get up, you don’t bother to pull on a pair of pants – you’d discarded your bottoms last night before falling into bed – but switch the top for something looser, a t-shirt of Jason’s you think must’ve gotten mixed up in the laundry.

Your mind stutters over this name when you step into your shared bathroom, and you pause, hovering over the sink with your facial cleanser in hand.

Jason.

The memory of last night makes your face warm, recalling the sharp look he’d pinned you with, marbled features burning from the inside out as he’d let you draw closer and closer, eyes blazing. The ghost of his touch on your skin throbs, something like a live-wire threading itself alongside your every nerve.

You wash your face with careful movements, watching the makeup from last night swirl down the drain. Little else exists in your mind, save for the lingering desire of last night – and all the nights before that had led to it.

Where do you go from here?

You step into the shower, wondering if the two of you will pretend it never happened and continue as normal. You resolve to do as Jason does, nodding to yourself as you smooth your moisturiser into your skin. Judging by the sounds in the kitchen as you step out, you figure he has no intention of avoiding you. That, at least, reassures you and you walk out half an hour later with less hesitance.

“Morning,” you yawn and he looks over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowing, bemused.

“How the fuck are you awake?”

“What do you mean?” You take a seat at the counter, propping yourself up on an elbow. There’s a slice of toast on a plate, covered in melting butter and unabashedly, you reach for it.

“Just that you knocked out at like, 6 – that’s mine, you thief,” Jason explains, looking over his shoulder before sputtering when he catches sight of his toast in your mouth. You mumble an apology around the bread and he grumbles, turning back to the stove. “Yeah, you sound real sorry. You couldn’t wait a few more minutes to make your own?”

You grin to yourself, dusting your hands off and leaning forward on the counter. “Aren’t you making me breakfast? I thought that’s what this was. You know, feeding your poor, hungover roommate who you love so much?”

He shoots a flat stare at you and you know you’re right – there’s twice the amount of hash-browns in the pan that he would make for himself, and there’s a carton of juice on the counter waiting to be poured, a plate waiting by the toaster near him.

“You keep that up and I’m giving your share to the neighbor’s cat,” he says mildly and you pout, settling back into your seat.

“Whatever,” you murmur. “Why are you awake, if you fell asleep after me?”

“Because the universe hates me.”

“Bruce called?” you guess and he shakes his head, plating your hash-browns and toast and turning to place it in front of you.

“Dick. Wanted to catch up. Why he chose at 8 in the morning is beyond me, but what the fuck ever,” he mutters, handing you a fork and taking a seat next to you. The proximity makes you shiver when his shoulder brushes against yours and you catch a whiff of his cologne. You cross your legs beneath the counter and hope he doesn’t notice, leaning in to take a bite of your food.

“You hungover?” he mutters and you shake your head. “You drank a lot last night, didn’t you?”

You hum in affirmation, letting him steal a bite of your toast. “Don’t think so. I’m a bit achy, but that’s it.”

He makes a noise in his throat. “Lucky you.”

The way he’d tugged you into his side last night flashes in your mind and you duck your head, warm all of a sudden. “Yeah.”

You stand up to put your plate away, and only when you’re at the sink and Jason makes a choked noise do you realise what you’ve wandered out in. You stiffen.

“The fuck are you wearing?”

You blink, not expecting him to be so incensed. You set the plate down in the sink and turn, looking down at the shirt you wear– the shirt you’re only wearing – and back up at him. It hangs off your frame, somewhat, but you can admit it’s a little on the shorter side as far as oversized shirts go, just skimming below the tops of your thighs. Still, it doesn’t explain why Jason’s expression has gone taut.

“A shirt?” you offer, tentatively.

“Are you serious?” You pause when he gets short with you, eyes narrowing.

“Yes?” You don’t know what to say. “I’m sorry I forgot to put pants on. Why are you mad?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not mad.”

“You are.”

“Whatever.” He wrinkles his nose, and you can see his leg jumping as he taps his foot, agitated. “You should go put some clothes on.”

Your mouth tugs down into an unimpressed frown. “So you are mad about my clothes,” you say flatly. “You’ve never had a problem with what I wear around the house before.”

And you know that he knows it’s true. You’ve accidentally come out in your pyjamas when he’s had his friends over, not seeing the text he’d sent to give you a heads up and he’s only ever laughed it off. You know he’s seen you like this before, too. You’ve grown so used to Jason it no longer occurs to you to cover up – it’s only Jason. He’s used to it.

But then you look at the agitation on his face. You’re beginning to think that maybe he isn’t.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to say anything about it,” he says. “In the interest of keeping the peace.”

You shoot him a withering stare. He’s so full of shit. “So you’re not interested in keeping the peace anymore. Why are you saying something now?”

He lifts a shoulder, churlish. “Maybe I think it’s time. It’s not really appropriate, is it?”

If you weren’t growing madder by the second, you’d laugh in his face at the twitch of his eye as he says that, as though the words coming out of his mouth are pain to get out.

“I pay half the rent,” you tell him hotly. “There’s no one around and you know what, I don’t think you even care about what I wear.”

He looks startled when you say that and you know you’ve hit the nail on the head. You continue.

“All I’m hearing right now is a lot of ‘maybe’ and I’m not buying it. You’re a shit liar, Jason. What the fuck is your problem? The truth this time.”

He blinks, momentarily stunned. Anger like the tide, it washes away to make room for the truth before rushing back in. He stands up, breakfast abandoned, and your heart thrums in anticipation as the chair screeches backwards.

“My problem is you,” he says finally, and your mouth drops open.

“Me?” you squawk, indignant and he nods.

“Yeah, you.”

“What did I do?”

You wrack your brain, trying to come up with a reason he might be picking a fight with you. You hadn’t forgotten to take your clothes from the bathroom after you’d showered in a while, you’d been pretty good about replacing the liner in the bins when you noticed it was full – had you left your dishes in the sink yesterday before you’d gone out? Still, it didn’t warrant this level of a fight. This was beyond petty roommate squabbles – neither of you hesitated to get snippy about pulling your weight, and you forgave each other just as fast, too.

Jason was genuinely pissed off with you. You couldn’t for the life of you figure out why.

“Is this some sort of game to you?” he asks you, instead of elaborating and you’re left more confused.

“I’m not playing any games with you – what are you talking about?” you demand, exasperatedly and he rounds the counter, stepping close to you. Absently, you’re reminded of last night. (The beat of his heart under your fingers, angry thrumming that echoed the rush of your own in your ears.)

Blue-green eyes narrow at you and he scoffs. “You know how many guys I nearly got into it with last night because I had to come get your drunk ass? The entire time, you’re just smiling–I don’t think you even knew where you were at that point.”

“I knew where I was!” you argue but he continues.

“Then I finally get you home and you decide that wasn’t enough, you have to tell me you kissed some guy, try to put the moves on me, and then pretend like nothing’s happened this morning which – whatever, fine, but then you walk around in this? And I’m not supposed to think you’re playing games?”

You stare at him, heartbeat thundering in your ears.

“You are so stupid,” you breathe out. “What are you, jealous?”

“Yeah,” he huffs out, and you freeze. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

“What?” you mutter, barely audible.

He crowds you into the sink, until you can feel the edge of it pressed against your back. “You flirt with me, and I’m not supposed to do anything about it, because we live together. I have to watch you walk out of the house when you go out in your little outfits, and I’m not supposed to do anything about that either.”

He leans down and you’re nose to nose. “You accidentally send me something meant for someone else, and I’m not supposed to do anything about that, except all I can think about is how it’s meant for not me. Isn’t that a little unfair? How am I supposed to just move on from that? But I did. I made peace with the fact that you’re here, that you’re close enough for me to touch but I’m not supposed to.”

You go hot when you remember that, remembering the horror when in the heat of the moment you’d accidentally sent a photo meant for a hookup to Jason’s contact instead. It did little to comfort you when in response to your harried, apologetic explanation, Jason had simply sent you:

don’t worry i deleted it seriously it’s fine

He hadn’t acted in any way the next day to suggest that you’d ruined things or made it awkward, but you’d been mortified. The way he looks down at you now, you think he must be better at hiding it than you thought. Barely concealed lust darkens his eyes, pupils blown wide. It coaxes your own want out of you, your hands beginning to shake as you rest them on the counter behind you. Water flecks your palms but you’re uncaring, staring back at your roommate.

Jason stares down at you, waiting.

Well. You had resigned to doing as he did.

You tilt your head, scrutinising him with narrowed eyes. The edges of your mouth twitch in an effort to stifle the urge to smirk.

“Maybe you should do something about that,” you challenge, leaning in until you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. From here, you can count every eyelash that frames his eyes, can notice the scar just beneath his eyebrow, barely a quarter of an inch, a nick he must’ve gotten in his childhood. You add in a steady, derisive tone, tamping down the excitement that’s already begun to itch underneath your skin in anticipation, “instead of being quiet about it, like a coward. At least those guys had the nerve to try.”

His eyes flash and the breath he lets out is the only warning you get before you’re being kissed to within an inch of your life.

Your first thought is: why the fuck hadn’t you egged him on sooner?

Jason kisses like he might die if he doesn’t get to. You go boneless under the grip of his hands when they settle around your waist, tugging you into him urgently until your chest is pressed tight against his. You scramble for purchase, reaching to tug at his hair while his tongue swipes at your bottom lip and neither of you expect the breathless groan he lets out, but it goes straight to your gut, desire pooling low and driving you to tug again. Your noses bump and he lets out a wrecked laugh into your mouth.

“You’re seriously ruining it,” you mutter between kisses and he pulls away, much to your displeasure. You’re madder still at the way you chase his mouth, leaning in before blinking up at him.

“Yeah, what would you rather I do?”

Insufferable, even after having his tongue in your mouth. You tug his collar and pull him back down. He meets your height with a self satisfied smirk, laughter in his eyes. You’re not so amused.

“I’d rather,” you tell him, “you not laugh in my face while making out with me. It’s really making me reconsider letting you take this off me. I’m not wearing anything under this, you know.”

You want to laugh at how quickly his smirk drops at that but you’re too busy slipping out from the tight space, darting to the mouth of the hallway where you pause grin at him teasingly, tilting your head questioningly. Well? Are you coming or not?

He lunges forward and you squeal, taking off to your room with him hot on your heels. You’re just shy of your door when you’re flung over his shoulder, the world abruptly tipping as he grabs you. He laughs, victorious, and then a moment later he’s inside, you’re being thrown onto your bed. He stands at the foot of your bed for a moment, just staring and you feel a prickle of nervousness roll over your skin, ensnared in his gaze and the anticipation only made worse by the waiting.

And then he’s moving, a knee pressing into the bed as he climbs on, but you stop him, a hand flying to his shoulder. He goes still under your touch.

“Wait, can you–” you pause, feeling your face grow warm. “Can you close the blinds? I don’t want the neighbours to get a free show or something.”

He blinks, eyelashes fluttering before he snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay, sure.” He looks back at you as he pulls them firmly shut, throwing the room sharply into dimness but not before you catch sight of that teasing grin. “And here I was thinking you were so bold.”

“Not that bold,” you mutter, before you grin. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Not with me,” he mutters, climbing back onto the bed. He doesn’t waste any time in putting his mouth to your neck, teeth barely grazing against the skin. You inhale sharply, eyes fluttering under the touch. Jealousy colours his words when he says, “Don’t want anyone else seeing you like that.”

“N-no?” you barely manage to eke out, fingers digging into your sheets. You don’t want to admit his tone sends a thrill down your spine. You’re lucky he’s preoccupied, arching into his touch when his fingers find your sides again, rucking your shirt up your thighs.

“No,” he says firmly, before kissing you again.

When he pulls away you’re a little dizzy, breaths coming out heavy. It takes you a moment to realise your shirt lays over your stomach now, pushed up – showing off the underwear you’d lied about not wearing. He raises an eyebrow at you, unimpressed and you shrug, unrepentant. A finger skims over the band on your hip, hooking underneath it to snap it against your skin. It makes you gasp, and his lips twitch.

“Not wearing anything under this, huh,” he mocks.

“How else was I gonna get you to take it off faster?” you provide by way of explanation, grinning and he shakes his head, looking quite as though he doesn’t know what to do with you. When he pauses, staring, you roll your eyes, pushing up to pull your shirt off. His eyes widen as you settle back into your pillows, and you tell him archly, “There. Now you still get to take off only one thing.”

You watch him swallow you with his gaze, blue-green lingering on every inch of skin bared to him, breathing out heavily. Knelt between your legs, his hands remain hovering by your hips and you push them up, shifting until you brush against him. Impatience makes you petulant, slinging a leg over his hip and reaching out to coax his hand to fucking touch you.

“Do you want to do this?” you ask, when he only brushes a hand over your hip once more, and he frowns.

“Why’re you asking me that? Do you want to stop?”

“No!” you protest. “It’s just – you’ve got me naked and you’re not doing anything about it. It kind of feels like you don’t want to.”

He grins then, incredulously. “God. You’re so whiny. Is this how you are with all your hookups?”

You scowl at him. “You really wanna talk about my hookups? Now?”

His nose wrinkles in disdain and he leans in. “No. I’m gonna make you forget about them, though.”

You don’t know what it is about Jason that draws it out of you – you speak without thinking, dryly telling him, “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

He shuts you up with a glare and lowers himself down, settling on his stomach between your legs. You swallow nervously when his breath skims over the seat of your underwear, the lace already damp. Jason grins to himself when he nudges against the crease of your thigh with his nose and you tremble, biting down a gasp when his fingers hook into the lace and instead of pulling them off entirely, he only tugs them to the side.

He sighs, eyes flicking up to where you stare at him. “So fucking pretty.” He reaches a hand up to press to your mouth and you blink, letting your roommate part your lips with his fingers, pressing them flat against your tongue. It makes your head spin, and you drool over his fingers, wrapping your lips around them and sucking. You delight in the way he watches you do it and emboldened, you reach a shaking hand to encircle his wrist, keeping it in place.

Eventually he pulls himself out of your mouth, but not without shifting against the mattress, and you give him a smile, spit smearing down your chin. He curses under his breath, and you grin when you hear the words, “Fucking brat.”

Thoroughly soaked, he takes his fingers to your cunt and your eyes roll back when he spits onto your clit before attaching his mouth to you. Very quickly, Jason makes a mess of you under his fingers and tongue, pressing inside with ease and curling his fingers to hit the spot you can never quite reach yourself. You see stars, squealing when he bands his free arm over your stomach, pressing down and only intensifying the scale of your pleasure.

Sinking into the mattress, you lose sense of all else but the slick sounds of your sex and Jason’s ministrations, eyes fluttering closed as you whimper. He steadily increases his pace and you’re curling your fingers into the sheets, feeling the knot in your stomach twist and tighten. One twist of his fingers, the tug of his mouth on you, and you’re coming apart with a gasp of his name, hips straining upwards against his arm to ride out your high.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, stunned and staring at the ceiling and he laughs, laving your cunt with another look before he pulls away, delight on his face at the whimper you let out.

“You still wanna talk shit?” he questions, pushing himself up to come into your line of vision. You blink blearily at him.

“Give me a minute. Then, maybe,” you mumble and he snickers.

“Don’t tell me you’re tapping out now. All that attitude, and you didn’t even last ten minutes.”

You frown at him, sitting up and he falls back on his haunches to give you room. “I’m not tapping out, you asshole. When did I say that?”

He holds up his hands. “My bad, sweetheart. Must’ve misread that look on your face.”

“You’re insufferable,” is all you can say back to him, rolling your eyes.

“Maybe,” he admits, before a shit-eating grin curves his mouth upwards. “But you want to fuck me anyway.”

God help you, you really do.

You look down at him instead, and tug on the hem of his t-shirt. “Take this off.”

“Bossy,” he intones playfully, but pulls it off anyway, revealing the torso you’re guilty of having admired on several occasions, all powerful muscle and tanned skin. A thick pattern of hair trails down from his belly button into where his pyjama pants hang low on his hips, and you think maybe you’ve come on the spot again just at the sight of it, pressing your legs tight together.

He snorts above you, but says nothing, letting you push yourself up onto your knees, pressing a hand to his chest. He’s warm under you and just like last night, the beat of his heart is fast. You do what you’d longed to last night, sliding your hand up from his chest to his neck, tugging him down to press your lips against his. He inhales sharply through his nose, as if surprised, and you smile against his lips. You remain like that for a few moments, mouths slanted against each other and panting.

When you pull away, it’s with a fire burning in your gut, flames high and setting your skin alight.

“Those too,” you breathe out, nodding to his pants and not a moment wasted, they join your shirt on the floor. The both of you left in your underwear, you pout at him, brushing a hand over where he strains against the confines of it.

“I want you in me,” you tell him and he swears, screwing his eyes shut. You lower yourself back down, kneeling, to mouth over his hipbone. Tilting your chin up, you watch him shudder when your fingers ghost over the band of his underwear. “Can I?”

“Fuck. Yeah – yeah you can,” he grits out and you grin, pulling them down greedily. You move backwards as he kicks them off, and your mouth dries when you take in the size of him.

He’s bigger than any of your hookups, and your lust is dashed by the worry that suddenly overtakes you.

“Jason,” you say nervously and he hums. “I don’t think that’s going to fit.”

You try to appreciate that he attempts to muffle his laugh but immediately you’re looking back up at him, indignant. “Don’t laugh at me, I’m being serious.”

“Sweetheart, it’ll fit,” he reassures, smoothing a hand over your cheek, uncharacteristically tender. You find yourself leaning into it, a silent you promise? in your eyes. You believe him, though, you realise. “C’mon, let me take that off you.”

You sink back down into the sheets, pushing up your hips as he finally pulls off your underwear. And even though he’d been nose deep between your lips only a few minutes ago, he lets out a low breath at the sight of you, fully bared to him, a curse that skitters over your skin, stomach tightening as he shuffles closer.

He tightens a fist over his cock, smearing his pre over it as he gives it a few strokes before settling in the cradle of your hips. You shiver when he rests himself against you, sliding his cock over your cunt. Your mess clings to him, and the both of you groan when the tip of him catches against you, taking a sharp breath when he bumps against your clit.

“Don’t tease,” you murmur, reaching out to tug him down. He meets your mouth in a messy kiss, supporting himself on an elbow beside you, his free hand pushing your leg apart before guiding himself to your entrance.

You tense at the intrusion before he mutters at you to fucking breathe, baby. Inch by inch, with a thumb guiding tight circles over your clit, Jason pushes inside. The stretch of him is one you’ve not ever experienced, and you feel winded when he bottoms out, fully seating himself within you.

“Fuck,” you whisper. He grins, leaning down to kiss your jaw.

“Told you it’d fit,” he muses smugly, and you let out a dazed breath, pinching his arm. “Ow!”

“Don’t be a dick with your dick in me,” you mutter crossly and he lets out a laugh.

“Sorry. You okay?”

You blink a few times, wiggling your hips – Jason lets out a hiss – before nodding. His fingers haven’t stopped on your clit and slowly, the stretch has begun to feel a little pleasurable. When he pulls out a little before thrusting, you sigh, bringing your arms up to loop around his neck.

“Feels good?” he asks and you hum. Pleased, he begins to move.

Your senses dissolve quickly. The room slips into a cacophony of moans, the air thickening with urgency with every second that passes. Jason had kissed you like it was life or death; it had only been a precursor. Every nerve in your body feels like a live-wire, thrumming with electricity and so utterly sensitive to his every thrust, and touch, and kiss. His hands are bruising on your waist, your hips, your thigh, when he lifts your leg to sling it around his hip. His mouth seeks yours, all teeth and tongue, exchanging panted breaths and moans, mumbled swears spilling from his lips like a broken dam –

So fucking perfect.

Been waiting so – fuck, so long.

So good for me.

Yeah, just like that.

You can’t keep up with it, sinking your head back into the pillows beneath you. He takes advantage to lave his tongue against the exposed skin there, too, teeth working at you until you’re sure he’s left a mark to accompany the others.

Time passes thickly, your sense of it obscured by the man over you. He fucks you right through your first – technically second – orgasm, and works you up all over again, coaxing you through the next one with breathy laughs and a mean smile when you shake your head, tears budding at the corners of your eyes. You fall apart though, you couldn’t not, with the way he touches you as he angles his hips. Absently, you think, if your sheets weren’t already ruined from your makeup last night, they will be now.

“Thought you couldn’t,” he goads you, rolling the both of you over so you’re slumped on his chest and pushing back in you. You curl your nails into his chest and he gasps, “–Fuck!”

Jason doesn’t seem to mind that he’s worn you out too much to do anything beyond lay on his chest. He holds you easily, thrusting upwards. The change in position makes you cry out, tightening around him once more.

He lets out a startled laugh. “You have one more in you, sweetheart?”

You shake your head once more and he pouts, a hand taking your chin and directing your gaze to him. He’s pouting mockingly at you. “No? Are you sure?”

“You’re–” you stumble out, face screwing up under the weight of your building orgasm, “such a bastard.”

He just grins at you, but it’s strained, too, starting to slip around the edges. He tips his throat back, and you can feel his thrusts beginning to stutter. You take the chance to lean down and latch your mouth to his neck, tired hips rolling against his as you return his favour. His hands tighten around your hips and he groans. “Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna come, where do you want me?”

And because he’s stolen away with him your ability to reason, you whine out needily, “Inside. Need you, fuck, please, I need it inside.”

He swears loudly, hips bucking frantically. You keen as you feel your fourth orgasm of the morning roll over you, and not a moment later Jason follows suit. You feel the warmth of it slide down your thigh and his grip around you tightens as he rides out his high, face buried in your hair. His breathing is ragged, and you close your eyes for a moment against his neck, resting. The room falls silent for several moments, only your breathing to be heard as it evens out.

“Gonna have to get you the pill,” Jason mumbles into your neck and you hum. “Fuck, I should’ve gone to the store or something.”

You hug him a little tighter, shaking your head. “It was perfect.”

He laughs wearily, but his arms tighten around you briefly, too. “Not gonna be so perfect if I accidentally knock you up, baby. ‘M smarter about this, usually.”

You grumble, biting his neck gently. “I don’t wanna talk about your hookups with your dick still in me.”

“Should I pull out, so we can discuss them?” he offers, laughing when you try to pinch him.

“You’re so not funny,” you tell him, and he scrunches his nose playfully.

“Yeah, but you need me so bad,” he repeats, leaning in to steal a kiss before you can snap at him. It doesn’t save him; once you recover, you’re reaching to squish his face between your palms.

“You’re the biggest dweeb on the planet, I really hope you know that,” you tell him matter-of-fact-ly. To your annoyance, he doesn’t seem too chastised, beaming up at you when you let him go. You slump back down onto his chest, sighing loudly. “I’m so tired. How do you have that much energy? You slept less than me.”

He shrugs underneath you, a hand settling on your back and trailing up and down. The movement is soothing, and you find your eyelids growing heavier. “Think I’m kind of used to running on no sleep.”

“Freak,” you mumble, and he snickers. “You know, I really wasn’t teasing you when I came out.”

“Hm?”

“No pants. Just forgot,” you slur.

“Go to sleep,” is all he says, but you’re sure you hear a muffled laugh before sleep overtakes you.

You don’t know what you expect to happen from sleeping with Jason. When you wake up, you find that he’d dozed off around the same time as you, but not before cleaning you up and pulling your blanket over the both of you. It makes something in your heart twinge, and you have to avert your eyes when he wakes up not longer after you do. The both of you order an early dinner, having slept through most of the morning and afternoon – “Work tomorrow, too,” Jason had grumbled when you drew the blinds open to a late afternoon sun hanging low in the sky.

“Classes tomorrow,” you pout, as you strip the sheets in your bed. “And I slept through the whole day.”

“Your fault for not sleeping in this morning,” Jason mutters, still in your bed with his face pressed unhelpfully into a pillow. You swat his leg and when he lifts it to shoot you a beleaguered scowl, you gesture to the pillow. He grumbles, sitting up and taking off the pillowcase, throwing it at you. It unfolds halfway through and the both of you stare as it sadly flutters on top of the duvet between you.

“Sad,” you tell him. When the bed’s been stripped, you make him take it down to the laundry – “You have better luck with the machines, they’re always full when I go.”

“That’s such bullshit,” he grumbles, but he takes the basket anyway and heads downstairs to the laundry unit in your apartment building. He’s back five minutes later and unwilling to admit that you’d been right, mumbling a whatever when you let him in because he’d forgotten his keys.

“You wanna watch something tonight?” you ask him as he’s wrangling a fitted sheet over your mattress. The pillowcases and duvet cover replaced, you sit on a chair waiting for your sheet to be changed.

Jason mumbles out a, “Yeah, sure.” and you nod decisively.

Neither of you end up being able to choose a movie. The both of you take turns showering and by the time the clothes have been washed and the food comes, you can’t think of anything you want to watch. You resign to put on a few episodes of your show and call it a night. Though, you worry over your noodles – are you meant to sleep in his bed tonight? Is he going to sleep in yours?

Jason saves you the awkwardness by standing up at the end of your Gilmore Girls episode and heading to his bedroom. There’s no difference in his departure either. He doesn’t kiss you, or hug you or do anything out of the ordinary – he knocks the side of your head with his knuckle and heads off, calling over his shoulder, “Night.”

You’re left there to ponder over it.

You’ve made a disastrous mistake by sleeping with Jason.

You decide this upon waking the next morning and shuffling out into the kitchen to make yourself something to eat before your classes and finding a box of pastries waiting on the counter. You hadn’t expected to have much for breakfast – you were due to go grocery shopping with Jason soon, the fridge growing ever emptier by the day. The sight of it makes you stop short, and you feel that twinge in your heart again, only it’s immediately followed by horror – because you know what it is.

You like him.

You have no time to contemplate this bitter pill, forced to swallow it alongside a few bites of the unforgivably good pastries before getting ready to leave the house – you curse that he’d chosen your favourites, too. You like your roommate. The world goes on. You sit on the bus feeling shell-shocked, sure it must show on your face that you’ve come to terms with a life-changing revelation.

How long have you felt this way, how long have these feelings been blooming inside you, you wonder – feelings that go beyond the basic attraction you’re sure Jason is used to dealing with in his every day life. This isn’t lust, you realise miserably. That would be much too easy.

You like him. You want to strangle him most days, but you like Jason. You like his company, like his stupid sense of humour and despite your better judgement, like his attention. You like that he nags you about pulling your weight, like that he doesn’t care when you mouth off to him, like that he likes you with no pretenses.

Fuck.

There is nothing to suggest in Jason’s behaviour that what’s happened between the both of you actually happened. You feel like a bit of a creep for watching him the way you do, sneaking glances at him over the counter when it’s his turn to make dinner and reading into every syllable of every word he says to you – it begins to feel like you’ve slowly started to go mad. There’s no sign of anything.

Stephanie looks at you oddly when a few days later you both meet up with your mutual friends, pushing a few tables together and ordering nearly everything off the menu – it’s on her, tonight, thanks to the promotion you’re all getting together to celebrate. She drags you into the bathroom before your food arrives and you find yourself spilling the details to her, unable to keep it a secret any longer and almost regretting it when her face screws up into disgust.

“I mean, I knew it was bound to happen but gross,” she squeals, pretending to gag and you glare at her.

“What do you mean? You knew?”

She tucks a blonde curl behind her ear and leans against the bathroom counter, giving you a pointed look. “Are you serious? You had to have known. It was so obvious.”

What you suspect to be an incoming rant is interrupted by the swing of the bathroom door and the call of your names – “The guys told me to come get you before everything’s gone.”

The apparent inevitability of your getting together with your roommate is filed away for later as you exit the bathroom. No sooner than you approach the table do you notice your seat has been claimed, and you look over at Steph when the culprit – a friend she’d brought– smiles at you and apologises, gesturing between her and Jason.

“Do you mind switching with me?” she asks and you blink at her. She tilts her head and you can’t help but notice the shine of her hair, water-like in its movements as it sways. Next to her, Jason eyes you curiously and you smile tightly.

Logic reasons that you have no reason to say no. Jealousy sinks your fingernails into your palm behind your back as you shove your hands into your back pockets.

“Sure,” you tell her, and shove yourself into the seat next to Steph, waving a hand at Roy when he returns from the pool table across the bar and complains about you stealing his seat.

“I don’t see your name on it,” you tell him archly and turn firmly back to the conversation at hand – something about a coworker and someone’s boss that you’re guilty of not paying any attention to. Try as you might, you can’t focus on anything but the laughs from across the table, Steph’s friend leaning in and joking around with Jason.

Stephanie looks over at one point and pinches you under the table, ignoring your hiss to lean in and whisper, “What’s wrong with you?”

You pinch her back, but she simply raises her eyebrows, waiting. You glance over at your roommate, catching his eye before you mutter into her ear – and really, you’re thankful for the ruckus that your table and the dinner crowd provides, otherwise you’d never hear the end of it for ‘keeping secrets’–

“Why’d you invite her?”

She looks back and forth between the two before she raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re seriously pissy because you’re jealous? If you wanted to sit next to him, you should’ve just said.”

You frown at her. “Why would I do that? We haven’t even talked about it, I can’t just tell her to fuck off. He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Do you want him to be?” she asks, reaching for the untouched slice of pizza on your plate.

You sneak a look at Jason, who’s bringing a glass of beer to his mouth, smiling over the rim at not you. The answer is too humiliating to say out loud.

Envy clings to you long after everyone parts ways, waiting on the sidewalk and staring down hard at a piece of gum that’s lodged itself between the cracks in the pavement while Jason says goodbye. You don’t like how thankful you are that neither of them exchange numbers – or the possibility that it will come later.

The routine after a night out is usually like this – Jason tends to linger close by as you wash your face and get changed, sitting over the ledge of the closed toilet lid while you run through the events of the night. Normally, you don’t mind it so much. You’ve even found yourself mirroring him when it’s his turn to come home after a night out, standing outside his bedroom door while he changes and talking through the wall. You like the company, and the mutual dissection of your shared gatherings. It feels domestic.

Tonight, you close the bathroom door on him once you both get home and you can tell from the surprised sputter that he hadn’t been expecting it. But the drive home has given your jealousy time to fester, your blood running hot at the thought of all the shared glances and attention paid to someone that wasn’t you. It’s irrational, and mean, and completely crazy, but you find yourself angry with him for letting it happen and angrier still at yourself for feeling this way.

Jason, unaware that he’s back on your shit list, knocks on the door, demanding to be let in. You liken him to a cat, yowling at your doorstep. There’s a shit eating grin on his face when you open the door that drops the moment he catches sight of the look on your face.

“What.”

“Are you mad at me?” he asks, voice lilting in uncertainty and you huff.

“No, I just want to go to bed. I’m tired.” Lying through your teeth, you look away from where he’s trying to meet your eyes.

“Did something happen tonight?”

You hate the way his voice turns a little soft, truly, earnestly worried. His hands come up, hovering by your sides as if to turn you over and make sure you haven’t been hurt. It should make you melt, but all it does it make you madder.

“Nothing happened, don’t worry about it,” you tell him curtly, and his brow furrows for a moment, thoughtful.

“Is this about Steph’s friend?” he says and your face grows hotter when he says her name.

“No,” you say baldly, turning around and reaching for your cleanser. You work it between your palms with more force than necessary and the words come out of your mouth before you can stop them. “But you know what? I hate her. You shouldn’t talk to her.”

There’s a silence before he replies, and you hate the way he’s somehow found amusement in all of this. Amused, always amused when it comes to you. You wonder if he ever takes anything you say seriously. “You can’t tell me who I can talk to.”

You come up from the sink, water dripping from your lashes and chin and he pauses, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“Fine, whatever. Go talk to little miss–” Your jaw closes with a clack and you purse your lips, reaching for your face towel. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

He stops you from reaching for the next product in your long routine, a hand circling around your wrist and tugging you a little closer. When you refuse to look up, his other hand tilts your chin up, and you hate him once more for ducking his head to meet your eyes.

“You mad ‘cos I didn’t sit next to you?” he asks, quiet and you scoff, pushing him away.

“No, have you lost your mind? Why would you think that?”

He doesn’t let you go very far, hands settling on your hips and holding you in place. You lift your chin stubbornly, glaring at the cracks in the tile over his shoulder. At the edges of your vision, Jason shuffles closer, bending his head to press his nose into your cheek.

“You know you can’t lie to me, right?” he murmurs, affection colouring his words. Then, voice dipping, he says softly, “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” you protest weakly but his resounding laugh skitters over the line of your neck and you sag against the counter.

“Yeah you are,” he says brightly, and you’re surprised when his lips press chastely into the swell of your cheek. “It’s okay.”

The frustration that’s been simmering in your veins all night boils over when he tilts his head to kiss your jaw. You reach for Jason, guiding his mouth to yours.

He kisses you sweetly tonight, and you squeeze your eyes tightly shut as his lips slide against yours, knuckles bumping against your jaw. There’s this feeling in your chest, champagne fizz-like, a cacophony of bursts, ever rising and rendering you giddy in his arms. It lasts only for a second before you’re pressing further into him, fingers tangling into the thick of his hair and tugging him closer, harried.

The sound of surprise he lets out is muffled, settling against your tongue and swallowed greedily while you press your hips into his. Jason quickly sets you against the edge of the counter, half-hard in his jeans where he stands between your parted legs. Desperation and anger line your movements, pressing closer, closer, impossibly closer to him until every inch of you is near flush against him, separated only by layers of clothing. There’s an urgency to your actions, mapping out his mouth and squeezing your legs around his hips in a bid to relieve the growing pressure.

He pants against your mouth, the hands at your waist kneading your skin through the fabric of your top, fisting it tight and rocking you closer against him.

“Want you,” you demand, breathy and shameless and he groans, eyes screwing shut before he’s nodding fervently, moving away slightly to help you tug your pants off until you’re left only in your underwear. Your hands reach for his belt as his slide down your waistband, spit-slicked fingers sliding against you with ease. You keen under his touch, fingers closing around his length and pulling him out.

You lean over, spitting onto his cock and the curse he bites out echoes in the bathroom. He’s warm in your hand and you delight in the moan he lets out when you pass your fist over his length, echoing it not a moment later when he circles your clit.

Half-dressed and pawing at each other, you rock against his fingers with one hand gripping his shoulder for dear life and the other passing broad, firm strokes over his cock. His hips buck into your fist and you catch his laboured breaths in a messy kiss once more, feeling pleasure coil tighter and tighter in your stomach. A well timed twist of his fingers draws a high-pitched gasp out of you.

“I’m–” you cry and he nods, face twisting.

“Me too.”

Only a few more strokes and the two of you cry out in unison, moans muffled in each other’s mouths as you come. Jason spills over your wrist, his own slowing to a stop beneath the band of your underwear as you let out a ragged breath, pressing your sweaty forehead to his.

His eyelashes flutter against your cheek and you let out a breath through your nose at the tickling sensation. Blue-green eyes meet yours, so close you think you can count the stars in his pupils, and Jason grins, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth.

Moments pass as he slowly dots kisses to your face, trailing over the corners of your mouth to your jaw and chin, sweet once more. You sigh, letting your eyes shut under his touch and leaning into press of his mouth, your limbs loosening under every baby-soft touch until you’re pliant in his arms.

“C’mon,” he tells you quietly, nosing at your jaw. “We gotta clean up.”

You tip your head tiredly, letting him maneuver you around to wash your hands in the sink while he takes care of himself. By the time he comes up behind you again, you’re watching the soap bubbles wash away down the drain.

“You still mad at me?” he mutters into your temple, and you look up to meet his eyes in the mirror. His arm hangs loosely around your shoulder, drawing you back into his chest. He’s shucked his jeans, left in only his t-shirt and underwear. You can feel the press of his skin against the back of your bare legs, the heat of him through his t-shirt.

You shrug, feeling oddly vulnerable. His lips seem to turn down for the slightest moment before he’s turning you to face him, a hand coming to rest against your jaw.

“Tell me,” he asks. The bite of tiramisu he’d had at dinner still lingers on your tongue and you can smell the lingering notes of his cologne. You press up on your toes to kiss him once more, a gentle brush of lips that carries with it the weight of your entire heart before you’re pulling away.

“Don’t talk to her,” you say quietly, too cowardly to say what you really feel. He regards you with a stare that feels too scrutinising for your liking, before he finally nods.

“Okay.” His thumbs sweeps across your cheek. “I won’t.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, averting your gaze as you nod. “Okay. Good.”

You fear you might have revealed more of yourself than you’d intended when, following the events of that night, Jason softens a little. Only infinitesimally, but you notice it – the way he begins to seek you out a little more, the ease with which he settles by your side in the kitchen when it’s your turn to make dinner, taking advantage of the proximity to steal bites of the food from the pan over your shoulder. Still, amongst the feelings that that particular thought evokes, you don’t find regret.

You dare to think that maybe, even, it was for the better when, twenty minutes into a gathering for one of your friend’s birthdays, Jason drags you out to the car under the pretense of going on an ice run and you find yourself making out with him at a red light, his thigh squeezing at the flesh of your thigh as he whispers filthy promises into your mouth. When you return, it’s with a bruise sucked into the hollow of your throat, hidden in the shadowed collar of your hoodie and kiss swollen lips that you can only hope goes unnoticed.

It gives you something of a thrill, kissing in darkened corners and returning to your friends with the taste of each other on your tongue, a secret shared only between you and Jason. You find yourself biting back grins when he meets your eye from across a room, tamping down the excitement of following him into the bathroom and letting him coax you into just one more kiss.

At home, the air is charged with an undercurrent of electricity, thick with the weight of all that has, and could happen. Your movie nights hang on a razor’s edge, the threat of devolving into something else looming between you at all times. Tonight, you give in, sinking to your knees twenty minutes into the movie and taking Jason’s length in your mouth.

He sinks his head back into the couch as you suck his cock, a hand wrapped around the back of your neck. You hum around him, half lidded eyes gazing up at him.

“Fuck...”

His voice is hoarse, a husky groan spilling from reddened lips, and he runs his other hand through his already messy hair, tousled from where you’d run your fingers through it only moments ago.

“Just like that,” he moans, head tipping back down to look at you, blue-green eyes swallowed by the dark of his pupils. “So fucking good, baby.”

You drag a fist up the end of his length, spit and pre-cum smearing over your fingers. It’s messy, quickened movements and wrecked sighs, Jason’s hips taut as he tries not to buck into your mouth. His grasp on his control slips a little when you dig your fingernails into the skin of his hip, nails scratching over where you know him to be sensitive. Startled, he lifts off the couch, hitting the back of your throat and drawing tears to your eyes.

“Shit,” he says, a half moan as he runs a hand down your face. “Sorry, you okay?”

You blink up at him, tears sticking your lashes together, and hum. The concern in his expression bleeds into realisation and he shakes his head, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle a smirk.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, dropping back into the couch cushions. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You pull off him to give him a smile, letting out a little laugh. “Yeah? Feels good?”

The hand on your face presses into your cheeks in warning when he lifts his head to glare at you tiredly, and you snicker once more before wrapping your lips around him.

He comes soon afterwards, pulling out of your mouth and making a mess on your face, spend smearing over your lips and chin. You squeeze your eyes shut as he finishes, the sound of his ragged breathing and the salt on your lips coaxing out your own need, wetness quickly growing between your legs. You think it must be obvious on your face. Jason, after carefully wiping your face, pulls you onto his lap, settling a muscled thigh between your legs and gazing up at you with blazing eyes as if to say, well? Your turn now.

The movie remains long forgotten.

“You okay?”

You purse your lips, fiddling with the straw in your drink. The cafe you’ve met at for lunch is one of your favourites, but you find it hard to focus on your food when you keep meeting someone’s eyes over Jason’s shoulder. The man grins at you when you look back, and your frown deepens.

Sat in front of you, Jason taps your foot under the table. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“There’s some guy behind you that keeps looking over here.”

His brows furrow and he leans in over the small table. “You don’t know him?”

You shake your head. “He doesn’t look familiar.”

He considers your answer and nods, before rising from the table. Startled, your hand flies out to clutch his sleeve, already imagining the blood on his knuckles. “What are you doing? Sit down!”

He looks at you like you’re crazy, and you feel your face grow hot. “Would you chill? I was going to tell you to switch seats with me.”

Your rehearsal of the explanation you’re going to have to give to his older brother that you were partially the reason Jason was in a police station comes to a screeching halt. “Oh.”

Flustered, you awkwardly slide out of your seat and into his. Jason passes your things over as he settles into your previous seat comfortably, and you watch his eyes scan over your shoulder, lingering only once, briefly, on something before he’s meeting your gaze with a small grin. His face doesn’t betray his annoyance, features set in a pleasant, neutral expression – except for the minute tightening of the skin around his eyes.

You squirm in your seat, still feeling the phantom sensation of eyes on the back of your head. “Is he still looking?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off you, shaking his head before, as casually as he would if he were brushing a leaf out of your hair, he extends a hand to curl around the back of your neck and pull you into a kiss over the table. Your sound of surprise is lost to his mouth, and Jason lets out a quiet laugh against your lips. When he pulls away, he lingers for a moment, a hair’s breadth away and bright eyed. “If he was still staring, he won’t be anymore.”

“Oh. Okay,” you murmur, dazed, settling back into the metal of your chair. The feel of his lips on yours lingers for the rest of lunch, and long after you part ways, you for your next class and Jason to work.

“See you at home,” you tell him quietly, as the crossing light turns green at the corner where you’re due to part. He grins down at you, reaching out to pinch your cheek. You half-heartedly bat his hand away, and he laughs, dropping it back to his side. You have the urge then, looking up at him, to hug him, but the seconds are counting down and bravery evades you, still.

“Yeah. See you.”

You wait there at the intersection, long after he’s crossed the street and disappeared around another corner. You aren’t quite sure what you’re waiting for. You aren’t sure how to explain your resulting tardiness to your teacher, either.

How do you explain the twist of your heart when you think of tourmaline eyes, the phantom brush of tender fingers over your cheek? You can only smile apologetically and hurry to your seat, face warming in both embarrassment and longing.

Jason lingers even when he isn’t there, the ghost of him stood in the doorway of your mind, a constant companion to your thoughts. You’d often thought of love as hues of rose, but you feel as though your vision has been wrapped in a sea-glass film, the world around you now cast in glittering jewel tones.

He draws out a different part of you now, you find. Still teasing, he’s the same Jason he’s ever been. And yet...

There’s a softness to your interactions that you wonder if you only see because you want it to be there. Silence between you now settles with a weight behind it, but it feels like the comfort of a down blanket, soft, and grounding, it feels like contentment. There’s a quality to his voice, to the way his mouth forms your name, something wrapped around every letter that makes you burn, hope flickering dangerously in your heart. You dare to let yourself wonder in the darkness of your room, hidden under the blanket – could he?

Hope, dangerous hope. It does away with any sense you have left. Hope turns you sweeter, displays your love-sickness for all to see across your face, eyes always searching for his in a room, smiles turned shyer. You don’t know who you’ve become, gentle and yearning, the cutting remarks you reserve for him now dulled. Hope pulls the words from your lips when you’re watching Jason make to rise from your bed, moonlight spilling across the floor of your bed through a crack in the blinds.

“Do you -” you falter, and he looks back.

“What?”

Your fingers twist in the bed sheets, nervous and you feel a little sick as you say, “Do you want to just sleep here, tonight?”

And you think you’re going to die, then, when he says nothing for a very long moment. It stretches out into the vast nothingness, and you feel shame heat your face, the weight of what you’ve just asked pressing down on your chest. You wish it would be quicker about finishing you off, you wish you could turn back time, you wish –

“Are you -” he falters. “Really?”

It isn’t a no. “Only if you want to,” you say quietly and the silence returns, before you hear the rustle of your sheets.

“Okay,” Jason whispers, and in the dark you think you hear him exhale shakily but you’re too relieved to pay attention, hope’s flickering flame roaring brightly once more.

It isn’t the first time you’ve slept in the same bed. You’ve fallen asleep next to each other on movie nights, and when you’d been too stubborn to call it a night while nodding off watching your show. You know the softness of Jason’s bed, know the warmth of his shoulder against yours. And still, your heart races when he returns from the bathroom and climbs into bed beside you.

This isn’t a first. And yet it feels entirely novel.

His arm finds you in the darkness and he draws you closer to his chest, but he pauses. “Is – is this okay?”

He’s warm, heat bleeding through the thin shirt you’d pulled on. You settle a shaky hand over the one on your stomach, squeezing it briefly. Your throat feels dry as you rasp out, “Yeah. Yeah it’s okay.”

“Okay.” A silence, and you feel the ghost of a kiss being pressed into your hair. “Night.”

“Night.”

You wake first in the morning, turning over and blinking open bleary eyes to the sight of him still in your bed. Your heart stutters at the sight of him, and you feel shame wrap you in its grasp once more as you take him in.

He’s beautiful, you think mournfully. There’s a white hair hidden in the depths of his temple, you notice, and a freckle below his left eye, thick lashes fanning over it. You trace the line of the scar in his eyebrow once more, the subtle cleft in his chin, the shape of his mouth.

He shifts a little in his sleep and it makes you tense, but all he does is curl closer to you, the arm beneath your head flexing as he presses his nose to your temple. His other arm comes to sling over your hip. Affection comes in thick waves to you then, rising in your throat like the tide and threatening to drag you beneath its depths forever. Overwhelmed and in love, you press your face to his chest and hope he doesn’t feel the tear that slips down the side of your face, sliding against the skin of his wrist.

Jason wakes not long after you do, mouth curving into a tired grin when he opens his eyes and Hope, dangerous and fickle thing that it is, burns bright through the morning.

Your name makes you look up from the covert game of not-quite-footsie you’ve been playing with Jason on the couch, trying to keep your giggles to a minimum as you kick his feet away from yours while the others linger in the kitchen, arguing about pizza toppings. Jia bounds over to the adjacent armchair and you get one last kick in before you straighten your expression.

“I haven’t seen you in ages!”

You grin at that, pointing teasingly at her. “That’s because you’ve been flaking on us! When was the last time I saw you?”

Her mouth pulls up into a grin and you’re drawn into a conversation with her, but it’s difficult to pay her your full attention. The press of Jason’s thigh against yours makes your head spin a little, even though he’s busying himself with something on his phone.

Hope has left the both of you teetering on the precipice of something the last week or so, and you’ve started to wonder whether it isn’t entirely implausible that you’re not reading into it. Jason had kept his arm around your shoulder when you’d gone grocery shopping the other day, snickering and leaning in over the console in his car to steal a kiss before you carried the shopping in. He’s been stealing bites of your food off the plate you’d balanced on your knees only a few minutes ago, now empty and set on the coffee table, your drink in his hand as he texts back his brother.

It takes only a few words from Jia for you to lose your footing. You feel Jason stiffen next to you and you pause, registering her words.

“How’s that guy you were seeing? Are you guys still together?”

“What?” you ask and she grins at you, oblivious.

“C’mon, you remember. It wasn’t that long ago. I thought you liked him.”

The precipice of something does not overlook what you had thought it had – you fall, fall, fall, and hope, delicate thing that it is, gutters out before your eyes. You feel Jason draw away from you in the seconds it takes you to reply, only shifting in his seat and already an abyss yawns between the both of you.

Jia, ignorant to the upheaval her words have caused, directs her attention to Jason.

“Did they not tell you?” she laughs, and you want to shake her, but you’re silent. “Oh my gosh, didn’t he show up after your class with flowers?”

Jason looks at you in surprise and you can tell he’s remembering the flowers you’d brought home months ago, bright and red, they’d taken up a spot on your dining table for a week before they’d wilted. You hadn’t bought any flowers home since then – it’d been months ago. Months before you’d ever even come close to touching him, an age before you’d reached whatever weird middle you two were in, playing house like you’d been. Months ago. You want to scream at Jia for even bringing it up but you know she doesn’t mean any harm and really – more than anything, you’re mad at yourself.

It’s your fault, you think, grief and panic curling tight in your chest as Jason mumbles an excuse about having to use the bathroom and rises from the couch. You’re the one who hasn’t made it clear to him, cowardly and comfortable in the in between. All the things you should’ve said slam against the roof of your mouth. You like him, he’s the only one you want to cuddle with on the couch and bring flowers.

The smile on your face feels like a painted grimace for the rest of the night, and you don’t ever seem to get within a few feet of Jason before something comes up and he’s whisked away into conversation. You’ve never seen him so social.

“Oh, by the way, man-” Alex says, when you’re gathered in the living room, swallowing a mouthful of the cruiser that only he can stand to drink. “Steph’s friend, what’s her name – she asked me for your number.”

You can’t help yourself from turning your head, stomach twisting itself into knots, and you meet Jason’s gaze for the briefest moments as he looks over, biting the inside of his cheek contemplatively before nodding his head. “Yeah, whatever. That’s fine, I guess.”

Well.

You remain rooted in your seat for what feels like the longest five minutes of your life, watching the movie with unseeing eyes before getting up with a half-hearted excuse to Jia.

“I’m gonna head home,” you whisper, pulling up a ride app. She turns to you with a pout.

“What? Noo.”

“I just remembered I’ve got a paper I have to turn in,” you grimace at her. “I’ll see you later.”

You whisper a bye to the host, crouching to your knees beside their chair and squeezing their arm with a promise to catch up later before you retreat, toeing your shoes on hastily and shutting the door behind you as softly as you can before rushing to the elevator.

In the car on the way home, you listen to the radio with the blood roaring in your ears. There’s a different kind of burning in your chest now, and by the time you reach your apartment, it threatens to leave only ash in its wake.

You lock your bedroom door when you storm inside, slumping onto your bed face down dramatically until it becomes hard to breathe, at which point you roll over. Staring at the ceiling, you feel the tears you’ve been holding back all night crowd your eyes, angry and leaving burning trails in their wake. You slam a fist against your mattress, letting out an aggravated sigh.

“Whatever,” you muse out loud stubbornly, ignoring the tremble in your voice, the lump in your throat that makes it difficult to swallow. “What the fuck ever. I don’t care.”

It’s a difficult thing to convince yourself of. When you hear the sound of the front door, nearing an hour or so later, your chest tightens in anxiety – far from uncaring, you sit up and watch the shadows in the hall move.

Footsteps pass outside your door, pausing only for a moment before you hear Jason’s door open and close. Your eyes burn once more.

You find it uncomfortable how quickly things turn grey in your home. There are no movie nights after that, no Jason peeking his head through the door of your room to ask you if you want to come with him to run errands, or to try the sauce he’s making for dinner, or if you have any clothes you need to throw in the wash because he’s got room in his basket and he needs to do a round. There isn’t much of anything, actually. Silence, thick and tense, hangs over the apartment and makes every noise all the louder.

You make your own meals, and Jason doesn’t look at you when you take your plate into your room. The groceries dwindle down and you go to the store after your class, only to come home and find bread already in the pantry when you go to put it away. The sight of it makes you grit your teeth, but you have no time to stare at it when you hear the click of Jason’s door opening, hurriedly stuffing the bread away before storming to your room.

There are times when you think Jason might break first on the cold war between the both of you out of pure frustration. It comes in the form of disapproving frowns when you return home late from classes, taking the bus instead of calling him – spite keeps you warm enough to make the short walk home as the weather cools – or leaving your dishes in the sink for the morning because you know he’s too stubborn to break first to yell at you about it. Still, he remains silent as you pass him in the hall.

“You guys need to kiss and make up about it,” is all that Steph has to say about it when you tell her, wrinkling her nose at the thought. “Seriously. He’s been so insufferable, I’m begging you. When he gets in a mood, I have to listen to Tim complain about it and I just don’t have the time to listen to him right now.”

“He can do whatever he wants,” you tell her frankly, curling into the corner of her couch. You pull at the sleeves of your hoodie, scowling at a thread that’s come loose. “I don’t care. He’s the one being childish.”

“Wrong.” She shakes her head, making a buzzing noise, as though the subject of your failed love life is as serious as a game show.

“He is,” you insist, nudging her thigh with a foot.

She shrugs, rolling her eyes skyward. “I never said he wasn’t. I just said you were wrong.”

It clicks for you, then, and you frown. “I’m not being childish, I’m just returning his energy.”

Steph’s face contorts into an expression of disbelief and you falter. “Why would you ever do that? Have you ever considered that just ‘cause he’s book smart doesn’t mean he’s love smart?”

It doesn’t make sense to you. Jason is whip-smart – it’s how he landed his job after graduation in the first place. You didn’t get to work at a leading firm without the credentials, and you’d been to his childhood home enough times to see the various certificates and medals filling a trophy case. Half the space in his room and your living room was taken up by the sheer amount of books in his collection, the spines worn and aged, spanning from romance to philosophy. You think he might be the smartest person you know – it doesn’t occur to you that he’s capable of occasionally making a mistake.

You tell Steph as much and she looks weary as she gears up to explain it once more to you.

“Does it feel right that things are like this between you?” You open your mouth to reply and she shoots you a piercing glare. “Be honest.”

Your shoulders slump. “No,” you admit, meekly.

“Then it doesn’t matter how he’s dealt with this,” she says, slapping her hands over your shoulders to give you a little shake. “You might as well try to fix it. And soon, please. I don’t think I can deal with the fallout from your lover’s spat again in this lifetime let alone this week.”

You apologise mentally to Steph when, going on a week later, you haven’t found the courage to approach Jason. Your temper wavers, constantly, as if unable to make its mind up. You go from shyness, hesitant to even leave your room for fear of bumping into him outside, to indignant, your pride demanding that he be the one to lay his armour down first. He’d accepted the other girl’s number to spite you.

Jealousy curls around your throat, tight, unforgiving, and fills your mind with thoughts of Jason, taking her out, looking at her in the way you want to steal all for yourself, eyes half-lidded and sweet; you imagine his fingers curling around hers, his shoulder brushing against hers on the couch. It makes you feel like you’re going insane, pressing your face into your pillow to let out silent screams, thrashing around on your mattress in the world’s quietest temper tantrum.

Spite drives you to sit in the living room on your day off and put on Gilmore Girls after Jason leaves for work, parking yourself on the couch and starting from the beginning of the series. You reason, despite the kernel of guilt that sits in the pit of your stomach, that even if you were watching the show without him, you a) had watched the show long before the two of you ever had officially started watching it together and b) hadn’t continued without him. The excuses feel pale to you, but you’re stubborn and it’s a harmless slight – one he won’t even know about.

Except, as it happens, you fall asleep in the afternoon and Jason happens to return home just as a new episode begins. You blame it on the tension of the last few days – you’d never slept better than when the two of you had been toeing the line of something more, but fighting with Jason steals sleep from you and you find it difficult to close your eyes without being met with the urge to stand at his door and make him hear you out. Pride and shame war within you at night in place of dreams, and you leave for your classes poorly rested.

You wake at the slam of the front door – you really need to speak to your landlord about replacing it, too heavy to close normally, but you’ve got your hands full being mad – and come face to face with a fuming Jason. He looks between you and the T.V, mouth dropping open.

“Are you serious?” he spits. It’s the first words he’s spoken to you in a week and you draw yourself to your full height, rising off the couch and planting your hands on your hips. His tone lights a fire within you, and you’re itching to let him have it.

“Excuse me?”

He narrows his eyes at you, scoffing. “You’re so...”

“I’m so what,” you sneer and he blusters for a moment, almost apoplectic.

“You’re so childish. What, we don’t talk for a few days and you’re gonna watch it without me?”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’re the one that started ignoring me!”

“I didn’t see you trying to talk to me, either,” he retorts and your lip curls in anger.

“Why would I talk to -”

“Oh, I knew you would-” Jason cuts you off, but you’re unwilling to back down, raising your voice higher until the both of you are arguing over each other.

“Yeah, because you know everything – you’re so annoying -”

“I’m annoying-” he sputters, lifting a hand to point at the dishes. “I’m not the one leaving my dirty dishes in the sink. You’re disgusting.”

“Whatever, I don’t care. You wash them if they bother you so much! I’m not the one who forgets to wipe the counter in the bathroom after I use it!”

“That’s because you’re too busy leaving your clothes everywhere!”

On and on it goes, every petty grievance met with a complaint in turn. You argue until you’re heaving breaths and Jason is blue in the face, but none of it means a single thing to you, carrying the anger of a far bigger, unvoiced slight. And then, you don’t know how or why, but in a matter of seconds it is no longer unsaid. You’ve spilled it into the air between the both of you and Jason’s staring at you with a glint in his eye as if to say, finally.

“I can’t believe you took her number!”

And you hate the way your voice hitches on the last word, throat constricting as you stare at him reproachfully. You don’t let him reply, stepping closer angrily with your nails pressing into the palms of your hands, upset and hurt. “I told you not to talk to her and you just took it like-”

“Like what?” he challenges, and you can feel your eyes beginning to sting, humiliation washing hot over you. “Tell me.”

But you don’t know what to tell him. All you can do is stare, chest heaving and eyes wet. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he nods.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He lets out a breath, wiping a hand over his face wearily. “Whatever, I’ll talk. Do you have any idea how stupid I felt, playing like I’m your boyfriend and thinking maybe that’s what you want too–”

Your mouth opens helplessly, heart gripped in a tight vice at the hurt in his voice, his nose screwing up in upset.

“–and then I get the biggest reality check of my life, because I guess it isn’t what you want, but I just figured–” his voice cuts off then, and his eyes are ultramarine as he stares at you. “I just thought you’d be straight up with me.”

Panic engulfs you then, at the resignation in his face and you see it then, the profile of his back as he leaves, the packed boxes and the silence of an apartment too big for just one, the emptiness of the room next door, an ever clear mirror – you’re lurching forward before you can lose him.

“It is what I want!”

He doesn’t leave – yet. Your fingers grasp the sleeve of his hoodie tightly, and you can feel a few errant tears in the hollow beneath your eyes, marking a trail down the curve of your cheek as you stare at him.

“It is what I want,” you repeat yourself. Jason exhales shakily, but doesn’t make to remove your hand.

“Then – the guy?”

“I’m not seeing him,” you tell him, shaking your head fervently. “I haven’t -” Face warming, you duck your head. “For a long time...It’s only been you.”

He blinks slowly, lashes heavy as they flutter, eyes rimmed red. The tip of his nose is pink, too, you notice. Jason sniffs, looking away for a moment.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” his voice is rough, and you take a step closer. Your heart hangs heavy in your chest, and you blink back your grief.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I was scared. I guess I thought maybe I’d explain at home, but then...”

You trail off and above you, you can hear him kiss his teeth, face contorting into a grimace.

“I–” he blows out a breath. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you, ‘stead of assuming.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” you tell him sullenly. He grimaces, and you sigh, squeezing his wrist gently. “I should’ve told you, earlier, though – I was too chicken to talk to you, I didn’t wanna ruin it.”

“You should’ve,” he echoes you, lightly, a hesitant grin on his lips. “It wouldn’t have ruined it.”

“I know that now. I thought..” you trail off, embarrassed. He turns his wrist over in yours, your palms kissing, and squeezes your hand encouragingly.

“What?”

“I thought you just wanted no-strings, I thought maybe I was just reading too much into it. You never said anything, either, I thought I’d just be wrecking it if I brought it up,” you admit, averting your eyes. When you chance a look back at him, he looks dismayed.

“I did want it,” he says, lips curving downwards into a frown. “I thought you wanted no-strings, ‘n I was the one being selfish, wanting you to myself.”

The both of you stay there like that, in the middle of your living room, hands linked and an abject feeling of disappointment weighing your hearts down.

“It’s not what I want,” you whisper, desperation lining your voice. “I – I feel crazy, that’s how much it isn’t what I want.”

“What do you want?” he asks, a tremor in his voice.

There’s that feeling again, that choking fear that closes your throat up and roots you to the floor. There’s terror at the thought of being known – but stronger still is the fear of walking away from him at the end of this and it being forever. You struggle, forcing the words out.

“You.” You feel your eyes water once more. “I want you. For me, only. I want you to look at me and steal food from my plate and want me and – and be mine. I don’t care that you nag me about the dishes and I don’t care that you never put your shoes away properly–”

At this, he lets out a choked laugh.

“– and I know we argue all the time, I know I get on your nerves, but I want you to be mine. I want to be yours. Properly, with all the strings attached,” you finish, letting out a shaky breath.

Seconds pass.

“Say something,” you whisper, hand still in his.

Jason offers you a wobbly smile. “I want you to be mine, too,” he says, voice wrought with longing. “It’s all I ever wanted. God, I thought I was going to lose it when Jia started talking about that guy, I kept thinking about him getting to see that side of you, make you smile – bringing you flowers, I want to be the one to do that.”

“You’re the only one I want that from,” you murmur and his lips curve downwards into a rueful smile.

“We’re both pretty stupid, huh?” he remarks. Then, looking away, he clears his throat. “Look, I’m not – I don’t like her like that. I told Alex later not to, uh, y’know. I don’t – I didn’t get her number. I shouldn’t have done it in the first place, but – yeah.”

You stare at him, feeling pressure behind your eyes. Your voice comes out wobbly when you reply, a congested, “Good.” that has his face dropping, moving to curl his arms around you.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, and you shake your head, pressing your face into his chest. The smell of coffee clings to his shirt, and you breathe it in, comforted by the feeling of his arms holding you tightly to his chest. You cling to him, unwilling to part too soon after the ugliness of the last week, and it’s only when he laughs your name against your temple, curling inwards to meet your height, tall as he is, do you pull away to look up at him.

“Can you-” your face grows warm. “Will you..kiss me?”

The expression on his face is immeasurably soft. You think, a week ago, if you had asked him this way, he might’ve laughed at the tone of your voice, needled you a bit about being so shy. You understand his gentleness now, though, as he murmurs a,

“Yeah, sweetheart. Come here.”

Your wounds remain tender, and Jason kisses you as though you’re something delicate, something to be treasured, lips slanting over yours, feather light, before he presses closer. He’s syrupy sweet, kissing you slow. There’s a newness in every touch, every shared breath and sigh. Hands that have trailed your waist and hips so many times before now squeeze your palms, fingers intertwined like a promise. He breathes your name against your lips, nose pressing into your cheek, still sticky with tears.

“I love you,” you tell him, and he kisses you once more.

In the middle of your living room, you begin anew.

fin.

author's note: holy fuck. here is 17.6k words of what i thought was going to be 80% smut 20% emotion and ended up being whatever this is. i said i wasn't going to start a longfic during the semester and then this would NOT stop bothering me so. here we are...that content warning looks like an ingredients list for real.

anyway i'll post an author's note on ao3 that doesn't sound like brainrot. probably. idk this fic isn't that deep. reader and jason r extremely unserious and also probably a little shitty but it's okay. it's the roomie verse! we didn't come here for innocent angel characters. let's be serious! also i tried to fit in every single roomieverse hc that i could sorry they r something like easter eggs to me. swifties have t@ylor swift you have ME! i was gonna say something about that woman but let me not speak ab her too much with a folklore inspired username LMAO

#divider by ithemes #jasonsmirrorball #roommate!jason #jason todd x reader #jay my heart #jason todd imagine #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x you #x reader #jason todd fic #jason todd smut

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elijahslittleprincess · 6 months

Text

Women in distress

Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *

The morning in question, you didn't wake up because of the tender touch of your husband or because of the brightness of the sun. You woke up because of excruciating pain coming from your belly. It started as a gentle point that was uncomfortable, then it started to hurt a bit more until it was agonizing at a point that you could do nothing else but wake up in tears.

It was usual for you to have a really painful menstruation cycle and you knew what to expect every week that it started. Yet, this morning it seemed even worse and you had to keep yourself from groaning with pain. After all, Elijah was asleep just aside from you on the bed and your last desire was to wake him up.

Since you didn't expect to get your menstruation so soon after the last time, you omit to get yourself ready for it. Consequently, you felt something dripping down your legs faster than anticipated as you tried to stay on the bed. Your eyes closed shut tightly at this before a curse got out of your lips.

Fuck~

It was blood, it had to be and you felt so disgusting suddenly. You just hoped there wasn't any on the bed sheets for your own sake.

For a short moment, you considered your options as you look with tears to the ceiling. Then you concluded that you'd better move out of bed and get to the bathroom quickly.

Therefore, you slowly shifted toward the edge of the mattress as lightly that was possible without making too much fuss.

Unfortunately for you, however, Elijah that had overdeveloped senses as a vampire, woke up anyway and immediately searched for you with his dark brown eyes.

When he realizes that you were at the opposite end of the bed from him, he extended his arms toward you and circled them around your waist. When he was satisfied with his grip around your waist, the original thug you backward toward him again.

The only problem with that was the pressure of his arms circling your belly that brought you terrible pain as he got you back toward himself. It made you yell and a violent sob soon followed suit.

The second Elijah heard you, he let go and immediately straighten up on the bed. One of his hand came to your cheek and he looked in your eyes with worry.

Baby girl are you alright !? did I hurt you I'm so sorry.

A sweet whine left your lips and you cried even more tear as your cramps were getting worse. You were so desperate, you hated when it was getting this agonising and even if you wanted to try and explain the situation to Elijah, you literally couldn't think straight.

As you tried to get any type of relief in any possible position, your body just balled itself and you hide your head in your pillow.

To say that Elijah was panicking would be an understatement, he was very much horrified and he wanted to do everything that he could to help you out. He tried to calm down and focus on finding what was the matter. Therefore, the vampire gently looked around you and under the blanket, having his doubt and actually saw blood on the mattress.

His eyes soften immediately and he kissed your forehead before speaking sweetly.

It's this time of the week already, my poor angel. Let daddy help you out a little hum.

As soon that those words came out of his lips, Elijah vamp speed to the bathroom and got the bath water starting. After that, your lover left your shared bedroom in search of your pain killers and some heating pads for after the bath. Elijah just knew what you needed in those situation and he always made sure to have everything ready to brought you recomfort.

As he came back some minutes later with a glass of water and the pill, he gently placed them on the nightstand before starting to play with your hair in a recomforting manner.

Shhh, I know baby, i know it hurts but it's going to be alright i promise. Just take this pill for me please, it's going to help with the pain sweetheart.

Just as he said that, Elijah gently took the glass of water and the pill and brought them just asside of were you layed on the bed. He waited patiently for you to take them.

A little moment of silence followed after his words, before you actually moved and took the glass between your fingers. You literally could only think about feeling better and would do absolutely anything right now to released your poor body from the cramps.

After taking the pills and drinking the water, your eyes met Elijah's for a second before you sniffed cutely, tears falling down your redenned cheeks. He looked so sweet and gentle sitting there asside of you, the only thing in his mind being helping you trough your suffering. You loved him with everything you were and even with the deep and strong pain you felt, you seeked recomfort in his arms.

You gently moved closer to him and got into his lap, circling your arms around his neck and hiding your face between his chest and neck. His scent was making you feel a bit more relaxed despite the cramps and you clung to his body like a desperate animal.

Daddy it hurts, please make it stop...i cant~

You tried to say, before a strong cramps hits you and makes you groan and cry harder onto his neck.

Elijah's features showed sadness and worry as he made sure you stayed against him. His hand gently stroke your hair and his lips pressed kissed on your delicate skin. He stood up after you spoke, needing to relieve a bit of your pain. He kept you strongly in his arms and made his way to the bathroom with you. The moment you both reached it, Elijah delicately sat you down on the lavatory and kissed your face, his hand slowly starting to undress you as best he could with you struggling a bit in pain. His lips got closer to your ear and he gently spoke in a wispered like manner to you.

Sweetheart it's ok, I'm just going to finish undressing you and then you'll go in the hot bath my love. I promise it will help, listen to daddy.

After saying that, your favorite vampire just carried on with his task, trying to get it done has fast that he could. Luckily for you considering that matter, it ended up being a job of seconds before you found yourself compleatly bare in front of him. You felt shy but in your state it was the last thing that mattered in your mind. You hurriedly placed your arms back around Elijah's neck and waited for him to take you back into his arms and into the bath. Theirs was no way you'd walk and the original knew that really well. That's why he rapidly took you into his arms without a word and got to the warm and bubbly bath. In front of it, elijah slowly and delicately lowered you in it and your body rapidly felt much more relaxed.

The hot water made your tensed body and your belly cramps less unbearable, which caused a sweet relived breath to come out of your lips. Your feature immediately relaxed and your eyes met Elijah's brown chocolate one with a gratefull glimpse. He was kneeled asside of the bath tub observing you and making sure you were alright. Truly, he was the best boyfriend ever and you couldn't keep yourself from taking his chin between your fingers and kissing his lips gently.

A low growl left him when your lips touched and he moved one of his hand to play with your hair. For a moment, the kiss got a bit more heated but since he knew better than instigate something you weren't in shape to do, Elijah backed away and just leaned his head against yours.

Oh darling if you weren't in pain right now...

His voice sounded so deep and sexy and the desire in it was impossible to miss. You knew that Elijah wanted you and you actually wanted him too but you rather felt like taking your time in the bath to make sure that your pain desaper compleatly. After all the pills you had taken would be doing their effect quite soon. You kept your head against his for a second before biting your lips gently. You had a cute smile on when your eyes met again and your fingers were caressing his cheek sweetly with love.

I know baby and it's not the desire that is lacking believe me. It's just that I think It best for me to stay in the bath has long as possible. Maybe if I feel better after we could cuddle in bed watching a movie together hum.

This time after your words it was Elijah that smiled at you and pressed a tender kiss to your cheek. He nod gently at your words and then stood back up with his eyes on you still.

Don't worry my love the only thing that matter right now is you feeling better. We will see after your bath for the movie and cuddle. Just relax now, I'll get things settle during that time. He let you know with his tender voice before laying a last caress to your cheek and leaving you alone.

As Elijah closed the door behind him, he immediately got to work on the things he needed to do before you came out of the bath. He started by changing the bed sheets and covers, then he did it again with clean ones. After that, your noble boyfriend knowing you pretty well, tought that you'd probably desire some of your favorite snacks. Therefore, Elijah made his way to the kitchen and got all the little treats you love, bringing them all with him to the bedroom afterward. Following this instance, your vampire just prepared the space to make it cozier and ready for the both of you to watch a movie. Elijah placed soft blankets and pillows everywhere. He even brought your comforter and made sure your heating pads were ready to use.

At some point, everything was finally ready and he came back to the bathroom knocking at the door softly. A soft smile on his lips and your fluffy bath robe in hand.

Baby...are you ready to come out...?

On your side in the bath still, you had actually just tought about comming out because of the cooling water and got a bit taken aback by his soft voice.

Your eyes moved the bathroom door and seconds later it open revealing your perfect husband coming in gently with your bath robe in hand.

God he was so perfect! You tought before smiling at him and actually getting up slowly in the bath and coming out.

The second your feet landed on the floor, you felt two strong arms wrapping you into a soft material you knew was your bathrobe. The warth of it immediately brought you recomfort and shoots you a bit.

You could smell Elijah's soft perfume as he embraces you, making your heart a bit overwhelmed for a second. A soft breath left you and you turned around to face him and lay your head on his shoulder gently.

Your husband's hand at your actions came around your waist securely and his lips pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead as he hugged you back to him. You didn't speak up or say anything. After all you didn't dare because of how good you felt like this in his arms. Therefore, the first one to actually broke the silence was your original that wispered sweet little words in your ear.

Common sweety, I'll blow dry your hair, I don't want you to get sick.

After he said that, you didn't even had the time to move an inch before Elijah actually grabbed your legs and carries you to the lavatory counter. As he reached it, your vampire gently sat you down and took your chin between his finger. His eyes met yours and you whine when both your lips touched, sweetly but deeply.

He on his side let out a small growl and played with your wet hair for a good moment, just savouring your lips. When you actually part, you were breathing fast and you almost forgot about the cramps you had earlier and everything else around you. You could swear it was magical...Elijah always was such a good kisser. After all he had a thousand years of practice right. You looked deeply into his brown chocolate eyes and sweetly brought your hand to his jaw to caress it. He was controlling himself...you could see it. Yet, the last thing he wanted was to hurt you and you were really appreciative of it. He was always so careful and caring and you loved him for it.

I love you Eli...I'm sorry that I'm not feeling really well I know that you'd like to...

Your sentence was cut short by your husband's fingers tracing your lips, he was asking you silently to say nothing more.

Don't ever apologise for that babygirl, it's not your fault and I know it's not the moment or the time for this right now. I don't care about me love the only thing that matter is you. So now...I will dry your hair and we will get comfy in our bedroom together mh?

Your heart was hammering in your chest at how fucking lucky you were to have him. It felt so illegal and you couldn't say in words how much you love him. His words were soft yet serious and you just nod gently at them. You were more than willing for a movie and cuddle with him right now so you just sat there obediently as he started to blow dry your hair. It took a good ten minutes for him to be done and have your hair compleatly dry. You were really surprised at how good they turned up afterward thought. Elijah was apparently really talented at this too...even after so many years of marriage you were still learning things about him apparently.

Done princess. Elijah said sweetly as his eyes stare at you like a piece of art. Your cheeks reddened a bit because of the attention that you suddenly felt and you bite your lips shyly as you spoke.

Thank you daddy...

As you look away after saying that, Elijah layed his hand both side of your legs and angled his head to look at your eyes even thought you tried to prevent it. He had a sexy grin on his lips and a satisfied expression that you tought looked like Klaus for some reason. He didn't waist really long before taking your chin between his fingers and raising your head up.

Now now let's not be shy my perfect little love, it was my pleasure and you know that I love playing with your hair hum. Come now, let's get to bed babygirl.

You heard Elijah say before he picked you back into his arms securely and gently made his way to your shared room.

You sat down your chin on his shoulder and closed your eyes as he walk, the gentle rhythm making you calm and relax. At some point, none really long later you felt Elijah sat down and your eyes opened to look around you. That's when you actually realised everything he did to the room to please you. He tought of everything and it was starting to make you feel emotional. Honestly, what have you ever done to deserve a man like him.

Maybe your sudden sensibility was caused by your periods but you had no real way to know. The only thing you could say was that tears defenetly were getting down your cheeks by the moment Elijah sat you down on the bed beside him.

His expression instantly froze when he realise you were crying and his fingers softly came to your face to dry the tears off.

Sweetheart, what is it? Are you hurting again!? Can I do something to help? just please tell me love.

You sniffed a bit and couldn't help laughing a bit at his desperate need to help you. Elijah was the cutest really and you hated to worry him. Therefore, feeling the need to ease his mind, you immediately climbed on his lap and sat there comfortably. You circled your arms around his neck when you were against him and started playing with his short brown hair, your eyes looking deeply into his as you do. You could see your husbands feature relax a bit at your action and soon decided that you could say what you felt now.

It's ok, relax Lijah I'm fine I promise, it's just that...your so perfect with me. It makes me emotional to have a boyfriend like you that take care of me and love me like this...

A silence followed your words and after some seconds, you kissed his cheek and placed a gentle hand on his chest.

You didn't have to do all that Lijah...you trail off sweetly before looking all around the room with an unbelief expression on.

Elijah listened to your words attentively, never really letting go of your eyes. Then, when you stopped talking, he took hold of the hand you placed on his chest and kissed your wrist and fingers. His expression was soft and gentle, his touch sweet and caring.

At the contact, you moved your sight back to his and immediately met his deep gaze, feeling shivers traveling down your body.

Sweetheart...I would destroy the world if I needed just to make sure you are happy and well. This...he said as he gesture toward the room. This is absolutely nothing.

He was so sweet, you couldn't believe how much he was perfect it was still a mystery for you to understand why of all women he had chosen you to be his wife. You couldn't be happier and in love really, you would rather die than be parted from him. Right now as you sat in his lap and that your eyes were locked together it felt like paradise and you realised that your pain was gone, just like that. You sniffed a bit, tears slowly drying off on your pale face and then, as desperation hit you for more of him, you pressed your lips against his. This time, instead of being a passionate kiss, it was rather sweet delicate and full of love. It was perfectly depicting your feelings toward him right now and the hand playing with his hair just stopped as it moved to his cheek. You always thought that Elijah's lips were made to kiss yours and it was in those situation that this taught was confirmed. It all feels so good, so perfect calm, peaceful, you really didn't want to let go but at some point you had to. You shyly backed away from him a bit, breathing fast and apparently quite stunned. You looked like a lost little girl and Elijah was there to smile at you and kiss the tip of your nose. You are the cutest little thing my love. I can't stop looking at you.

His words made you blush and look away from him for a moment. Every time he was telling things coming from deep down like that you just couldn't stand it, it was way too cute and you felt like the first day you met him. It was so easy for Elijah to make you all flustered and you felt so weak when it comes to him. In an attempt to get back a bit of your sanity, you gently let your head fall on his chest and try to focus on calming your emotions. You took a bunch of deep breaths and between them you let some words slip out of your mouth. It was faint and weak but Elijah could hear it anyway.

And you are too perfect.

Following those words, you got yourself under control slowly and could look back into his eyes. A small but nonetheless adorable smile appeared on your feature and you gently moved a bit to come and sit on his lap. The second you did so, Elijah's hands came to the side of your face and laid soft caresses to your skin. It felt so sweet and soft that you let a shy whine out of your mouth. God he could have you under his charms so easily.

Thank you for all this daddy...I feel much better now.

You told him a bit childishly since you really couldn't help it. His sparkling brown chocolate eyes looking like diamonds and his love for you shining trough them was making your heart melt and cheek ablaise.

Elijah's arms circled around your waist and cuddled your body even closer to his when he saw how adorable you looked all shy and flustered. Honestly he just wanted to keep you close to him like this forever and watch a movie which he started preparing for by moving in the middle of the bed with you and laying down comfortably. After doing so, the original just kissed your lips quickly and placed a strand of your hair behind your ears while whispering something in them.

You are very welcome my darling, I love you so much and I'm glad you feel better sweetheart. Do you feel like watching our movie now ?

You let him lay you down asside of him and gently crawl even closer to him to press both your body together. As it was done, you nodded to indicate that yes you were indeed ready before laying your head on his shoulder. Elijah followed your indications by starting the movie and tidied himself with playing with your hair while watching. It was so appeasing and it felt so good that you started to feel sleepy quite fast. Elijah's perfume and his warth just added to this feeling and in no time you were asleep against him.

Elijah didn't realised it at first, he kept on watching the movie and playing with your hair until a mumble coming from you caught his attention. His eyes feel on your soft sleeping face and he sigh with a love sick look covering his eyes.

Awn my sweet little girl, falling asleep against daddy, you couldn't help yourself hum. Don't worry baby girl let's stop this now and just go to sleep.

Elijah said as he kissed your forehead and closed the tv that was still playing in the background. After doing so, the original gently lift you up a bit to place you under the cover making sure that you stay warm. He followed suit after you and joined you under the warm blanket, gently getting closer to you and engulfing your little body with his to sleep peacefully the rest of the night.

Good night my little girl, daddy will stay at your side forever.

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kookslastbutton · 10 days

Text

Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | chapter two

✑ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love

word count: 6.1k+

warnings: This chapter in particular is written from Yoongi's perspective, oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of body shaming by Hybe executive, bestie!tae is wonderful support 🥹, light fighting between members (literally crack), Namjoon has a little crush, Oc being a total boss at work bc she is amazing at her job, and cute & meaningful Yoon and OC interactions that make them finally start bonding (a little flirty too, hehe) 😉

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: CHAPTR TWO IS HERE! GOD...the slow burn exists outside the series too with me not updating for two months. I'm sorry guys but TYSM for your patience! I'm VERY excited to release this chapter bc I think Yoon & Oc are super cute, hehe. Okay anyway, this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and sorta beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist | next chapter >>

Yoongi stands with his hands placed loosely on his hip, chest heaving as he attempts to catch his breath. The seven of them had been practicing choreography for their new RUN BTS song nonstop when Jimin called for a much-needed, fifteen-minute break. There’s a part of him that’s thanking the younger for it and another that’s wishing he hadn’t, as every moment left alone with his thoughts is spent decoding his last encounter with you at the cafeteria.

Why had you made such a beeline for the exit the moment he was waved over by his member?

You also completely ignored his attempts to greet you on your way out. He only stopped by the cafeteria to slip an orange in his pocket before returning to his studio. He didn’t mean to intrude or incite that you had to leave with his sudden presence.

Taehyung assured him that you merely left to tend to work matters, which he’d typically sum as hyper-fixation with one’s work as he’s prone to do the same, but this felt different at its core. Your behavior seemed more intentional than that. The last thing he wants to do is misread the whole situation, but he must’ve done or said something to cause your uneasiness.

“Hyung, how did the album meeting go this morning?” A clear voice comes from Yoongi's left as his fellow band member, Namjoon, strides next to him, water bottle clenched in his fist. Like himself, large droplets of sweat dots around the man’s brow. The minor interruption shakes Yoongi out of his slightly dazed state.

“Went well.” He takes a big swish of his own water before screwing the cap back on. “We reviewed everything in three hours and the album looks better than I anticipated. There are a couple of promotional strategies that still need finalizing, but I’m pretty confident about it overall.”

“That’s great, man. __-nim’s been doing good work with TXT for the last few years, so she’s definitely suited for the job. I thought about requesting her help to promote Indigo but the timing of it all didn’t work.” Namjoon’s voice drops an octave at the last part, as if remorseful for more than a missed professional opportunity.

“Ah, maybe your next album hyung,” Jimin suddenly chimes in, slapping the taller man on the shoulder from the side. “I have a feeling you and __-nim would work well together. Think about it, you’re both natural born leaders and you’re smart too. I bet __ -nim has as high of an IQ as you.”

Namjoon’s cheeks flush with the faintest tint of rose as Jimin flashes a knowingly cheeky grin. Yoongi, of course, witnesses the entire exchange, the slightest part of him feeling uprooted by the thought of his band member and new marketing manager suddenly hitting it off. He decides not to comment on the matter, choosing to remain in ignorance instead. This is all speculation, right?

Now that they’re all on the subject of his album though, it gets him thinking that maybe he’s been too narrow viewed regarding the reason for your off putting behavior at lunch.

D-Day’s release has become a consuming priority lately, with everyone involved worked to the bone. Aside from himself, you’ve been bearing the brunt of it. He’s appreciative of course, considering the album holds a deep sense of meaning to him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to be perfect. A little pushback during the first proposal is natural, yet he did get more resistant toward ideas during this morning’s meeting than anticipated. Perhaps some of his nitpicking was unnecessary, adding to your already heavy load.

Yoongi’s head feels worse the longer he entertains the possibility. He doesn’t want to make the first time working together a complete whirlwind, especially this early. A strong, healthy partnership starts with trust, safety, and mutual respect. The same philosophy can be applied to relationships of varying natures. That reminds him—since when did Taehyung and you become so close? He’s been ruminating over it all afternoon, like a jigsaw puzzle he can’t solve.

It’s odd how little he knows.

“I heard someone mention __-nim over here. I want in.” A small grumble leaves Yoongi’s lips as Jungkook pushes next to him, displeased by how tiny his space bubble has gotten due to the huddle his members have formed around him. Just why the hell is everyone so interested in his new marketing director? That's what he wants to know.

“Can you introduce me to her sometime hyung?" Jungkook pleads. "I’m thinking about releasing an album in the next year and it’d be great if you could hook us up…yknow?”

Oh, Yoongi knows. He knows exactly what this young buck is insinuating, but it isn’t mating season yet and even if it were he will do no such thing as to “hook them up”. Besides, his conscience tells him that you wouldn't be interested in the company of a younger man anyway—not that your dating life is any of his business or anything.

“Get in line Jungkookie, behind Namjoon. He needs her for his album first.” Jimin squeezes down on Namjoon’s muscular shoulders with both hands, shaking him just enough to hype him up. His hands are removed seconds later when he’s told to knock it off.

“That’s enough about this, okay? I’m pretty sure Yoongi-hyung is the only one who actually needs __-nim right now because, in case you dumbasses have forgotten, D-Day is set to release in April,” Namjoon scolds the two with a commanding tone. Jungkook, per usual, remains persistent in his original request and keeps his full attention on Yoongi.

“Anyway hyung, as I was saying, I know your album takes priority so I’m in no hurry to meet her. I can be pretty patient as you know-“

“Heh, that’s a lie.”

“Shove it Jimin, no one’s talking to you.” Jungkook’s eyebrows scrunch together as Jimin snorts helplessly next to Namjoon.

“You shove it Kook,” Jimin counters. “And stop trying to date __-nim! Find your own woman!”

“I’m not trying to date her! She's my noona for gods sake! Do you think I’m oblivious to how the public reacts to idols dating? Also, __-nim is a Hybe employee, not an idol. I can only imagine the type of scandal the media would spin it as.”

“Right, we all know you actually just want to take her to your bed instead,” Jimin interrupts for the umpteenth time. “Our handsome leader, on the other hand, is interested in her professional abilities. We can learn a lot from him.”

“Why are you always trying to start a fight with me Jimin? Is it because I can take you, now that I've been building up more muscle?” Jungkook’s accusations earn him nothing more than a sea of eye-rolls until Jimin lunges himself towards him, puffing out his chest the best he can to size him up.

Namjoon rubs his face with a hand, a clear visual display of his exhaustion. He’s been moderating these stupid squabbles for nine years now. “Alright very mature, biggest boy band in the world and this is what it’s come to? Amazing, congrats to everyone for winning the award for most-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Seokjin interjects, effortlessly shouting over everyone while waving his hands. “My brothers…why are we fighting over here like a couple of peacocks? We are all beautiful in our own, individual ways. Mine, for example, is my handsome face.”

“For the love of god hyung, we’re trying to settle something. Go take your inspirational pep talk elsewhere!” Jungkook bends his knees, swooping down to throw Jimin over his shoulder but he misses when the man starts tickling him ruthlessly.

“St-ah-stop it Jimin!"

“You stop it, you frickin’ brat! Trying to take advantage of our hyungs for your own selfish gain.” Jimin then slaps Jungkook on the ass which does not go unappreciated as Hoseok cackles from the other side of the room. Up until this point, he’s been scrolling on his phone, completely unbothered by the chaos. As Hoseok nears the action, Jungkook delivers a swift kick to Jimin’s rear end.

“Ow, what the fuck Kook?!” Jimin tries soothing the sting by massaging it with his hands. “You little prick!”

“Oh come on, I barely hit you. Gaining sympathy points won’t help this time, plus I see you trying to hide a grin. You think this shit is funny. You’re sick you know that?”

Jimin makes a move to return the kick to his youngest member but ends up hitting a far taller, and leaner subject instead. Taehyung, who just returned from the bathroom, throws a hand over his abdomen and grunts from the sudden impact.

“What is—shit Jimin that really hurt!” Taehyung’s baritone voice echoes off the walls as he winces from the pain. He takes a few deep breaths, then viciously eyes the two brawlers followed by the rest of the room. “What the hell is going on? I heard you all talking about __-nim from the hallway. Yoongi-hyung here is trying to kick off his album and tour, which we are supposed to be celebrating over drinks this Friday, but here you are arguing with each other and who has the biggest dick. Well, you can all put it away because as __-nim’s best friend, and number one wingman, only I’m allowed to set her up with someone and it won’t be with any of you! Sorry hyung…” he looks at Namjoon who appears to have brushed the comment off.

As soon as Taehyung ceases his mini-speech, eery silence sets in. Hoseok is the first to dare say a word.

“Uh, so what’s this about being her best friend Tae?”

“Yeah, I had no idea either.” Jimin quirks his head to the side, awaiting the details.

“Same,” Namjoon adds in a short breath.

“What happened to us, man?” Jungkook pouts at Taehyung, a total 180 from moments ago when he was in an unsolicited sparring match with Jimin. “You used to share everything with me. Now you’re holding out on me. Since when did you and __-nim start hanging out?”

Yoongi’s ears perk up for the first time since all the commotion began, curious to hear Taehyung’s response. He only recently discovered the blossoming friendship hours ago and even then, it was a brief inside look.

“I didn’t think to mention it but yeah, we started talking since her first day at Hybe. I bumped into her on the way into work, early morning for both of us. I expected her to be a bit on the reserved side, considering she was a new hire, but she was quite friendly. The more we talked, the more I felt like I knew her as if a childhood best friend I’d reconnected with.” Pausing, he wets his lips before continuing. “We share a lot of our meals together now, like our lunches during the weekday. Her food tastes amazing by the way. I think she missed her calling as a chef but it’s more than food— it’s a love language, a labor of love.”

“Wow, you two sure are connected,” Hoseok speaks first again, seeing the rest of his members working to process the new bit of info.

“Platonically, yes.”

“This’ll be good for Yoongi-hyung and his album then! No bad blood exists here!” Hoseok shifts his gaze between Taehyung and Yoongi, pleased with the outcome. The older of the two remains speechless, yet it’s far from a dazed expression. Yoongi is instead deep in thought, the wheels turning in his head.

So maybe it’s true that birds of a feather flock together, he hums to himself. The two of you seem to be social butterflies with a vase full of commonalities. He, on the other hand, prefers his solitude. That’s not to say he’s a hermit or anything though. Hybe hosts a company-wide New Year’s Eve party every single year and he’s made his best effort to attend them all. He mainly mingles with his members, but he still makes sure to small talk with other coworkers. Come to think of it, did he even see you at last year’s New Year’s Eve party?

He can’t remember much from the night except Seokjin scolding him for not wishing him a happy birthday the minute the clock struck midnight. He was a bit tipsy at that point. Taehyung disappeared soon after to make his usual rounds, stopping to chat with everyone in his path. Maybe he took off to talk to you during that time.

Okay, he really needs to stop thinking about you.

"Just to confirm, is everyone still on for Friday night to celebrate D-Day?" Jimin pipes. "I booked us a good place to have some food and drinks.

Taehyung nods, "I am, as long as it's not the same place we saw our CFO and his much younger date feeding each other. I couldn't eat for the rest of that night."

Jungkook fakes a gag before replying. "I'm sorry but does anyone know how is he still working here? Guy creeps me out."

"I swear, I couldn't agree more. Just yesterday he made an egregiously body-shaming comment toward __-nim to someone else on the board. She kept a brave front when she told me, but I'm damn tempted to get him removed from his position myself!" Taehyung's nostrils flare as he shares his frustration, fingers digging into his hips.

Yoongi takes a final chug of his water before abruptly tossing the bottle on the floor. A sharp crack resounds through the space, instantly commanding the authority of the room. “Fifteen minutes is over,” he gruffs. “It might be twenty minutes with all the bickering earlier. We don't have time to be talking about this anymore.”

“Come on now," Hoseok says. "Didn't you hear what Taehyung said? Our CFO really is a class-A jerk. I feel so bad that __-nim has to put up with his bullshit, she doesn't deserve it." His eyes frantically search the room, hoping to rally support.

"Don't worry about that asshole," Yoongi assures, "I'll handle it." He strides over to his choreographed position on the dance floor as if a leader in his own right, the rest of the members following in his steps.

"Just don't kill him, hyung," Namjoon says, resting a hand on the older's shoulder from behind. Yoongi merely snorts lightly in reply.

Yoongi is dead tired, his feet feeling heavier the minute he stands from his studio chair. He could have left hours ago, but here it is nearly 9:30 at night, and he's only just leaving the office.

As he shuffles down the hallway towards the elevator, he notices the eerie silence. It's thick, almost palpable. There's not a soul left in the building this late at night. When the elevator doors open, he leans casually against the metal rail, closes his eyes, and mentally retraces his day.

Overall, it was a decent day, he thinks, productive at best. Skipping dinner to work on his album tracks was an easy decision, but he might be paying for it now given the intense growling of his stomach. Despite his songs being considered perfect by his members, he can't help but tweak each one a final time. It's as if his gut tells him there's still a piece missing from the whole.

All at once, the elevator comes to a sudden stop. Yoongi's eyes shoot open, anticipation flooding his senses. Is someone still here? He listens intently, straining to hear any sound over the faint hum of the elevator. After a few moments that feel like an eternity, the elevator doors slide open to reveal an empty, dimly lit hallway. It's the 16th floor. He hesitates for a second, peering into the shadows, but there’s no sign of anyone. Strange.

Just as the elevator doors begin to close, Yoongi hears a distant, unmistakable voice. "Please hold the door!" you plead, your voice strained with urgency. He responds immediately, stretching out an arm to block the door. "Thank you so much," you say, slipping in beside him, your bag thrown over your shoulder.

Yoongi watches as you enter, curiosity in his eyes. It seems you were of like mind tonight, working late and likely burdened by the extra work he caused for you. The feeling of tension is as clear as it was yesterday, lingering as a reminder of the unspoken discomfort between you both.

But then again, there's that issue Taehyung mentioned, looming in his thoughts. He hadn't realized you overheard the horrendous comment his CFO made about you. No wonder you hurried away from him like a bat out of hell yesterday; you knew he knew. He wouldn't dare shine a light on the situation and risk embarrassing you further; no one needs to relive such a belittling experience. Yet, he's wrestling with the right words to say.

"Heading home, Min PD-nim?" You surprise him by speaking first, voice firm with a touch of gentleness.

Yoongi allows a faint smile to tug at the corners of his lips, hoping it'll relieve some tension. "I am, it's been quite a day. What about you?"

You nod, shifting the bag on your shoulder. "Same here. Just had to wrap up a few things before heading out."

He hesitates for a moment, noting how you speak as if it were only a few minutes past five or six in the evening. "I understand. I was working in my studio up until now. I should be back up there tomorrow too," he says, then chuckles lightly, "Sometimes I feel like I should just live up there."

You return the subtle laugh and smile softly at him, your light brown eyes catching his dark ones. It feels like the same prolonged gaze you shared upon first meeting, yet now, it's somehow become easier; perhaps a hint of familiarity.

"By the way," he continues, seizing the opportunity, "feel free to call me Yoongi-ssi. I'm not that formal in case you didn't know." He playfully gestures to his casual attire; tan cargo pants, grey plaid button-down, and sneakers.

You seem hesitant towards the request at first, evident from your delayed response. "Are you sure?" you choke. "I don't want to over step my boundaries."

"There's no need to worry about that," he assures. "We're on equal level aren't we? If we're going to be working side by side for the next eight months give or take, I want us to feel comfortable with each other. Please, call me Yoongi-ssi."

"Okay, I might need some time to get used to that," you say, head nodding, "I'll try calling you Yoongi-ssi from now on."

"There's one other thing too," he pauses, "since we'll be working on D-Day's promotion from start to finish, I'll have many of my own opinions. It's a natural instinct for me, but I don't want to be a hinderance. I don't want anyone else giving you issues either, so I'd like to hear your full thoughts on matters, especially when it comes to important decisions."

"That means a lot Yoongi-ssi, thank you. I'm very grateful that you'd allow me to be a part of this and I'd very much like us to have an equal partnership. This is your album though, so I want to make sure it gets the recognition it deserves in the way you'd prefer."

Yoongi glances at the floor numbers displayed to the right of the elevator doors. Any second now and you'll reach the lobby. He wouldn't mind talking longer, but letting you both get a decent night's sleep is the far better idea at this point.

"I trust that D-Day is in the right hands with you, __ssi," he replies. "It's why I recommended that we work together to promote it in the first place. Bang PD was also confident in the idea. We don't doubt your expertise for a second." He pauses when the elevator doors slide open and allows you to be the first to exit. "Have a good night, okay?"

For the first time, you reciprocate the wish with a full, illuminating smile. It's not a professional one, Yoongi notes, its a real one—as genuine and sincere as his words. He takes it as a sign that the tides may finally be turning for the better. "You too," he hears you say before you push through the large revolving doors and step into the cool night air.

In the evenings that follow, Yoongi finds himself back in his studio as promised, a glass of whiskey in hand. He ultimately decided that if he was going to be here until all hours of the night, he might as well have a cold beverage to keep him company.

As he leans back in his chair, swirling the dark amber liquor in his glass, his mind inadvertently wanders to you. Were you downstairs again? Were you here with him? It would seem that given your unexpected late-night encounter in the elevator, the validity of the idea wouldn't be all that wild or far-fetched.

With each passing minute, as the clock inches closer to the late hours, he finds himself circling back to the same thought. It's as if the possibility of running into you has become a highlight of his night.

Just then, a deep and familiar voice interrupts. "Burning the midnight oil again, hyung?"

Startled, Yoongi looks up to see Taehyung standing in the doorway, a sympathetic smile on his face. Despite it being almost 9 at night, his younger member is nothing short of flawless in appearance.

"Yeah, working on my tracks," Yoongi replies, offering a small smile in return. "What are you doing here?"

Taehyung steps further into the room, hand tucked in his pocket. "I wanted to stay late to keep __-nim company, but I'm not sure how much longer she plans on staying tonight. I was on my way out when I figured I'd stop by to see you too."

"Well, thanks for thinking of me. Want a drink?" He offers, nodding towards the nearby whiskey bottle.

"No, thanks," Taehyung declines politely, shaking his head. "I'll let you enjoy your whiskey in peace. Although, __-nim might take you up on that same offer one of these days. She has a strong taste for it, as you do. Anyway, I'm heading out. Don't overdo it with your music, hyung, they're already perfect."

Once Taehyung leaves the studio, Yoongi's previous string of thoughts return to him tenfold.

So you really are here, he muses, and you happen to like the same throat-burning alcohol. Should he venture downstairs and offer a drink? No, that would probably be too much, and he wouldn't want to interrupt you. Maybe if Taehyung were accompanying him, but not alone; he doesn't share enough rapport with you to merit such a spontaneous drop-in yet.

No, he takes another sip of his whiskey, he'll see you tomorrow morning instead; during your morning meeting. But that gets him thinking—he's still yet to decide on whether or not he'll make an appearance on Fallon's show. He’d done it with his members numerous times, but this would be the first time doing it alone. His album would indeed benefit from the exposure, though.

"Damn it," he curses, raising from his seat. "I work my ass off. I work my ass off for it all!" He then sits back down, finishing off the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, the burn soothing his frustration momentarily. With a resigned sigh, he turns his attention back to his music. "Damn it, I guess I'll do it."

If it weren't for his phone notification reminding him of his 10 am meeting on Friday, Yoongi would have missed it entirely. Normally, he never forgets important events, but several late nights in the studio had predictably caught up with him. He feels extremely sleep-deprived today, his memory more prone to blanking than usual. Waking up with a throbbing headache at 5 am, which hasn't dimmed in the slightest, doesn’t help either. Nonetheless, with only ten minutes to spare, Yoongi has no choice but to pull himself together and head downstairs to the conference room.

"Good morning, Min PD-nim," you greet him as he walks through the door. "We're about to start."

Yoongi drags out a chair and takes a seat. You look nice today, he notes quietly to himself. He makes sure to send a small smile your way before returning the warm greeting. "Good morning __-ssi," he says. "I told you we can speak informally didn't I?"

He waits for your response, easily tuning out the startled reactions from the rest of the team. Most high-ranking officials in the organization expected to be addressed formally by those in lower positions, but here he was, openly requesting you to speak as equals. It was almost unheard of during work hours. He was Min Yoongi, after all.

"Right, of course," you reply, "You'll have to excuse me, Yoongi-ssi. It slipped my mind for a moment."

Yoongi watches as you shuffle a few papers in your hand before continuing. "To get us started, I thought we'd discuss the decision to schedule a spot on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. Will we be proceeding with this?"

"After mauling it over I think it's a good idea for the album. Do we have an idea of when this would happen?"

"Ideally after the album releases and around the time the U.S. tour begins April 26th. I say we aim for early May. Given Fallon's show's high demand, we'll need to get a jump on this as soon as we can." You shift your attention to your digital marketing and promotions team. "So-hyun, can you reach out to the producers and see what strings we can pull?"

She nods, scribbling a quick note on her writing pad. "We'll reach out today. I'll let you know as soon as we get a response."

"Excellent, thank you. I'm glad to hear you're on board with this Yoongi-ssi. It'll be a great way to promote D-Day and attract a global audience. The more smartly we utilize our resources, the better your album will be positioned in the current market." You take a brief pause to flip through your notes again. "Speaking of resources, we'll need to start booking magazine shoots and interviews. I'm proposing we run cover pages with Marie Claire Korea and Vogue Japan."

Yoongi would be taken aback by the flood of ideas and schedules you're firing at him, all within the first fifteen minutes, if he weren't already aware of your level of competency. This is exactly why he chose you, he hums to himself, your preparedness is impressive, but not surprising.

"I presume this will take place next year?" he asks. "During their spring issues?"

"Absolutely. We'll submit inquiries soon to get the ball rolling, but having the shoots completed now would be premature. Plus, it'll take some time before there are any openings with the companies. I think we should be consistent with tour dates and have Marie Claire go out in May and Vogue ready in August of next year."

"Okay, I'm fine with all that but we'll need to have something exciting released now, don't we? I know I start my weekly lives tonight, but shouldn't there be something more we can do?"

"I agree," you reply. "That's why I wanted to propose a brand new idea that came to me a couple of nights ago while I was drafting promotional content. Anytime idols release a new album or music, it gets published on YouTube, right?"

He nods, curious on where you're heading. "Right."

"Why don't we start a talk show with you as the host Yoongi-ssi? It can allow your fans to see another side of you, as well as the general public. We can invite your BTS members as guests where you can discuss music or past challenges that you've had to overcome—the choice is yours. To make it more interesting for viewers, you can have these frank conversations over a glass of whiskey or soju."

"I like the idea," he says, weighing it in his mind. "What would the timeline look like for this?"

"If we move forward with the idea, I suggest December 5th and we continue it for a max of two months. I know that only leaves us with just under two weeks to get started, but creating the set shouldn't take more an a day or a day and a half. We can also easily shoot a 30 to 60-minute video in an afternoon and publish it on YouTube the following week. Of course, a preview of the show will need to go out beforehand."

"Would we be able to invite other guests to the show? Outside of my members, I mean."

"Yes, feel free to invite whoever you'd like. We can start with the member for the first several episodes but ultimately, welcoming a variety of guests from the same or differing industries would be the goal."

"If I may." A member of the social media team suddenly joins the discussion, "I think Kim Namjoon-nim might be a good person to feature first since Indigo releases December 2nd."

Yoongi nods in agreement. "I can ask him."

"That would be fantastic, actually. If his availability is limited, we could have him guest star for the second or third episode instead," you add. "Hoseok released Jack in the Box this summer so we could have him be the first guest as well."

"Do we have a name yet?"

"Suchwita," you answer without hesitation. "It's a play on words with Daechwita."

"Suchwita..." Yoongi repeats, "Time to get drunk." He chuckles at the last few words, amusing the room, but you remain contemplative.

"How about Suchwita...time to drink with Suga, instead? It's simple and has a slight whimsical nature."

"Sure, let's use that," he answers, noticing that you've already begun jotting down the idea. "Yours is better."

Despite the adrenaline from the productive meeting with you and your team, Yoongi still feels the weight of his sleepless nights bearing down on him. His headache remains relentless and he is in dire need of a moment to himself. Once the team disperses, he slips his phone into his pocket and makes his way outside. The crisp, early morning air should offer him some relief, along with the pack of cigarettes tucked in his pocket.

When he reaches the building's designated smoking area, Yoongi takes out a cigarette and lights it, taking a deep drag as he leans against the cool brick wall. As he exhales, watching the smoke dissipate into the clear sky, his thoughts drift back to the meeting. The idea of hosting a talk show, "Suchwita...time to drink with Suga," still lingers in his mind. It’s an intriguing concept, and he can already envision the relaxed, candid conversations that could come from it.

His thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching on the ground nearby.

"Oh, Yoongi-ssi," you say with alarm, obviously startled by his presence. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I'll come back lat-"

"There's no need for that. Join me if you'd like." Yoongi watches as you hesitate to accept his offer, your feet already positioned to head back inside the building. "Seriously, there's plenty of room, and no matter what they'll tell you, I don't bite."

He allows himself to smirk as you carefully move beside him, only stopping when there is at least two feet of space between you both.

"Thanks," you say, pulling out your own pack of cigarettes and lighting one. "I needed a break too."

"Rough morning?"

"Just busy," you reply, leaning against the wall next to him. "But the meeting went well. We should be able to get the ball rolling now that we have a more finalized plan. I'm glad you liked the idea of starting Suchwita, by the way."

"I do," Yoongi says, nodding. "It has a lot of potential and I'm sure Namjoon will be more than happy to help us out. He's a natural at this kind of stuff. I guess it's why he's our band leader."

"You know you're good at all of this too, don't you, Yoongi-ssi?" You pause, taking a puff of your cigarette. "Even when you have a lot on your mind and a packed schedule, you have a knack for making people feel at ease. It's why I think producing Suchwita will be such a great way to connect with fans and other artists—you'll be the host."

He chuckles, appreciative of the remark. "You really think that? That I make people feel at ease? It's not what a lot of people assume."

"Nah," you reply, tilting your head up toward the clouds. "They're just on the outside looking in. Those who know you, who are around you and talk to you, will agree that you're a pretty calming presence."

"Well, I think we're not so different then." Yoongi shifts his eyes to your face, still looking up at the sky, and smiles softly. "So, what made you come to BigHit? Didn't you say you worked for Atlantic Records? That's a pretty good gig."

"Yeah, it was. I learned a lot there, and man, I was thrilled when I got offered the job as a brand manager. I've always loved music, ever since I was a kid. I could connect so intimately with the lyrics. Music is one of the few things that could soothe me during rough times, and it still does today. I'm sure you can understand."

Yoongi nods, intent on listening to your every word, intrigued by your story.

"Anyway, sorry about getting long-winded here" you chuckle. "I ultimately decided to move on when Bang PD reached out and offered me the marketing manager position for TXT. It gave me the chance to be a more integral part of bringing music to individuals who need it most. It's like we say, 'music for art and healing.' I'd never had the opportunity to manage a completely new set of musicians before either, let alone a group. Plus, being on the global marketing team? I couldn't turn it down."

"It makes sense why you joined us then, and I have to say, it's a blessing you did too. Music is a way of communication for me, a way I can best express my story. That includes my past, present, and hopefully future. After hearing all you shared, I don't think there's anyone else I'd trust with handling my album promos." Yoongi pauses a moment, unsure if he should ask the next thing on his mind. "How come we never met before? I mean really meet and talk?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure myself. But things have a way of falling into place when the time is right, I suppose." You're now looking at him, the intensity of your gaze mirrors his own. A gentle breeze tousles a few strands of your hair and for a split moment, Yoongi begins to understand what Taehyung meant earlier when he said it feels like he's known you his whole life, like a childhood friend he'd reconnected with. While it may not be to that extent for himself, there's a comforting warmth emanating from you that leaves him feeling strangely tranquil.

"Given the circumstances, I feel like we should have at least met through Taehyung by now," he slips out. "Or even at a company-sponsored event."

"Why, do you like me that much, Yoongi-ssi? After five days of working together?" Your playful tease catches him off guard, revealing a side of you he hadn't seen before. It's kind of cute-wait, what?

"I-"

"Sorry," you quickly interject, feeling the need to backtrack. "I shouldn't have said it like that."

"Don't worry, there's no need for apologies. And to answer your question, I like you enough." He hopes you can hear the tease in his own tone as he responds.

You both lapse into a comfortable silence for the next few minutes, the only sounds being the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of a bird. He finds all of it soothing in a way he can't quite explain.

After a few minutes, you turn to him, your expression thoughtful. "You know, if you ever need to talk or just need a break, I'm here. We're teammates now."

Yoongi looks at you, his tired eyes softening with gratitude. "Thanks, __-ssi."

You give him a reassuring smile before pushing off the wall. "I'll let you finish your cigarette. See you later? And by later, I likely mean at 9 or 10 pm in our company elevator."

"Yeah, see you later," he laughs, watching as you walk back toward the building. He takes one last inhale, extinguishing the cigarette and letting the remaining smoke escape his lips slowly.

Yeah, he likes you just enough.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed it! Lmk what you think 🥰

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229 notes · View notes

greenlaut · 2 months

Text

death of the divine ✸

as your flatter talk shivers down my spine i hear the Holy One exposing all the lies (Lord, forgive me, i know my flesh needs to die) x

baal / lucifer / michael from angels before man and angels & man by @nicosraf

close-ups + work progress under the cut

og sketches

cleaned up sketch (i can't perceive my own messy sketch's coherency ok)

1st version. didn't like how thick the lineart and the colour palette isn't clicking with me. is so i scrapped it. decided i want to do frame/illuminated manuscript thingy so i added frame and re-centered michael.

i kind of winged it for the final version, so i don't have progress of me picking colour palette or compositions. idk how i did it, i just did it, it was hard. i had a bad day so i blanked out the entire day to just lose myself in this illustration. and then uh. tada.

now some close-ups:

and some notes:

i know i want lucifer's skin to come across as "gold", so i keep picking his colour in the orange spectrum. bcs yanno--the sun (morningstar). naturally baal is more red leaning, which i think also suits his lion associated imagery well (because lion -> strength card (in tarot deck) -> red. idk, it's how my brain is)

originally michael doesn't wear an armour. i decided last minute to put him in one because fuck it; (1) armour cool and (2) i am a masochist ig

both baal and lucifer wear lipgloss. this is entirely dedicated to rafael's (the author. not the angel.) suffering. they share lipgloss by kissing, you fools.

michael has "jellyfish" hairstyle because. the front bob kinda reminds me how catholic friars/monks in certain schoolings cut their hair in that bob hair? yknow the one?? ya?? anyway it's for that imagery.

both baal and lucifer's legs are caging michael. bcs they're what ground him (vices/temptations) ahahahahaa

i actually asked rafael (author not the angel) and he said he imagined baal is a brunette, which is the same like i had in mind. except that baal asked that he got depicted as a wizened old man/wizard. so now he gets a beard and his hair is white. (he also insisted i gave him a stylish beard)

if u look closely at the jewelries the demons wore; one of lucifer's rings and baal's visible earring have gemstones the colour of michael's eyes

in return, michael's sash is the colour of the demons

baal has a ring with heliodor (yellow) for lucifer, and lucifer has a(nother) ring with red ruby for baal

baal's other gemstones are topaz and lucifer's are yellow jasper

both demons have pearl necklaces. they're supposed to represent michael('s wings ahahahahahaahaha)

my headcanon is that michael's wings are brown like sparrow's actually. BUT during the war, god gave him more power and authority and my understanding is that he got tempered into a perfect sword; so his wings turned white. when book 3 came out and they finally bang (I FUCKING HOPE THEY DO. RAFAEL. THIS IS FOR YOU RAFAEL.) his wings will turn brown againehehhehe

lucifer's coat has wing-like cut at the ends to represent his no longer existing wingsbye

michael is blue because one time i shared this imagery with rafael; michael wearing blue because of the same reason virgin mary is depicted in blue. god's favourites are in blue; fated to suffer and be left behind.

fin.

201 notes · View notes

codgod · 9 months

Text

y’know generally i try to limit colour palettes to as few colours as possible to make things more cohesive but despite my best efforts only jay ended up being able to stick to that </3

ANYWAYS here’s the as-of-right-now fully updated designs for these dickheads. these will no doubt undergo even more tweaking as i draw them more but this is a start i guess. also pls open the pictures to look at them properly i worked so hard LOL

some random notes under the cut yaaaay

chip —

he jingles when he walks. somehow he’s still stealthy. i do not know how

kept the platinum ring that bonded him to gillion in the block! because hey he doesn’t really have a reason to take it off (and it’s a nice reminder of how much gill cares about him, and how far their friendship has come since that ice arena)

his tattoos shift and flicker like actual flames, and sometimes (harmless, purely aesthetic) sparks fly off them when he’s excited

i just think smoke coming out of his mouth when he’s angry would be cool :]

chipped teeth from biting rocks and coins all the time :/

he has scars from the red lightning, they’re just mostly contained to his back and shoulders. they’re a similar red to his coat even once they’ve healed

gillion —

the tail sleeve thing is so he can rest it on the ground without damaging his scales, he doesn’t usually wear it when he’s just on the ship because the wood is soft enough that it’s usually fine + it can hinder swimming a bit. it’s mostly meant for places where there’s cobblestone or gravel streets and such. i think his armour would probably have a version that looks similar but covers the whole tail minus the fins, maybe with some armour plating of its own. i didn’t draw it because there wasn’t any room lol

his scars from the lightning are pink mostly because red stood out too much tbh. they softly glow in the dark the same as his coral and the pink parts of his fins

also kept his ring! his hands aren’t really made for jewellery, though, because the webbing means it won’t sit very secure on his finger. so he keeps it on the same chain as the necklace he got from aslana to keep it safe

tried to make him look a bit bulkier and more his age than in my original design? i feel like i was leaning too much into the naivety and. shortness. originally lol. he also has thicker eyebrows now and i’m still trying to decide how i feel about them but i think? i like it? i don’t tend to give many character thin eyebrows so it could’ve been a unique thing for him but alas

i think i made the sword too small but like ignore that

also forgor to include pretzel </3 that’s okay though she can get her own design sheet later. she’s special like that

jay —

i believe in tall jay supremacy

blue magic! i was considering gold but that’d look a bit more like a canary than i wanted for her wings so. blue jay :]

her hair is supposed to look kinda like fire to mimic her dad ! kinda showing that even if she runs from her family and the navy they’ll always be a part of her. and also i just like drawing messy hair

i gave her sturdier gloves just because i feel like it fits her better. also changed up the shirt to more of a button up solely because i don’t like tank tops very much LOL

i did WANT to make her outfit a bit flashier to match the boys better but i couldn’t quite figure out where to Put the flash. maybe that’ll come later, the way the story’s going i might get to design some cool prosthetics for her or something

overall —

because there’s just so many fucking colours i triiied to add at least one or two colours from each of them into the others designs. jay has her necklace with each of their main colours on it, her wings are the same blue as gillions eyes, her jacket and right eye are the same dark blue as destiny’s blade, her hair is the same orange as the lighter part of chips tattoos. chip has a dark green sash under all the belts, the same as the hilt of destiny’s blade. they all use the same shades of black, gold, and brown

the only real exception is gillion doesn’t have anything from the other two because he has Such a specific colour palette and he already had so much going on as-is orz jay was obviously the easiest to do this with because she has both warm and cool colours in her palette by default lol (and i did her design last, so that helps)

#.png #jrwi #jrwi riptide #just roll with it #jrwi chip #gillion tidestrider #jay ferin #jrwi spoilers #THEYRE FINALLY DONE zoo wee mama #the lines are thicker on the little armour drawings because i did the sketch thing and then went yk what. good enough. and just coloured tha #also got rid of gills button nose it was too annoying to draw #i’m so used to straight and aquiline noses #another thing that could’ve been unique for him in terms of my character designs #but nah #pls ignore that i drew them all standing on diff planes/angles btw i wasn’t trying very hard w that #weirdly proud of myself for managing to give them all pretty unique profiles #that’s normally something i kinda get stuck on. drawing people from the side #in different ways besides nose shape

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clovenhoofedjester · 1 month

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jellicle lineups; part 4/4

I FINALLY FINISHED THESE

grizabella | 🌃 🥀 🍂

i really wanted to mix revival and older replica for this one. the thigh-high boots, sparkly, tasseled dress, and generally the wig are all revival inspired, but the curly fur stays and the makeup is old because i really do like the very dramatic, gothic grizabella looks. her coat is also heavily 2019 inspired with the length and stripey purple fabric

i also was not sure how i wanted to do her hair other than it covering one eye (SHOUTOUT TO THE FANART I SAW WHICH HAD THAT. I CANNOT REMEMBER THE URL) esp the color so i did a gradient of light grey to dark brown, which i REALLY liked ! it also helped me decide that shed be chocolate smoke instead of a tabby

idk. ijust like her

i very much want to emphasize the "proud" and "indomitable" of her character in my portrayal of her; think betty buckley. i think shed be 61 in human years.

jennyanydots | ⏰ 🧶 👠

HER DESIGN... is very similar to her replica one because.... i really like it. very heavy emphasis in how her makeup is sometimes done with the HUGE lower lashes and squiggles. she also gets a cute little pink nose and blue eyeshadow

very 2019 inspired also. the hat, tasseled jumpsuit and bejeweled tap shoes stay ...... but i did want to give her the vest and collar from 2019. i just like that. shes also fat because yes

she remains sweet and nice yes. but i think warsaw was onto something when they made her Like That. shed be 56 in human years

jellylorum | 🎨 💐 👒

i ORIGINALLY drew her design a month and a half ago with the headcanon that shes gus' caretaker but bro. that jellylorum & asparagus jr. & gus family angst potential was too great. so i redid her as looking closer to gus. :3

idk why but i decided to go with a 1940s inspired formal look for her.... i quite like the hat and think it helps her to stand out, so i'm comfortable in that decision. her fur design is also mostly replica inspired. enjoy her neapolitan ice cream makeup too

she also gets a pink nose and her collar from the 2019 version. idk why the collars went so hard in that movie

i LOVE one of her 3 words being practical... yes, she is THE practical cat. i think shed be 59 in human years

bustopher jones | 🌹 🤍 🍛

VERY replica inspired.... with notes of other productions. opera populaire had full glasses bustopher which i liked. an older makeup look also had stripes which i also thought looked nice (and makes him look more related to mistoffelees) ! there are also multiple bustopher designs that have the moustache and beard 2 for 1 dealio..... and decided to incorporate that as well

he also gets the fishbone hanky crevat thing and a fishbone brooch. i almost made his rose white but i liked the contrast of the red. enough that i decided to give him lipstick too . and youd best believe that he has a giant fucking pipe that he smokes out of

i love the idea of him being the older generations' tugger in his time. i believe it. i think hed be like 55 in human years

skimbleshanks | 🚂 🎆 ⏳

I COULDNT RESIST BASING HIM OF THE MOVVIEEEEEE im not sorry that was peak skimble. the whistle and chains, the MATCHING conductor hat and pants, the moustache, the tap shoes..... truly, it was too good. my only regret was that i couldnt show the suspenders in this design because i wanted to keep the vest

i did keep the makeup/fur pattern very similar to his replica design though. idk. its just good. emphasis on the brown in his tail, the brown of his clothes, and the bell

anyone else get handsome gay silver fox vibes from him? anyway [being rushed out the door] i think hed be 56 in human years

asparagus jr. | 🧷 🎲 ⛲

lets go babey asparagus jr. inclusion ! i Really struggled with the clothes because i wanted to include the weird yarn poncho but didnt want to make him look hippyish (hippies are cool it just wasnt the vibe i was going for).... so it is reincarnated as this strange tassel-y scarf shawl thing. idk

he also gets a collar similar to jellylorum's because i like the idea of them living in the same house :^3. his makeup is also pretty different from how it appeared in the 98 version because i wasnt really feeling it. i like stripes. so stripes he shall get

hes also wearing a corset thing. idk what my propensity for designing men with a slightly feminine touch says about me (IM A FEMININE QUEER MAN)

not much notes on his personality other than i think he really looks up to his father (enough that he took on his more dignified name). hed be 57 in human years

gus | 📖 🌌 🔭

MUH OLD MAN... i love him. very much based on a bunch of different replica designs for him. he gets a beard and sideburns because i think i really do love the costumes w facial hair, and i think it just fits. he also gets glasses

he gets the coat and handkerchief (now a scarf) that typically hides the growltiger costume... which has a crisp formal outfit underneath. maybe he takes the coat off during his number to signify having moments of clarity and humor during his song

i do think in my interpretation hes well enough to joke around during his number and play the rumpus cat but like. damn you can tell this cat is old. hed be like 93 in human years

old deuteronomy | 🌕 🍮 ⭐

i have fully abandoned replica deut. say hello to haute couture resplendent transgender old deuteronomy. fit with a gigantic white coat, velvet dress, and gigantic fluffy hat. and yes, she did have 99 wives

she also gets the pendant that she was drawn with in the concept art for the 2d animated movie.... what was up w/ that....

ANYWAY YEAH UH. shes very different from the replica deut and other nonrep deuts mostly thanks to judi dench, with her saying that her version of deut was a transgender woman, and her complaining about not looking regal enough in the movie. here you go girly. the nose freckles/dots from some replica makeup get to stay though

she gets a lot of design notes from her children. the grey from munkustrap, macavitys white eyelashes, eye and mouth makeup, and tuggers cheek heart. shes also a light grey to kind of reflect her appearance in 2019

not much to add here other than i love her. i think she would be 88 in human years

AND THERE YOU GO. AHHHHHHH ITS DONE

#grizabella #jennyanydots #jellylorum #bustopher jones #skimbleshanks #asparagus jr.#gus the theater cat #old deuteronomy #cats the musical #chibi #character design #sfw furry #my art

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tojisbbygworl · 10 months

Text

Know Your Place - Hobie Brown x Black!Reader x Cuck!Miguel O’Hara

Unbeknownst to him, the affair between you and Hobie did not go under your husband’s radar

Tags: 18+, 3rd person, Smutttttt, Semi-Public sex, Cuckhold, Really from Hobie’s POV, Hobie is 21+, kind of a Threesome, Reader can be any age, but I’m imagining you being slightly older than Hobie at least

author's note: HAIIIII!!! I keep saying 'oh im probably not going to write blah blah blah' and then I think of a story idea like right after that. I have been FEIGNING for a Hobie x reader x Miguel and I didn’t even think that tag existed like come on! People! There's a hole in the market! I'm pretty sure I've only ever read one and it was more Hobie focused and full fledged cheating instead. I can not find it again and I'm gonna lose my mind because of it. Anyway enjoy I hope I made it as raunchy as y'all wanted. (it could always be raunchier)

Also if this kinda plays like an imagine at some point while you’re reading just bare with me. It was an imagine originally but I got too into it.

Part 2

Masterlist

Hobie isn’t sure how things got this way. One day he went from adjusting his pants at HQ and going home to fuck his fist after being in your presence and now he’s watching you ride him while Miguel stands to the side beating his own dick.

It all started a month ago. The conversation began normally, “How’ve ya been, love? Something a miss?” and then you started making all these comments about how much you loved his piercings and how smooth his skin looked with you caressing his hand. He's not one to be startled, but his eyes looked as though they were about to pop out of their sockets.

And then you dropped a bomb: your husband (i.e. his boss) was not doing it for you in the bed anymore.

“I know you can give me what I need, Ho-baby,” you had whispered to him. He was nervous admittedly, but then you gave him a sultry smile and he just couldn’t say no.

The both of you snuck around HQ feeling up on each other in every closet, nook, and cranny you could. In a corner, he loved to sink his teeth into your neck and fingers into your cunt humping your side as he revels in your sweet moans.

If you two managed to get a little more space, like a supply closet, he was holding the bottom of his shirt with his teeth with you bent over in front of him. He would roll his eyes back and groan every time you gave him a squeeze. He loved the sound and look of you gushing onto his abs and stubble. Your ass recoiled off of him so deliciously, he always found himself pulling out and cumming all over it with no shortage of curses and grunts.

It was like a drug, the two of you fucking behind Miguel’s back. Hobie could never get enough of it. He adored knowing that big bad Miguel O’Hara was a bad lay. Even if he wasn’t, even if you were actually a sex goddess in disguise, at the very least Hobie was better and if he had an ego, that would fuel it for miles.

If there was one thing Miguel cared about, it was you. He would never admit it, in fact he tries to hide it, but you made him soft. When you were in the debriefing room for a mission, his usually stern tone was careful. He was less tense around you. Hobie even saw him smile once or twice. Only when it was just the two of you with no one else around, then he would hightail it once Miguel noticed him.

It was cute, but if you were Hobie’s, he wouldn’t hesitate showing you off to everyone. As the boss’s wife, you were a pretty big deal around the society. He always wondered if Miguel knew about all the things people say about you. About all the things they want to do to you and your body. All the things Hobie was currently doing and more.

Okay, so maybe he has a bit of an ego.

It’s all the more prevalent when you start being a little more risky with your suggestions. It went from isolated corners and locked rooms to rubbing him at a far off table in the cafeteria to giving you a creampie in the therapist’s chair during his break.

At first, it freaked him out. As much as he loves a risk taker, he didn’t want to get kicked out. And, he would hate for you to get in trouble. But the way you were acting, it seemed as though you weren’t even a little bit concerned about getting caught. So, he chilled out. Actually, he got way more bold.

He's always loved to piss off Miguel, usually to make you laugh which it always did, but now there was some merit behind it. Miguel would walk by an area that Hobie made you cum in the other day and would snicker loudly getting his attention. Or, Miguel would send the both of you on a mission and Hobie would send you back with three more hickies than you had before, all with a shit-eating grin in his face.

He found that he loved looking Miguel in the eye and talking back to him with your pussy still on his breath. He was never the wiser, just slightly more annoyed by his newfound hubris. It made the anxiety all worth it.

This, though? This was way too much.

“Are you taking the piss?” He asked incredulously when you presented your newest place of coitus.

You had the audacity to look at him confused. “What do you mean? What’s the problem?” You ask, your voice echoing off the large and infinite walls of Miguel’s office.

“Listen, babe,” he starts, “You’re proper fit and all that, but I'm not fucking you in my boss's lair."

You pouted, you little minx, and you began to strip off your suit while keeping eye contact with him. Hobie scoffed and chuckled to himself. Of course, only a woman as crazy as you could stand a stick in the mud like Miguel. He looked back at you backing onto the floating platform. You dropped the suit all at once revealing your completely bare body; a habit you picked up from your husband.

Hobie looks back at the large entrance that was now closed and locked, you and Miguel being the only ones with the access code. He turns back around at you who was now sitting in Miguel's large swivel chair smiling and giggling at him and slowly lifting your legs. He shrugs and walks towards you, the platform turning on and lifting when he steps on it.

He freezes in place and stares at you in terror, immediately relaxing when your laughs get a little bit harder and you reveal a small remote from behind you. He looks up to the ceiling saying a silent prayer and continues his trek.

You bite your lip when he reaches you, closing your eyes and humming when he leans over to kiss you. His hand rubs your waist. You sit up and scoot out of the chair making him look at you in confusion. You turn him around and sit him down resuming the kiss.

Like always, the two of you waist no time getting right to it; every second counts when you're having an affair. You pulled off Hobie's shirt and he tugged his pants down, his dick standing straight up and leaking his thick, clear liquid. He beats it for a second while watching you get on your knees. The sight alone is enough to make him moan, more pre cum escaping his dick and gliding down his shaft and fingers.

You lick the drop from his base to his tip. He bites his lip and admires your pretty face as your mouth encloses around him. "Oh, yeah," he whispers watching you bob your head up and down. You twirled your tongue around his head making him jerk his hips. "Ffff-fuck!"

Hobie steady humps into your throat, his mouth hanging slightly, looking at you like a desperate puppy. He thinks about how glad he is that he always follows you wherever you want to go. He admits that the riskier the place, the better it feels. And it helps that neither of you have even gotten close to getting caught.

He starts to do something he's only ever said in his head. "You love sucking on this dick, don't you?" You seemed a bit taken aback, but ultimately, you liked it. You take him out of your mouth and nod your head sweetly going right back in soon after. Hobie takes the back of your neck and pulls you off of him. "Stick out your tongue."

He proceeds to slap his dick onto the pink muscle groaning and biting his lips with each plop. "You like getting slutted out like this? My dick slapping your tongue?" You nod again letting out an "ah-huh" from your open mouth. Hobie grins wildly. "My dick, right? Not his?"

That made you excited. "Yes, baby," is all you can get out before he stuffs himself back into your mouth.

The sounds leaving him are completely incomprehensible. His breathing is staggered, heavy and loud, but not nearly as loud as your mouth as you coat his dick in saliva. He has to put his hand on your shoulder to stop you before he feels like cumming.

He let's out a large and winded breath. You smile up at him, the entire bottom part of your face matching his dick and lap, wet and shiny. He can't wait to put it inside you. He just knows it'll slide right in.

And he was right. In a commanding tone, he grabs his base and tells you to sit on it. Without breaking your smile, you do. He moans louder than you and immediately attaches his hands to your hips. He filled you up so nicely, you could feel him hitting your abdomen. Every time he was full sheathed inside of you, you whined from the bumping sensation.

Hobie, on the other hand, did not stop moaning. He slowly leaned his head backwards to rest on the chair and closed his eyes. He couldn't speak, his mind racked with excited thoughts about what the two of you were doing.

Now he knows, he does have a big ego. Not only does he have a beautiful woman rolling her hips on his dick, desperate to make him cum for her, it's his boss's wife. His boss who he, on the lowest of keys, can't stand and vice versa. And she's riding him in his own office. In his chair.

He hears you begin to pant harder. Then he looks up into your eyes. He holds the contact with you while guiding you through your orgasm. "You want to cum? Yeah? You want to cum on my dick, you fucking slut? What about your husband, huh? How would he feel knowing your getting off on me instead?"

You sighed deeply and slowed down. Hobie could feel you clenching and spilling around him. "That turn you on, baby? Knowing he can't make you feel like this?" You do something he doesn't expect, you smile and giggle. While it's cute, it's a little off-putting. Soon after you look at him and nod again, picking up speed once more.

He sighs and closes his eyes again. His stomach coils and he can feel his release coming soon. "Mmm, mmm, mmm..." He moans.

His bottom lip finds itself under his teeth once more and the only thing he regrets about this moment is how he didn't get a chance to pound you on Miguel's devices. You put a hand on his chest "Baby, look at me~," you beg.

How could he deny you? He opens his eyes only slightly, then they shoot wide at the sight in front of him.

He clammers to get up and opens his mouth to warn you, only to look down and see a hand wrapped around one of your tits. The man's face sits right next to yours with his chin in your neck. He's smirking right at Hobie, red eyes glowing. "She asked you to look at her," says Miguel. "Do it."

"Please~?" You plead. Hobie's eyes shift to you and take everything in. You were still riding him, faster now, with one hand on his own chest and Miguel playing with one of your nipples. He watches his boss lean his head down to kiss your soft neck and leave love bites making you purr like he's never heard before. Hobie looks at your free tit and holds it. His thumb rubs your nipple and he gazes up in adoration at your cries. The ghost of a smile that was about to show up on his face disappears when he makes eye contact with Miguel.

He can not read his face for the life of him. He looks perfectly content; in fact, he was jerking himself off, his thick dick laying over and leaking onto yours and Hobie’s thighs. He humped into his hand not caring that he was hitting his leg too.

The grunts Miguel made were only heard by you. They turned you on even more, making your second orgasm approach quickly. With the way he played with your breasts, all you wanted was for someone to put their mouth on it. "Hobie," you pant. Said man brings his gaze back over to you. "Will you suck on it? Pretty please?"

'This woman is trying to kill me,' he decides. He half expects Miguel to shut down whatever the hell this was, but he doesn't. Instead, he smiles. Genuinely.

"Trying to make me angry, hermosa?" He mutters in your ear. Then you both do something that made Hobie's stomach tingle and twist in lust. Miguel chuckles against your ear with you following suit. You lean your head back and turn it capturing your lips in his. The two of you have a heated make out session on Hobie's dick. Miguel lets go of his dick and grabs your thigh instead. He continues to thrust into the air, slowly now.

You're both moaning into each other's mouths, tongues flying everywhere. It's so erotic, Hobie sits up a bit more and leans his head into your chest encasing your nipple in his wet, hot mouth. It makes you gasp, moving your head from Miguel's leaving him hanging in the air. He watches as you cum for the second time on Hobie. Because of Hobie. With Hobie. He glares at the two of you, his dick harder than ever.

The younger man refuses to lift his head from your chest even as he spills into your pussy. He whines and groans, "Yes, baby..." "That feels so good..." "Keep milking my dick..." He wraps both of his arms around your waist pulling you closer into him. You both come down from your highs panting and staring at each other. You smile at him and lean down to give him a kiss. Hobie accepts it quickly, he rubs your ass and grips it slightly, trying to get you in the mood to kiss him the way you just kissed Miguel. He starts to over stimulate himself by humping into you some more. It works, you start to whimper again and you stick your tongue into his mouth. His pride overwhelms him causing him to say:

"I'll fuck a fucking baby into you..."

Miguel refuses to sit there with his dick in his hands and watch his employee talk about impregnating his wife. Hobie's had his fun, it's time for him to go. Miguel takes his previous spot behind you and leans into your ear, his eyes not leaving Hobie's. "Tell him he has to go."

Hobie blinks at what was just said and looks at you. You're looking as at his lap sheepishly, but there's a mischievous glint in your eye and just the smallest gleam on your face. You look up at him. "You have to go now, Ho-baby."

Miguel growls and grips the back of your neck. “Don’t fucking call him that.” He leans you backwards. "Open your fucking mouth." When you do, he gathers up as much saliva as he can and spits it onto your tongue. "Now kiss him goodbye."

You do as your husband wishes and hold Hobie's chin. Winking at him, you lean down and lick his lips. At first, he doesn't know how to feel, but his heart starts racing and he thinks it won't hurt. After all, Miguel's technically been kissing his dick for a month now, he wouldn't mind swallowing his spit. You're such a good girl, you saved so much of it in your mouth.

You and Hobie proceed to leave each other's faces drenched. You hadn't lifted yourself off of him just yet which he was grateful for. Eventually, the both of you hovered your lips over each other, too stimulated to focus on kissing from the feeling of him growing inside of you. Miguel smirks evilly as he connects with your ear again. "It's time for Hobie to go, mi amor."

He knew if felt good, but he would make you feel even better. And you knew it to. So you slowly lifted yourself off of Hobie. Miguel pulls him up onto his feet and pushes you into the seat, back first. Hobie tries to keep his balance, and when he finds it he lifts his pants back up. He turns back to the two of you who were paying him absolutely no mind. You were staring up at Miguel, your legs spread and in almost in a mating press. Miguel was furiously beating his dick over you, using his thumb to spread your pussy lips and watch Hobie's cum drip out of it. Hobie hears him groan, but he quickly jumps back when Miguel twists his head around and glares at him furiously. "Why are you still here?" He spits. He plants the head of his dick directly onto your pearly spunk covered hole. "You want to watch me show you up? You want to watch me make my wife cum on my dick?" He ends the sentence with a smile. Hobie looks away from him to your fucked out face. Your hands were rubbing Miguel's torso with your fingers raking it, silently pleading for him to fuck you. Hobie wished he could tell him, ‘fine, you can fuck my baby into her instead,’ but he decides against it. His good girl still needed to be fucked and his attitude would not help with that.

As much as Miguel wants to continue taunting Hobie, he was ready to give you some real dick. "Damn, baby," he tells you, rubbing his dick between your folds, staining your region and covering himself with white. "You're such a fucking whore for me. He just came in you and now you want more?"

You shake your head. "No, daddy," You whimper. "I want you."

Miguel smiled. "I know you do."

By the time he's started fucking into you, Hobie had long since swung away and took a portal back to his home ready to hump his sheets and imagine he was fucking you again. Maybe this time he'll imagine that Miguel's in the corner.

Miguel thought about what went down yesterday as he waited for Hobie and his team to return from an assignment. You had told him hat the two of you were meeting up again when he got back. Today, you would go to his universe.

He doesn't completely understand how you all got here. He has always known that you had a little thing for Hobie, but he never imagined that it would get this far.

For the longest time, Miguel was looking at you, looking at Hobie, looking at you. He wasn’t stupid; he knew you were a bombshell; perfect brown skin, tasty full lips, a cute round nose and a body that puts anyone to shame. Why wouldn’t Hobie get weak at the sight of you? Hell, you’re married to Miguel and he still gets butterflies when you look at him.

He could pretend that it pissed him off that you wanted Hobie too, but when he thought he should have been angry, he felt blood rushing to his member instead. Imagining you on your hands and knees while someone who wasn’t him drilled into you from behind, hearing you moan someone else’s name, lubing his own dick with someone else’s cum and fucking you with it…it made him excited.

Yeah, it was a bit annoying how excited you were when he told you he was okay with you starting a sexual relationship with Hobie, (more like he wanted you to), but as long as you were happy, he was happy. And then he got really happy. When you told him about the small meet-ups you and Hobie had, he couldn't believe himself when he told you to fuck in the therapy sector. He would keep Peter-78988 occupied while you two did your thing in his office. His morals kept him from recording, however, and he desperately wanted to see it happen.

He guesses you knew that, you told him you would be fucking in a new place that Miguel would really really like. He was prepared to wait for you to tell him when it was all said and done, you sitting on your knees and jerking him off as you did it like always, but imagine his surprise when he entered his own office and saw his platform activated and Lyla turned off.

Yesterday was nice, and he hoped that you all could do it again one day, but that day may not be soon.

He didn't appreciate the way Hobie sauntered into HQ that morning, clearly thinking that his shit doesn't stink. It was already annoying that he looks like that regardless, but now he knows he's the shit and that makes him worse. No, he's not actually. He just thinks he is. And Miguel needs to let him know that.

"You," he points at the man after they turned in their reports. He raises his pierced brow. "Stay." Gwen and Margo make a childish ooo~ sound waving bye just before the entrance closes up again.

Hobie stands in front of him, taking his a stare head on. Miguel has his hands on his hips, like he always does, looking like a dad about to scold his son. He fights back a scoff, but he’s annoyed. He had more important things to attend to; he really wants to see if he can make you call him daddy, too.

Miguel gives an ingenuine grin. Hobie's bored expression doesn't change. "Yesterday was something, huh?"

Even though it was clear that this was what Miguel wanted to talk about, it still surprised him that he would. Hobie doesn't let it catch him off guard, though. "Yeah, did you hear her begging me to suck her tit? That was something."

Miguel's "smile" grows wider. "You know what you didn't hear? That you can't make her feel like I do."

Hobie gives him a cocky beam, something that wasn't really becoming of him, but it's been building up for a month now. "You mean like how you can't make her cum? Why she came to me in the first place?"

Miguel gives him a look of realization. "Ohhh." he says. Then, he laughs. He crosses his hands over his chest and shakes his head. Hobie's smile widens. He knows he’s in for it now.

Miguel sighs and calms down. He waves a finger at him. "You know, you can be really funny when you want to."

"I usually get like that when I'm dying of boredom."

"Oh, is my presence not enjoyable?"

"Not nearly as much as your wife's." Hobie lifts his wrist and looks at a pretend watch. "Who I have to be meeting soon, so if you don't mind..."

He turns to walk away but is stopped by a firm grip on his shoulder. He looks back at Miguel and his unsettling grin. The smile that was on Hobie's face has been wiped off. He looks at him unimpressed, despite being nervous inside.

"I don't want to keep her waiting either," he starts. He turns Hobie around fully and looks down at him. "So let me make one thing clear, Hobart." He leans over just enough for Hobie to feel his breath on his face.

"You're only fucking my wife because I allow it. I'm the reason she's keeping your dick wet. Remember that. You will never be enough for her. Ever." With that, he slaps his shoulder encouragingly and pushes him out, ready to get back to work.

Hobie stands outside the room and contemplates what the fuck just occurred. He looks to the floor as his mind runs with memories of every time the two of you fucked. All the "sneaking", all the lying, it was never what it was...He knew about it the whole time.

Hobie could probably find it in him to care, but your pretty face popped up on his watch with you asking where he was and that you wanted him to show you his place.

Yeah, he'll be fine with this.

ending a/n: Tell me what you thinkkkkkkk

Okayyyyyy lmk if u wanna be tagged in part 2 OR WHATEVER

Masterlist

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #spider punk x reader #hobie brown x you #black reader #spider punk smut #spider punk x black!reader #hobie brown x black!reader #spider punk x reader smut #miguel o hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x black reader #Miguel o hara x black reader #Hobie x reader x Miguel #Hobie brown x reader x Miguel o hara

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prince-kallisto · 5 months

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I’ve had this project for a while, but I finally finished it today! \(//∇//)\ This was meant to be a Neige LeBlanche redesign, but I strayed a bit from his original more than I intended. I have my thought process and concept art below the cut as usual! ^_^

Anyway, his design was a hard one to tackle. Haha, to be honest, I still don’t feel like he’s more beautiful than Vil! But with this, I wanted to take a lot of inspiration from classic shoujo anime and manga, where the eyes were sparkly and the hair was flowing and curled. My main three sources of inspiration were Candy Candy, Princess Knight, and of course Rose of Versailles.

Neige Leblache felt tough to design because I knew he had to stay very cute and young-looking, but how do you exactly make that sort of design “rival” Vil Schoenheit, while also not making him look like Epel?In my first passes, I emphasized a lot of the cuteness and femininity. But the more I pushed forward, the more I began to doubt the look. Again, the designs didn’t feel very “Twisted Wonderland” enough. He needed a more recognizable design and hairstyle.

I settled on a short hime cut, since Disney’s Snow White is very iconic for her short hair silhouette. I really liked Neige’s sailor hat, so I kept that to emphasize the youthful look he’s going for. I changed the color of his hat to blue, because I wasn’t a fan of how his OG hat blended into with his dark hair.

Then I had a lightbulb moment. I wanted to combine the looks of Snow White and Prince Florian. It would keep Neige’s cute looks, while also giving him a “boy-ish” and princely charm, the sort of charm that gives him a classic fairytale Prince look. Neige is also surprisingly tall, so I decided to emphasize his legs and waist.

To tie in the sailor look, I gave him a red bow, and also redesigned RSA’s coat and magestone because I don’t like drawing the details haha! I gave him brown boots as a reference to Snow White’s servant clothing in the beginning of the film, and also I think Neige still lives with the dwarves in a cottage? Idk I thought it was cute haha. Pomefiore’s dorm uniforms also has a Japanese theme to it, with the uniforms resembles kimonos. I wanted the same thing with Neige’s long lacy sleeves and his hair pin. The flowers on his sheer shoulder part of his sleeve and the hair pin is a reference to the flowers on Snow White’s grave. The iridescent pearls were just to be extra haha, and to try to keep his oversized jacket in place. The lace shapes were meant to be in the shape of apple seeds as well.

But I think the most noticeable change was Neige’s complexion. But going back to his face, I wanted his eyes to be sparkly and striking, sort of like if Epel if Epel had more confidence in his cute charm. I also gave Neige a red lip and red eyeshadow/liner, just to bring out these features more. At first, my Neige redesign was very pale, like Lilia levels of pale 😭 But I wanted to give him a bit of a tan just because haha. I think I wanted to give Neige more of a visual contrast to Vil alongside their personality contrast.

But I’m bad with watercolors, so there were noticeable streaks when I painted his skin. The more I went over it to fix it, the darker Neige got…eventually, I just embraced it and gave Neige a naturally brown skin tone haha... I personally like how it looks, but I acknowledge my redesign strayed a lot from the OG Neige. Perhaps he could just be a TWST-ed Snow White instead of being Neige himself. I really like Neige surprisingly, so I had a lot of fun with this. To me, he’s really cute and I’m happy with how turned out despite the huge struggle I had with painting him and his clothes overall \(//∇//)\

Edit: I was scrambling to post this because I was busy that day haha, but now that I have more time to collect my thoughts, I want to elaborate on what I mean by a “recognizable design.” Neige is a character with so far very little screen time, as he’s not part of the main cast. However, Chenya, who arguably had even less screen time than him in the main game (excluding GloMas), became very popular, no doubt because of his design as the Cheshire Cat. Of course, you have to account for personality as well. Neige is often considered too “goody goody” for a TWST boy, cause even though Chenya is at RSA, he still has a mischievous streak. But I think what brings Neige down even more is his design. There’s nothing automatically striking about him. He’s very cute, and I love his accessories. But as someone to rival Vil, Neige isn’t particularly more handsome or cute than the other boys in the cast. It’s partially why I personally like the darker skin tone I gave him. Since TWST doesn’t have a lot of darker skinned or even tanned boys, I feel like it could’ve helped Neige be a bit more recognizable. This is just my opinion, but I wasn’t a huge fan of how pointed the ends of Neige’s hair was either. Snow White has a very soft design, especially when considering the era she came from. I thought a soft shapes and doe-like design for Neige would’ve made the contrast between him and Vil stand out more. As some of the reblogged tags pointed out, Vil has a mature appeal, and Neige’s is much more “innocent.” I thought Book 6 would have a bit more commentary on the nature of celebrity industry, because I thought it was fascinating how Neige didn’t seem taken aback from Rook’s stalker-ish behavior? It made me wonder if he’s used to it, especially since his character was meant to have a cuter and innocent appeal, compared to Vil who seems unapproachable. ANYWAY this ramble went on longer than I intended, it probably deserves its own post to talk even more 😭 I just really like Neige, I think he’s underrated but admittedly TWST didn’t exactly give him his chance to shine, especially in EN when his song was cut.

#twisted wonderland #twst #redesign #my art #twst neige #neige leblanche #twst Neige LeBlanche #kallistopost

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f1letters · 1 year

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snow on the beach | ls18

"you wanting me tonight feels impossible, but it's coming down"

summary: nothing would ever compare to the feeling of simultaneously falling in love with each other

warning: overall fluff, rom-com energy that WILL cure any heartbreak really, friends to lovers, mentions of alcohol, swearing, just a story about the exact moment when two people realize they fell in love with each other, not proofread (because my laptop is acting up and i'm done for today lol)

pairing: lance stroll x reader

word count: 3.2k

note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts, which includes memories from the past.

hey everyone! honestly I've been feeling a bit down lately so this Wednesday I indulged my (not so) secret (now) crush on lance stroll and decided to treat myself (and all the lance lovers ofc) to some well-deserved lance content, haha! and for the ones who don't like him... just give it a try anyways and trust the process haha! enjoy! 💜

masterlist

One night, a few moons ago

I saw flecks of what could've been lights

But it might just have been you

Passing by unbeknownst to me

Do you know the feeling of your soul inexplicably catching fire? Of losing control of your thoughts all at once? Of your body being filled with enthusiasm at the sight of someone?

Y/N was very familiar with the thrill that hovered every time their eyes met across the room, as lately, it seemed to happen every time the young woman shared the same space with him.

It didn't matter how much she tried to deny it, or how much she looked for other justifications that would explain the butterflies she felt in her stomach.

One thing was for sure: even in a room full of the most important people in her life, she still found herself continuously looking for his big, beautiful, brown eyes.

It was almost like he was the light in every room she entered.

The driver's lips curved gently, giving her a small lopsided smile as he returned his attention to her brother, bringing his glass back to his lips.

The girl's attention dropped from his eyes to his soft lips, studying the sensual way his mouth moved as he drank the rest of his whiskey.

I wonder how his lips would feel on m- Stop, what are you even thinking?! Y/N shook her head, letting out a quiet growl, as she stopped whatever fantasy her mind was trying to create before it was possible.

We're just friends. She thought, trying to convince herself that this was just a moment of weakness. Maybe not even that.

Okay, sure, Y/N and Lance seemed to get along beautifully, the two naturally gravitating towards each other every time they got together. But in reality, Y/N couldn't help thinking that he was just being nice, keeping his future brother-in-law's little sister company.

Glancing at the boy beside the Canadian, she saw Scotty who, as if reading the thoughts in his sister's head, turned towards her and gave her a small wave, followed by a hand gesture to invite her to join them.

Y/N laughed nervously, shaking her head, and decided to walk to the large dining room table to get some more appetizers on her plate.

Nothing like good food to entertain a confused girl.

Life is emotionally abusive

And time can't stop me quite like you did

And my flight was awful, thanks for asking

I'm unglued, thanks to you

Her eyes admired the decorations throughout the house, adorned in detail, without missing a single corner. It was clear that the eldest James sibling and his fiancée had set no limits on their housewarming party.

Their new home was simply magnificent. Its rustic stone walls perfectly complemented its wooden beams and columns, maintaining the house's original charm yet giving it a modern touch.

The living room led to a majestic timbered window where Y/N seemed to spend eternities admiring the view from the top of the snow-covered mountain.

This really is Scotty's dream, endless snow, she smiled unconsciously.

"Uh-oh, she's smiling." She heard the Australian beside her, her smile growing exponentially as he leaned his back against the wall next to the window. "This can only mean danger."

"Shut up, you idiot." The girl shoved his arm playfully, shaking her head in annoyance. "FYI, I was having a proud sister moment, but I'm glad you stopped me. I definitely needed someone to wake me up from my temporary madness episode."

"Aww, baby sis, you're sooo cute." Scotty pinched her cheek, just like he always did since they were little, in order to annoy her. He knew how much she hated when he did that, so it didn't come as a surprise when she slapped his hand away from her face. "Hey! This is a no-violence zone. Just because you're an adult now doesn't mean I won't tell Mum and Dad."

Y/N rolled her eyes at the image of the smirk on her brother's face. "Just leave me alone, Scott. Go piss off Chloe or something."

The girl turned back towards the food, picking up a small pastry for herself, while the boy put his arm around his sister's shoulders.

He sighed dramatically, although she could still hear the smile on his face. "And here I was thinking you were going to say that I should 'go piss off Lance'... But I'm sure you would rather have that task for yourself, right sis?"

Almost choking on the delicacy she was eating, the girl started to cough, drawing way too much unnecessary attention to her.

Scotty was informing everyone that she was fine, enjoying her reaction to his words too much, as her eyes rose from the table.

And she couldn't help but curse her bad luck when she found Lance at the other end of the room, right in front of her, wearing a concerned look on his face, as she almost choked to death.

At that moment, she realized not even time stopped her quite like he did.

But mostly, she realized she was completely and utterly fucked.

And it's like snow at the beach

Weird, but fuckin' beautiful

Flying in a dream

Stars by the pocketful

You wanting me

Tonight feels impossible

But it's comin' down

No sound, it's all around

Scotty was patting her on the back, trying to help her, but he was interrupted by the sudden movement of the girl turning towards him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" She was nervously fixing her hair, her voice still struggling to come out.

Her older brother couldn't contain his laughter, letting his hand rest on the girl's shoulder. "Oh, my sweet, sweet Y/N... Everyone knows you're head over heels for our boy Lance! No need to deny it, especially to your big bro."

"WHAT?!" She yelled, drawing all eyes in the room back to her. She chuckled lightly turning to the crowd. Before anyone could say anything, she grabbed Scotty's wrist and pulled him into the kitchen. "What?!" She scream-whispered now.

"You heard me." Scotty said, crossing his arms confidently in front of her chest. "You have a big fat crush on Lance and you know it, I know it, everyone knows it!"

"Only someone blind wouldn't be capable of seeing it!" He continued to tease her, having too much fun making her uncomfortable. "In fact, even a blind man could tell by the way you sigh all lovey-dovey every time he walks by you."

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do!"

"No, I don't!"

"Yes. You. Do." Scotty emphasized word for word, making the girl give up, even though she would never admit defeat. The man took advantage of her silence to provoke her even more. "Y/N and Lance, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-"

"Scott, stop! Are you a fucking child?" Y/N approached him, covering his mouth with her hand. "I hate you, I swear. Stop this nonsense!"

"Don't worry, baby sis, he likes you too. I'm sure of it." The snowboarder said, giving his sister a kiss on her temple and a final pat on the shoulder, and leaving her alone in the kitchen with her own thoughts.

Lance? Wanting me? That feels impossible. She thought to herself, feeling slightly disappointed.

But she never let those feelings hang in the air too long, immediately contradicting them.

It doesn't matter. I do not like him.

We're just friends.

Like snow on the beach

Like snow, ah

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall, Lance swept through the crowd anxiously in search of the girl that he couldn't seem to get out of his head ever since he laid eyes on her that afternoon.

Though he himself also denied his growing feelings for the young woman, Lance couldn't help but notice how his palms were sweating, or how his heart was beating faster.

He just couldn't help but feel worried when she disappeared in that state, leaving him wondering how she was.

Waking him up from his ceaseless search, a familiar hand landed on his shoulder, making him turn and find his sister with a sly smile on her face.

"Thank God you chose Formula 1 as a career because you would make a terrible actor."

"What on earth-"

"Get that lost puppy look off your face, Y/N's fine!" Chloe laughed, shaking her head. "Who knew? Two Strolls and two Jameses..."

"I'm not- I was just-" The driver found himself stuttering, unable to form a coherent sentence. "Jesus, Chloe, we're just friends! Friends care about each other. Don't start with this shit again."

"Mm-hmm, sure, friends." Chloe pretended to accept the repetitive excuse that came out of her brother's mouth every time. "I love it when you lie straight to my face just because you don't have the courage to admit that you have the hots for my favourite sister-in-law."

"I don't have the hots for-"

"Hey, watch it, pretty boy!" A voice appeared from behind him as the mysterious person quickly hugged the Canadian by his shoulders, causing his older sister to laugh uncontrollably. "It's my baby sister we're talking about here! Control your emotions, Romeo!"

"I- She- I don't-" Lance found himself in an even more awkward position again, suddenly turning into a deer in the headlights as he was caught off guard.

"Ahhh, kids." Scotty sighed, moving to his fiancée's side, leaning his head against hers without taking his eyes off the boy in front of him. "So young, so in love, and most of all... so stupid."

Lance threw his hands in the air in frustration, turning his back on the couple as he headed to the porch where he would be able to finally get rid of the two of them.

This scene feels like what I once saw on a screen

I searched "aurora borealis green"

I've never seen someone lit from within

Blurring out my periphery

Lance carefully opened the elegant glass doors, being immediately hit by the intense cold that settled at the top of the mountain as usual.

He silently thanked himself for remembering to put on his army green padded coat and his grey beanie on his head. He would never have been able to survive those freezing temperatures without them, even if his Canadian blood helped him a bit.

Another factor that quickly contributed to his body heating up was the girl sitting by herself on the wooden stairs.

As soon as his brown eyes landed on Y/N, the driver could have sworn his heart started pumping faster.

Just a coincidence, he thought, this is all Chloe's fault for putting these ideas in my head.

Gathering the little courage he had left to face these new feelings that were beginning to stir within him, Lance silently walked over to her and sat down on her left side, making the girl jump in fright.

"Oh my God, Lance!" She brought one of her black-gloved hands to her chest in shock, as the other one removed the AirPods from her ears. "You were about to give me a heart attack! Please don't scare a girl like that without warning."

"Sorry, sorry! It won't happen again!" He put his hand on top of her shoulder, laughing at her reaction.

He took a few moments of silence to watch as her eyes sparkled with excitement as she took in her surroundings.

"God, it's really beautiful up here, don't you agree?" She said, almost in a whisper.

Lance kept his gaze focused on her, not even thinking about taking his eyes off her beauty.

"Just like a movie scene."

My smile is like I won a contest

And to hide that would be so dishonest

And it's fine to fake it 'til you make it

'Til you do, 'til it's true

Unaware that he was subconsciously referring to her and not the dazzling snow that surrounded them, Y/N spoke in agreement. "It is, isn't it? I feel like I'm trapped in a Christmas movie or something." She laughed, eventually letting out a happy sigh. "They're going to love living here. I'm so happy for Scotty and Chloe, you know? They deserve this."

"Yeah, me too. They deserve more than anyone else to live their dream." Lance saw the girl shiver from the corner of his eye as she hug her own body closer. The driver moved closer to her and let his hands run up and down her arms to try to warm her up. "Are you cold? Do you want to go back in?"

"No, no! I'm fine! Just a little chilly, that's all, but thanks."

"Here." The boy removed the hat from his head, pulling it over her hair. The girl blushed at the affectionate gesture, not being able to hide the smile that was stamped on her face as if she had just won a contest. "That will make you stay warmer."

Now it's like snow at the beach

Weird, but fuckin' beautiful

Flying in a dream

Stars by the pocketful

You wanting me

Tonight feels impossible

But it's comin' down

No sound, it's all around

"Thanks, Lance. You didn't have to do that." The girl smoothed her hair shyly, pulling it behind her ear.

As it always seemed to happen, their eyes met, and couldn't let go. They were like magnets, drawn to each other. They just couldn't stand being apart from each other.

With no sound around them other than the muffled voices from inside the house, they both felt their stomachs drop as they both realized it simultaneously.

Fuck me, I'm completely in love with him, Y/N thought.

Fuck me, I'm madly in love with her, Lance thought.

Suddenly, all seemed to be coming down. The two felt consumed all around by the connection between them and they both knew they could no longer escape their undeniable attraction.

"I think I've had enough socializing for today," Lance said, charged with adrenaline. "Do you want to get out of here?"

"Lead the way, Stroll."

Like snow on the beach

Like snow, ah

The wind blew in through the open windows of the driver's Aston Martin as the two made their escape without anyone back at the party noticing.

The girl's hair was blowing in the breeze and, even though he knew he should keep his eyes on the road, Lance couldn't help but appreciate the moment and the fascinating smile she wore on her face as she sang to the song that echoed through the car.

God, she's just... absolutely gorgeous, he thought to himself.

A small smile appeared on his face, mirroring hers, as he imagined how much his older sister was going to piss him off for being right this whole time about the boy's crush on Scotty's sister.

Hopefully, the headache would pay off and he would have a chance to get the girl.

I can't speak, afraid to jinx it

I don't even dare to wish it

But your eyes are flying saucers from another planet

Now I'm all for you like Janet

Can this be a real thing? Can it?

"We're here." The boy said, parking the car in an empty lot with no one in sight.

"The beach! I love this place, how did you know?" Y/N jumped with joy, getting out of the car and letting her arms wrap around his shoulders without thinking too much about what she was doing. "Oh, sorry! I don't know what-"

She was about to pull away when Lance, driven by the realization of his most intimate emotions, pulled her closer to him by the waist. The girl's eyes widened as his face approached hers. "Just took a guess."

Oh but it wasn't a guess.

In all the years they'd known each other, Lance had found himself noticing every detail about Y/N.

The way her eyes sparkled when she talked about the happiest days of her life being at the beach.

How she bit her bottom lip every time someone asked her about her unstable career as an artist.

How she tugged the skins on her thumb impatiently whenever she didn't have her hands busy with some task.

Lance didn't know if he could speak, if he shouldn't wish for a chance with her.

He was scared, no, he was completely terrified of the idea that he might lose her.

Could they one day become a real thing?

Fuck it, he thought. It was now or never.

The driver went all-in and risked everything, moving closer to the girl as his eyes dropped to her plump lips.

He felt a gasp come out of her mouth, such was the way she was taken aback by his sudden move on her, but Lance didn't flinch and persisted on his way to her, until he felt her lips brush against his.

The two leaned towards each other, ready to be eternally consumed by their burning passion...

Until they felt a snowflake fall between their barely joined lips.

Are we falling like snow at the beach?

Weird, but fuckin' beautiful

Flying in a dream

Stars by the pocketful

You wanting me

Tonight feels impossible

But it's comin' down

No sound, it's all around

Y/N turned away from him as her eyes watched as the snow fell from the sky, painting the sand on the beach white.

"Is that-" Y/N couldn't believe her eyes.

"Snow? On the beach?" Lance replied, equally confused. "This is so-"

"Weird." "Fucking beautiful." The two spoke simultaneously, bursting into laughter at the difference in their reactions.

Like snow on the beach (Snow on the beach)

Like snow on the beach (Flying in a dream)

Like snow on the beach (You wanting me)

Like snow, ah

But it's comin' down

No sound, it's all around

Lance's hand came up to the face of the girl in front of him, stroking her jaw with his thumb as he pressed his lips to hers not wanting to risk the moment being interrupted again.

His mouth pressed over her slightly pursed lips, starting with a gentle kiss and building in intensity as they both lost themselves in the moment for what felt like forever.

"I don't know how to put this into words but... Y/N, you are the most amazing, beautiful, fascinating girl I've ever met. Since I laid eyes on you, I've been head over heels for you. I've tried to deny it- Well, more because Chloe kept bugging me about my crush on you." The driver began to ramble on with the nervousness that came with his feeble attempt at a declaration of love. "Anyway, focus Lance! Y/N, you- You are everything. I-"

"Lance." The girl laughed, placing her hands on either side of his face and placing a quick kiss on his mouth. "I love you too."

"Yeah, those are the exact words I meant to say." He laughed, reuniting their lips once again, as they both got lost in their own little wonderland.

Like snow on the beach

(It's comin' down, it's comin' down)

taglist: @dan3avocado @starxqt @roseinnej @spiidergirlsworld @ccloaned @hotpigeon22 @dr3lover @lovelytsunoda @primadonnasdream @luxebeautystyle @wallfloweriism @ilivefortheleague @gwynethhberdara @satellitelh @adavenus @audreyscodes @wifeoflucyboynton @th6ccnsp6cyy @classifiedsblog @flyingmushroomss @motylekrozi @claramllera @gabrielamaex @handsupforamiracle @pierre-gasssllyy @lorenaloveslewis

@idkiwantchocolatee @simpforsunwoo @kissatelier @xweirdxsceletton @micksmidnights @miniminescapist @inchidentwithmax @hopelesslyromantics-world @alwaysclassyeagle @indieclarke @capela-miranda @okokoksblog @pulpfixion @sins-only33 @sainzclerc @allisonxf1 @honethatty12

@amsofftrack @scuderiamh @junkiespromise @loudoperahumanoidpanda @honeyric3 @holy-macncheese-balls @ricciardosheart @pierreverstapkin @ravenqueen27 @majkaftorek @home-of-disaster @buendiabebeta @itgirlofnowhere @roses-of-eden @thewintersunset @rubychocolatechips

(taglist continues in the comments)

thank you to everyone that asked to be tagged! please let me know if you want to be added to the next stories! 💌

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scorpiomoon-444 · 1 year

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Ma nìt’iluke (my forever) [prologue]

pairing: f!omatikaya!reader x neteyam (vs. ao’nung). soon.

Inspired by Jake Sully’s:

“Happiness is simple... The thing about happiness is that it can vanish in a heartbeat.”

summary: initially a human!reader falls for best friend!neteyam, but an unforeseen visit from the Sky People inevitably brings change, alas, introducing you to a foreign feeling every soul encounters inevitably at some point in their life time, heartbreak.

word count: 2.7k

warning(s): aged-up!neteyam, brief use of Y/N, mentions of character death, grief, almost friends-to-lovers trope, you have been warned there will be angst by the end of the series (and chapter) not this particular prologue though.

word bank: pup - short / sa’nok - mother / ‘evenge - child / nena (spanish) - baby / seykxel - strong (emotionally, spiritually) / siva ko - rise, courage, you can do it

NOTE* this is not complete, i have only included ages 6 and 7 for this prologue and have yet to complete reader’s life (ages 8-19, as the characters will be aged up to 19 in my fic) leading up to a visit from the RDA. regardless, pls enjoy x

[6] seis

“Anyway, I think you’ll like his children just as much as him,” Your father tells you, his larger figure knelt beside your smaller frame.

You stand before the large metal door of the building. Your brows furrow in question, big, round eyes full of wonder and curiosity. “What if they don’t like me?” Your voice is small, weighed down by uncertainty, your brown orbs flicker with doubt for a moment.

Your father’s face softens and he offers you an encouraging smile. “What’s there not to like?” He taps your nose playfully as the words leave his mouth. “Come on, now.” He stands from position. “Spider is waiting for—”

“I don’t want Spider, I want Jake,” You interrupt, a pouty expression transforming your features.

Your father’s face almost instantly deadpans at the suggestion of bringing Jake instead, as he originally planned for Spider to introduce you. He sends you another encouraging smile upon hearing your whiny tone. “Nena...” He begins reluctantly, his hand scratching at the back of his head. The word, a term of endearment he adopted for you in remembrance of your mother and honor of her culture. Your father contemplates his next selection of words, a pondering expression displayed on his face before he takes a knee again to match your height.

“How about I take you instead?” He asks cautiously in a soft manner, well aware of how stubborn you can get when Jake isn’t in the picture. He can only pray to Eywa that the heartening smile he sends your way will have you agree to his suggestion.

Your cocoa-colored eyes light up in excitement at the idea for a fleeting moment, before there’s a pout tugging at your lips again.

“No, I want Jake!”

“Remember, you never take the mask off, okay?” Your father’s voice echoes in the hallway, scurrying to keep up, visibly distracted by several monitors and technological screens as you pass through the Bio-Lab.

“She’s stepped foot outside before, Norm.” You practically hear Jake’s voice in your ear, your small frame enveloped in his larger arms. His hand finds the handle to the exit.

“Maybe it’ll be better if I come with y—”

Jake swings the door open, turning on his heels with you still in his arms. “They need you here, Norm,” He persists with a shake of his head, to which your father simply deadpans with glaring eyes. “Besides, she’ll be right outside with me, and she’ll love meeting the kids.” Before your father could protest, you’re both out the door, no longer in his sight.

“She’s more pup than Spider.”

As a young, six-year-old human child, who is rarely exposed to other Na’vi, you are no fluent speaker of what you perceive to be a foreign language. Regardless, having a xenolinguist as a father, especially in that of the Na’vi language, is gratefully used to your advantage. You understand that pup translates to short in English. It isn’t much of a challenge to place the puzzle pieces of his statement together. You assume the Na’vi boy encircling you finds amusement in poking fun at your height. This is confirmed when the Na’vi girl before you hisses at the words that roll off his tongue mockingly, his naturally larger figure still slowly circling around you in delight.

“Lo’ak.” Her amber eyes shoot daggers at the boy, which you assume to be his name.

“Penis face.”

Lo’ak’s face scrunches up in confusion with an instant tilt of his head, mirroring his sisters expression. He doesn’t have a chance to reply to what he perceives as random mumbles of sounds he fails to recognize, though your brassy tone sounds defensive enough to indicate to him you understood his previous comment. That’s when Jake—who initially was amused by the interaction, upon hearing your words, almost immediately takes your small frame into his arms, interrupting the conversation that would inevitably emerge.

“Y/N,” Jake attempts to scold, but his stern demeanor fails to convince you of his disapproval when his facade crumbles with a very subtle, yet seemingly amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“That isn’t a nice thing to say,” He tells you, recomposing himself, and resumes with a look of disapproval. He remembers calling out to Norm and referring to your father as penis face, where you actually learned the term from Jake himself. The vivid memory betrays him when it prompts a stifled chuckle to rumble through his chest, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

And so, you meet Lo’ak and Kiri first, at the youthful age of six. They are only five at the time, a year younger, as you were born not too long after the Pandoran War. Despite this, your frame is much smaller compared to their naturally larger build.

Your introduction to the youngest Sully kids, at the time, presents you with few glimpses of the Pandoran forest as you often meet no further than past the withered fences that still slightly guard Hell’s Gate, the place you call home.

Jake entrusts your father enough with the responsibility of looking after his young ones. The two youngest Sully children often spend their time with you in the lab for the first couple months of your newly formed friendships, finding entertainment in the little things you are far too familiar with and bored of. Though, you never take their company for granted, fully aware of how your life has truly evolved in the best way possible upon their presence in your life. You aren’t afraid to admit to them, and often if not, are very open to displaying your appreciation and fondness for them through small acts of physical affection, casually sharing hugs and cuddles, sometimes attacking them mostly Lo-ak from behind which ends with a piggyback ride most of the time. As smaller children, your linguistic differences with the Sullys doesn’t interfere with your horseplay or shenanigans in the lab. Which your father isn’t very fond of.

[7] siete

You stare at the large, what you understand to be lifeless, N’avi body encased in the great tank of water. It seems so large, evidently in comparison to your small, human frame. You mindlessly tap on the glass, intrigued by the sight in front of you.

“Kiri’s sa’nok?” You repeat your father’s words after he explains to you the complicated situation, that which involves Kiri and her biological mother. This is when Kiri is first introduced to her in the lab. As a scientist, and now leader of the RDA’s Avatar Program, your father prepares to introduce Grace’s encased Avatar form to Kiri. “Yes, ‘evenge.” Norm is too preoccupied with one of the monitors in the lab to notice the confusion that transforms your features.

“’Evenge?” You repeat after him once again with a small tilt of your head.

“Child,” He translates absentmindedly, still focusing his undivided attention to the monitor. If you weren’t so distracted by the newly introduced Na’vi word, your heart generally would have ached at the mention of a mother, a figure in your life you consistently wished for. You frown upon noticing your father’s behavior, much too occupied to pay any regard to you.

Lo’ak and Kiri should have arrived by now. Probably with Jake. Because for some time now, your father has heavily placed emphasis on the importance of today. Your father speaks to you about how maybe he could take you out to the forest tomorrow to introduce to you the foreign plants and life within the beautiful Pandoran forest you so desperately yearn to see.

“If there’s time.”

You’ve grown to dislike that phrase, utilized by him so often within the past couple of weeks. Your eyes wander around the lab, scanning every little object, screen, and monitor you haven’t already taken the time to observe before. You grow impatient as your father continues to speak, and abruptly tune his voice out, much too distracted by the view the window beside the exit offers you. Turning your head to catch a glimpse of your distracted father, who continues to ramble and give you his back as he does so, you silently slip past the window. Your eyes jump to your father from time to time, between him and focusing on trying to take the encased mask from the clear compartment against the wall right beside the exit.

You somehow manage to make it to the fence successfully without your father taking notice of your absence. Still, you don’t waste any time in figuring out how far you can get before he eventually does as you embark on finding Kiri and Lo’ak on your own terms. They shouldn’t be too deep into the forest, probably nearing you.

Besides, you knew exactly where you would wait for them. A little further past the doddering fences that still slightly guard your home, there’s an open, visible area of higher ground with a very large tree. A spot at which you’ve greeted Kiri and Lo’ak from as they approached the labs. Their figures disappear into the unknown depths of the Pandoran forest trees for a mere ten seconds before you spot them again as they near your awaiting figure at the fence.

Upon reaching the fences, you look over your shoulder once more, turning back to make sure your father isn’t following behind you. Upon realizing there’s no one in sight, absolutely no witness, you don’t hesitate to set foot in the foreign, forbidden forest. Your small feet take you only as far as a couple of meters before you go stumbling down from an area of higher ground, yelping in pain before a large tree halts your hurtling with a crash.

You huff and dust yourself off before standing on your feet again, disoriented for a moment. Too focused on, yet slightly careless with trying to slip away from Hell’s Gate in an attempt to escape without anyone noticing, you finally pay mind to your surroundings. Sounds of chirps and humming insects fill your ears. The familiar Pandoran trees, much too tall to inspect fully from where you stand at the base of the trunk, tower over foreign flora and plant life just as large. You listen intently to the noises of critters accompanied by the sounds of the breeze dancing through the large flora.

Small, enchanting species fly and pass you by, round eyes full of wander and awe as they follow the small creatures passing the life that garner your attention next. It’s an overwhelmingly large, deep-colored mauve mushroom. Probably about five times your size, and your eyes are quick to find more than one of them—numerous placed near the area that you tumbled into. Despite your father’s constant reminder of the dangers of Pandora, your delighted orbs, intrigued mind and curious hands don’t think twice about reaching out to touch one of the towering mushrooms.

Almost.

Your fascination at the immense, foreign mushroom is short-lived by the abrupt, blaring, almost shrieking sound. It’s deafening, and alerting, it precipitates you to cover your ears with your hands, panic now painting your features as terror begins to set in. Your frantic eyes pinpoint the source of the ugly, wailing sound that of which the wind elicits—a large, exotic looking herb, about seven meters in height twice the size of the mushrooms!!! with a curved, tubular plant body. The realization wipes the panic off your face as your hands fall back to your sides, uncovering your ears. To your inconvenience, and much to your dismay, your reflexes are far too protracted for you to register the ejection of very large spines coming from the massive herb flying directly in your direction, as if targeted.

That’s when a pair of arms instantaneously sweep you off your feet with one swift motion before you’re unexpectedly swinging through the forest for a fleeting moment. After gently being placed on your feet, you finally grasp the unfolding situation at hand upon finally noticing.

Before you stands a Na’vi boy.

Your eyes find his feet first as they travel up to meet his studying gaze. He looks at you intently, almost observing momentarily, his slightly taller figure engenders him to leer down at you, a frown very lightly tugging on the corners of his mouth. Almost peeved. Perhaps displeased, disturbed?

Though upon noticing your gentle, confused expression, his features soften. Converts into one of patience. His golden orbs hold an understanding as they observe you with such lightness. A gentleness. He looks about your age, and note that he isn’t much taller or older looking than Lo’ak, who’s only a year younger than you, implying that the Na’vi boy scrutinizing you is around your age.

He blinks at you a couple of times, almost as if contemplating his next move, the brewing of ideas illustrated on his face and honey-coated eyes.

He doesn’t give you the chance to speak a word before he grabs you by the shoulders gently, twirling you around as his eyes examine your small frame for any injuries. He proceeds with pulling you by the wrist, instructing to follow right behind him.

It isn’t long before he has you reaching the proximity of your home, the area you initially planned to wait at earlier momentarily gives you access to view what you call home, before you’re back in the deep, towering unfamiliarity of the forest.

Passing through the original spot indicates your arrival at the fences of Hell’s gate should be any moment now, probably with a frantic father awaiting your safe return. A frantic Dad who will probably punish you.

“What’s your name?” Your eyes are glued to the grip he has on your wrist, but your voice holds benevolence, cautious in determining the correct approach to the unknown Na’vi boy whom rescued your reckless, little human life. He saved you. You assume he doesn’t understand your words when he disregards you and proceeds with leading the path, seemingly determined to return you home. Nevertheless, he spares you a glance and small smile when he looks back at you over his shoulder.

“Y/N,” He says, almost unknowingly as if in question, presuming with looking straight ahead to guide you properly with caution.

He’s quick to notice the way your hand flies to your chest indicating his assumed interpretation of your foreign language is correct, further proved by your squeals of excitement. “Yes! That’s me!” You cheer at his response with so much enthusiasm, fascinated by his comprehension, and evidently delighted by his understanding in the topic of names.

Before you can ask him how he knows yours, the doddering fences of your home come into view and a small frown upon realization paints your face. The very little time you’ve spent in the forest has been so much more exhilarating, more lively than your time in the lab combined. With the obvious exception of Lo’ak and Kiri’s company (you adore your besties). The Na’vi boy releases his hold on your wrist ahead of reaching your destination. He gives you a short-lived grin prior to the cognizance of your immediate switch in expression, his face slightly faltering to match yours.

A little past the worn-down, withered fences, a small figure appears from behind the exit, followed by a crashing slam of the metal doors garnering the attention of both of you.

“Y/N, is that you?” You recognize you father’s voice, full of distress. He calls out to you from a distance as he squints his eyes for a clearer view.

You direct your attention back to the Na’vi boy who stands before you. “Seykxel siva ko,” He says gently and offers you a smile, his hand finding its way to pat your head, almost encouragingly. Upon noticing the way his golden eyes focus way past your figure, you turn back to glance over your shoulder to see what he gazes so intently at. Only to realize your father is scurrying in your direction, seemingly and understandably in a panic.

You whip your head to redirect your attention back to the Na’vi boy only to discover that he’s already gone, leaving you only with the rustling sounds of the forest trees accompanied by the scolds of your disgruntled father.

#neteyam #atwow neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam fic #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #avatar the way of water #avatar 2009 #avatar 2 #neteyam edit #loak x reader #loak sully #avatar loak #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak x y/n #lo'ak sully #loak edit #jake sully

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bravevulnerability · 7 months

Note

ooh, season 3 or 4 halloween party?

A/N: We're going with season three. Set post 3x06, 3XK.

"Hey, what are you doing hiding out from your own party?"

Rick glances up in surprise at the sound of Beckett's voice. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he assesses her. "You're... a pirate?"

She shrugs and snags the exaggerated pirate's cap from her head. It's the only portion of her outfit that is a costume; her slacks, sweater, and trench coat complete the rest of her typical work attire.

"It was either this or witch hat - it's all they had left at the little pop-up shop a block over," she grins, toying with the glittering gold lining of the hat's rim. "I figured this was a bit more original."

"I applaud your efforts," he smiles back at her, watching as she moves deeper into his office. She leans her hip against his desk, arms crossed and brow arched.

"Thank you. Now, back to my question."

"I'm just... not in the mood," he murmurs, craning his neck to check the status of the party past his walls of bookshelves. "No one notices I'm gone anyway, they're fine."

"I noticed." She says it a little too quickly, and he watches her cheeks tinge pink. "Castle, you love Halloween. You start planning your yearly Halloween party in March-"

"I know, I know," he huffs, spinning away from her in his desk chair. "I'm just not feeling the spooky spirit tonight, Beckett. Give me a break."

She doesn't respond, but he can hear the quiet pierce of her heels in the soft plush of the rug. They stop in front of him.

"Castle."

He lifts his gaze to find her leaning against his window, blocking his steadfast glare of the city lights. She looks beautiful as always and he wants to stand, frame her hips in his hands, tower over her body with the cove of his.

"I'm not in the mood to celebrate. Not while Tyson is still out there."

She nods, not a hint of her surprise at the admission.

"It's not your fault, you know." Her words are soft, a balm to his rattled mind. All he sees when he closes his eyes is Jerry Tyson, the women he killed. He can't write, can't sleep, not without imagining the Triple Killer's future victims. "Rick."

"I know," he sighs automatically, pushing up from the desk. "I'll be fine, Beckett. Now, let me just change into my costume and we'll-"

She catches his arm, thin fingers curling into the crook of his elbow. Staying him.

His eyes flick down to find hers, staring back at him with concern swirling dark in the browns and greens of her irises.

"I know it's easy to focus on the bad, on the what if's and the worst case scenarios, trust me," she murmurs, her thumb moving slowly back and forth along his bicep. "But you could have died that night, Castle. We'll catch Tyson, but for now, I just want to focus on the positives. Like how you are alive."

"Until he comes back," Rick hisses, something terrible and aching rising up from the depths of his chest. "He made it personal, Kate. He's going to come back and come after me, Ryan. And what if that's not enough? What if he targets my family - my daughter, my mother, you-"

"Hey." Her hands are cold when they touch his cheeks, directing his attention to her, steadying his focus on her and her alone. The heavy pound of his heart begins to slow, to ease. "No one is coming after Alexis, or Martha, or Ryan, or-"

"You," he growls, reaching for the sharp points of her hips just like he wanted to earlier. She lets him and he doesn't even pause to relish in that. He keeps having dreams of finding her with a rope around her neck and wakes drenched in sweat and grief, his throat raw with sobs scraping at his trachea. "Kate, no one touches you-"

"Okay, okay," she whispers, one of her hands drifting into his hair, fingers curling behind his ear. "We'll protect each other, have each other's backs. No matter what Tyson does."

His eyes flutter shut and he lets his cheek fall heavy against her palm.

"I'm sorry," he sighs under his breath. "I just... I'm having these dreams and I can't stop thinking - it's killing me, Kate."

An arm hooks around his neck and she's pulling him into her, letting him bury his face in her neck, his fingers delving beneath her coat to clutch at her sweater. She rubs his back, soothing patterns up and down the bow of his spine, and cups his nape with the palm of her hand. For the first time in days, he can breathe evenly.

He's not sure how long they remain like that, his body bent over hers, arms entangled around each other's frames, the city lights glittering behind them.

The pop of a champagne bottle, the cheers of his guests, startle them apart, but only enough to have him looking down at her, foreheads nearly touching, her eyes drifting to his mouth.

A trembling hand rises between them, her fingers dusting across his bottom lip. Her eyes flutter closed and Kate exhales heavily.

"How's Gina?" she rasps, fingers tripping down his throat to rest at the neck of his sweater.

He wishes he could say he cared to even think of Gina in that second, that he thought of her at all in the last few minutes, but it would be a lie. The only thing on his mind in this moment is closing the distance between his mouth and Kate's, pressing her up against the window and slotting every piece of their bodies into place. The only thing on his mind is carrying Kate Beckett to his bed.

Rick knocks his forehead against hers.

"She's out of town, business trip," he croaks, quickly clearing his throat. "Kate-"

"I know." Her hand falls lower on his chest, lingering above his heart. Imprinting her claim there. "Go put on your costume, Castle."

He closes his eyes for a long moment, forces himself to think about his girlfriend, her boyfriend - to remember who he and Kate Beckett are. And what they are not.

"Thank you," he murmurs, squeezing her arm and pulling away from her with great effort. "For being here. For listening."

She offers him a smile that makes him ache. "Always."

He snags her hat from her desk, plops it atop her head. "And for making spirits bright."

Her smile grows and she adjusts the pirate's cap as he starts towards his bedroom.

"Oh, and Castle?" He turns, just in time to catch a piece of candy she pulls from her coat pocket, tosses his way. He glances down quizzically at orange and black wrapper, the picture of peanuts and potato chips beneath the label. "Trick or treat."

"Peanut butter chocolate and potato chip?" he grins, looking up at her with amusement building in his cheek.

She shrugs, gives him one of those rare, genuine Kate Beckett smiles. "Made me think of you."

And then she's turning on her heel, heading back into the party as the Monster Mash begins to blast through his living room.

Happy Halloween, indeed.

#castle fanfiction #castle x beckett #castle au #kinda #kate beckett #richard castle #castle #3x06 #mine

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senorabond · 7 months

Text

Rumor Has It: Chapter 2 (Peña x f!reader x Pike)

Pairings: Javier Pena x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Pena x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 2 Summary: You’re reviewing the case file Javi gave you when a memory of your last night in D.C. distracts you. After a bit of a brainstorm, you decide it’s finally time to call Marcus back and get his opinion. He always has the right words.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: masturbation (f!reader), flashback, thigh riding, oral sex (f receiving), semi-public/workplace sex (evidence locker after hours), hand on throat for control, Dom/sub dynamic, soft Dom!Marcus, praise kink, you are such a good girl

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem/afab. Marcus is strong enough to lift Reader up onto the edge of a table (no mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color), Reader has hair long enough for Marcus to brush away from face, Marcus is super thoughtful and thorough when planning for sexy times

Words: ~4.5k

Author's Notes: A huge thank you again to @kilamonster for being my wonderful beta, talking me through my fear of posting dirty talk, and letting me bounce random porny ideas off her. <3

Again, there’s no specific time/setting, I just really wanted to get both Javi and Marcus together in the same story. In my mind, Javi is post-s3 of Narcos, and Marcus is somewhere around/after s7ep1 of The Mentalist.

I learned basically everything I know about the court system from true crime TV and podcasts, so the legalese here is purposefully vague. I have no idea what it would take to prosecute a federal case, lol. However, I did find some interesting information while researching art fraud/money laundering! I’m happy to share links to my sources if anybody is interested.

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

Later that night, you sit cross-legged on your bed, the various photos and documents from Peña spread out around you. You can see why he was so adamant about Customs involvement – there was enough circumstantial evidence in front of you for some lower-level courts to convict. Peña doesn’t strike you as the type to take chances though, not at this point in his career. If he’s making an arrest, he wants a case airtight, no room for technicalities or sympathetic juries. He’ll have worked with enough federal prosecutors to know what he needs to put bastards away and keep them there.

You think back to your conversation with Peña for what must be the twelfth time since that afternoon. It’s still difficult to reconcile the reputation with the man. Javier Peña, the senior DEA agent, was by reputation a force of nature; women and men alike wanted him and wanted to be him. He is unapologetically brash, arrogant, and always gets his way. If he believes something is worth getting, he’ll do whatever it takes, even if he has to use less than savory channels.

Javier Peña, the man, is intense, focused, driven, and has some of the saddest, most beautiful, big brown eyes you’d ever seen. He has a level of self-awareness you hadn’t expected. He struggles with asking for help, even if he can recognize his own limitations.

With a sigh, you take the wire transcript in hand and lean back against the pillows propped up against the headboard. The conversation had thankfully already been translated from Spanish with the original attached for reference. You had basic Spanish under your belt from high school and learned some choice slang from friends and exes, but you didn’t know nearly enough to comprehend the entire conversation on paper in front of you.

The men were discussing various works of art and their estimated values at auction and on the black market. One of the men, Castano, was insisting he could simply forge a copy of a famous painting since it was “just a bunch of splattered paint” that “didn’t look like anything anyway.” You chuckled to yourself.

You used to think the same thing about the abstract expressionism paintings you’d seen until somebody actually took the time to explain the meaning behind the movement. Agent Marcus Pike knew a lot about art – it was his job, after all, as head of the FBI’s art crimes unit in D.C. You worked closely with Pike and his squad to close a major case before you put in for the transfer to Texas. The two of you had spent a lot of time together and grown close, developing a mutual professional respect before things had ever gotten personal.

Your thoughts travel back to the last time Pike taught you something about art. It’s a bittersweet thought, since that was also your last night in D.C., and the last time you saw him. You’d come so close to saying more than you were ready to admit, and certainly more than you were ready to hear in return.

With a sigh, you drop the transcript on the bed and fall back onto your pillows. That last night in D.C. was also the last time you experienced an orgasm you didn’t give yourself. More than one, actually.

Your mind floods with images and sensations from that night and, rather unconsciously, your hands begin to retrace the parts of your body Marcus had touched. Fingertips ghost over the crook of your neck and across your collarbone to the collar of your worn t-shirt. Marcus’ t-shirt, actually. You’d stolen it unapologetically when he’d forgotten it at your place and told him it looked better on you anyway. Marcus had agreed, and then shown just how much better he liked it on you.

While your one hand is occupied at your breast, the other busies itself at the waistband of your panties. Eyes closed, you slide a finger over your dampening slit, remembering the path Marcus’ tongue traveled as your breath hitches. God, that man could use his mouth. And he loved to use it on you. You let the memory of that night wash over you…

Washington, D.C. 6 months ago

“There is one thing I need right now.” You feel a bit giddy at your recklessness, but any nerves you might have are quelled when Marcus runs the tip of his nose up your jawline to your ear.

“And what’s that? Hm?” He inhales your scent and hums with pleasure. Before you can stop yourself, you shift the hand at Marcus’ hip to his crotch. When you feel how hard he already is you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Marcus inhales sharply through his nose at your touch, then lets out a groan in your ear at your gentle squeeze. “Tell me what you need.” His five o’clock shadow rasps against your sensitive skin as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth.

“I need you to show me that evidence locker you haven’t shut up about since we met.”

~~~

Pike stands behind you in the elevator in case you happen upon anybody else working late at the office. The odds are low, except for the contracted private security officers, but you didn’t think they’d want to see Pike’s hardon either. He’s so close, he’s almost pressed against your back while caressing a palm over your ass. You try to keep a straight face, but are practically panting through parted lips.

“You’ve been wanting this for a long time, haven’t you?” Marcus asks, his voice low in your ear as he leans over to push the button for the correct floor. His tone is almost conversational, but you can feel the thread of excitement pulling taut between your bodies. He’d been teasing you with the idea of fucking you in the art squad’s evidence locker for months now, going into great detail about what he was going to do to you – you only had to ask.

You nod silently in response as the elevator doors close, and Pike grips your waist, grinding his erection into your lower back. “Yes,” your breath huffs out. He likes you to use your words, and strokes your arm with an approving hum.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” Your nipples harden at his words and your breath comes out shakily.

Marcus was the first person you’d ever been with to call you a good girl. You never thought you’d be into the kind of gentle dominance and steady stream of praise Marcus employed with you, but it made all the right synapses fire in your brain and took the experience to an entirely different level.

You nod again, playing the game, knowing what he wants to hear.

Marcus’ hand splays across your lower belly, the other sweeping gently across your throat and brushing your hair away from your face. He’s pressing into you, the energy coming off him in waves, leaving you feeling heady.

“Say it for me.” It’s spoken softly, coaxing, but still an unmistakable command.

“I’ll be a good girl for you.” Your voice has the slightest waver, but ends strong.

Marcus’ hand on your belly inches lower and heat radiates between your thighs. “I know you will.”

The doors of the elevator open with a ding that makes you jump, and Marcus moves back with a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. Gently, he guides you with a hand between your shoulder blades. You’re on one of the underground levels, where the low ceilings and fluorescent lights are stark reminders that you’re both still in a government building and cameras are watching your every move.

A security guard rounds a corner and Marcus clears his throat, then moves to button his suit jacket, presumably to hide his erection. How he manages to walk with that thing when it’s hard, you’ll never know.

The guard waves amiably. “Good evening, Agent Pike. What’re you still doing here so late?” Of course Pike knows the guard; probably knows his kids’ names too.

“Just had something to finish off first.” Biting your tongue to keep from laughing, the two of you pass the guard. “Oh yeah, tell Rosie good luck at her big match this weekend.” You nearly snort. The men share a brief handshake and you and Marcus round the corner, the door to the evidence lockup just ahead.

The two of you share a heated look and Marcus smirks. He swipes his badge and the door unlocks with a small snick. You’re guided inside a dark room that could be the size of a storage closet for all you can see. Marcus flips one of the light switches, and sturdy floor-to-ceiling shelving units are illuminated on either side, hedging you in like a maze. So far, it looks like any other evidence room, except with mood lighting.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” you mutter, and Marcus chuckles. As he leads you along the shelves towards some unknown destination, long shadows from the meager overhead light throw the long rows and corners into darkness.

He takes your hand and explains, “The lighting, temperature, and humidity are all controlled by a central system. Same kind as in the National Gallery.” You nod, genuinely impressed.

“You don’t keep all your evidence here, right?” The room was large, but most of the shelving space was taken up by various sized crates and archival boxes. Marcus shakes his head.

“Just the very valuable pieces that need to be kept under special conditions. Any other evidence is kept in a regular lockup.” Marcus stops and you come up short, nearly colliding with his broad back. “Oh,” you breathe, peering around him and knowing this is what he wanted to show you.

The maze of shelving units opens up onto what looks like a miniature museum exhibit. Paintings are hung on the walls or staged on easels and covered with drop cloths. Sculptures are on pedestals in glass cases along one wall, and to your right are a few chairs next to an expansive table.

Marcus approaches the paintings and proceeds to carefully remove the drop cloths from each work of art. They vary in style, color, expression, and movement. Some of them are encased in elaborate frames, while others are plain, or bare. Now this is what you’d hoped for after all these months hearing Marcus speak of this place in near reverent tones. This evidence lockup could rival most well-funded galleries and museums.

“Are these all forgeries?” You take a step closer to the nearest painting and inspect it – for what, you’re not sure. “Stolen?”

“A bit of both.” Marcus sidles up behind you. Your voices remain hushed, private, intimate.

Hands casually in his pockets, he takes you on a tour of the evidence on display, telling you a bit about each piece – what made the art valuable enough to forge or steal, and a few particulars about each case. He is in his element here, the picture of quiet confidence. Passion laces his every word and brings a spark to his eyes that you’d only seen a few times before when you were about to crack a case.

You have never felt more attracted to him.

Coming up to the last painting, you cock your head to the side and give it a quizzical stare. It’s abstract, composed of a muted yet warm palette. The paint is blended with no discernable lines or shapes.

“What is it?” you ask, looking up in time to see Marcus’ dimple appear next to his gentle smile.

“What do you see?” Marcus steps behind you again, and runs the tips of his fingers up and down your arms.

“I… I’m not sure. What am I supposed to see?” The texture of the paint is layered in some spaces, and there’s almost an ethereal glow emanating from its contrast of light and dark. You feel a bit embarrassed and uncultured. Maybe if you squint or let your vision blur, like it’s one of those magic eye puzzles that give you headaches.

“What I love about abstract art is that there’s no right or wrong answer. I hated it until we studied it in school. I always thought I was missing something, and got frustrated that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.”

You let out a soft hmm of agreement, but are distracted by Marcus’ voice, hot on your ear, lips close enough to graze the sensitive shell. “It was this quote by an artist, Arshile Gorky, that helped me appreciate it more. To paraphrase, abstraction frees the mind and allows it to explore the unknown. Whatever you see is what you’re meant to see.”

You let your mind rest on his words, buzzing from the energy between you. With a smirk, you say, “I bet you got laid a lot in school.”

Marcus gives a surprised chuckle. “I did alright,” he admits, and you hear the grin in his voice.

Turning to face him, you run your hands up his chest and under the lapels of his jacket to his shoulders. Marcus sighs, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you closer. That spark in his eye is trained on you now, his pupils blown while they skate over your face under hooded lids.

“What’s next on the tour?” Your voice comes out a bit hoarse, his gaze almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Marcus smiles, somewhat mischievously. “Just one more thing. C’mon,” he takes your hand and starts leading you to the large table and chairs. “I think you’re going to like this part.”

Leaving you at the edge of the table, Marcus goes to one of the nearby shelves and pulls out a large cardboard envelope from a box, nearly the size of one of the paintings. With the flip of a switch, the entire surface of the table illuminates, humming gently from the internal fan. He pulls out what looks to be a sheet of dark plastic film and lays it on top of the table, revealing an x-ray image.

Marcus’ face is like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “This is an x-ray of that painting over here,” he points to the abstract work you’d been standing at a moment before. The x-ray on the table is a ghostly, black-and-white rendering of the muted swaths of paint. “And here,” he lays a second image down on the table, “is another x-ray taken of the same painting at different settings.”

You nearly gasp. It’s virtually a different image entirely. The abstract painting has been reduced to a haze, overlaying a distinct pastoral landscape. Leaning over the table for a closer look, you feel a pleasantly warm glow on your face from the lit surface. “What the…” Your eyes snap back to Marcus’ face, which is lit up with what you can only describe as glee.

“So you like it?” His eyes are sparkling and that dimple you love so much has reappeared. “‘Like it?’” You scoff. “I love it, Marcus, this is incredible. But…” you gesture at the images, “What exactly does that mean in terms of evidence?” Marcus comes around to your side of the table.

“The first one is a radiographic image of that painting we looked at, which could have told us if there were any traces of minerals or other elements within the paint used. Modern paint pigments are synthetic,” Marcus pulls the first image closer and gestures to the different shades of gray. “But–” he slides the second image next to the first, with its outlines of rolling hills and fluffy clouds, “Historically, heavy metals were frequently used, like lead and cobalt.”

Nodding along with the lesson, you put two and two together. “So the heavy metals in old paint would show through on an x-ray, even if somebody has painted over it.” Marcus is beaming at you, clearly happy that you made the connection.

“Exactly. And then the synthetic paint could be removed later.” Turning to face you, he rests a hip on the edge of the table. The surface light casts dramatic shadows across the contours of his jaw and nose. You mirror his body language and reach out to poke him playfully in the chest.

“No fair; the FBI gets all the fun toys.” The cool satin of his tie slips deftly between your fingers, and you give it a gentle tug. His gaze is alert and hungry as he takes a step closer, and you can feel your body responding to his proximity once again. Marcus trails a finger across your clavicle that sends a chill down your spine and tingles straight to your nipples.

“Yeah, but if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll share.” Threading his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull, he pulls gently but purposefully until your head tilts back and you’re forced to meet his eyes. A shuddering breath escapes your parted lips. Marcus leans in and grazes his lips against yours, barely a whisper of a kiss. His tongue traces the sensitive inner edge of your top lip and you nearly let out a whimper.

“Go on, then. Ask me.” He nips at your bottom lip. “Nicely.”

“Please,” you breathe. Marcus’ arm encircles your waist, while the hand in your hair grips a bit tighter. He uses a tight hold on your ass to grind you against the firm thigh he places between your own. Your hands grasp desperately onto his shoulders as your knees feel like they’re about to buckle from the delicious pressure.

“‘Please’ what?” Marcus prompts gently. You’re pressing back against his thigh now, too lost in the sensation to respond. He withdraws it suddenly and you’re left clenching, all too aware of how badly you need that pressure back.

“‘Please’ what?” He repeats, more firmly this time.

“Please, Sir.” You correct yourself quickly, and are rewarded with Marcus’ lips against yours and the blessed return of his thigh. He’s a man possessed, and you whimper into his mouth as his tongue licks inside. The next thing you know, he’s got you sandwiched between the table and his thigh now, your skirt hiked up, juices leaking through your panties as you ride the firm muscles of his leg.

“Look at you, just beautiful. You’re so hot like this, I love seeing you lose yourself. Does that feel good? Hm?” Marcus presses his hard cock into your hip and groans. “Jesus, I can feel how fucking wet you are through my pants. Are you going to leave your pussy juices on me, so anybody we walk past can see what a good girl you are for me?”

Your eyes are squeezed shut tight, arms gripping to Marcus for dear life as you continue rutting against him, breath becoming ragged. The friction and pressure are almost too much, you’ll practically give yourself rug burn at this rate. But the onslaught of Marcus’ filthy praise in your ear, his hot, steamy breath against your neck, his tongue on your pulse point – you’re already careening out of control and he knows it.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby?” Nodding, wordless, you scramble to hold onto him as Marcus scoops up one of your thighs and hooks it over his hip with a grunt. “Then you better ask first.”

“P-please,” you gasp out, “Please, Sir. Please can I cum?” You’re on the precipice, Marcus’ cock almost painfully hard in your hip.

You gasp when he pulls his thigh away, eyes flying open in shock. “Not yet, sweet girl, hold on for me just a little bit longer. You’re going to cum on my tongue first.” Before you have a chance to protest, Marcus hoists you up fully onto the edge of the light table and pulls up a chair to feast on you.

You’re immediately aware of the warmth the lit surface of the table infuses into every part of your body it’s touching. The table itself feels sturdy and solid beneath you, but you can’t fight an initial moment of panic. “Um, Marcus…I don’t know if–” It’s a struggle to concentrate as Marcus noses at your clothed pussy. A gentle double tap to the crown of his head is all the signal he needs to check in.

“You okay? Do you want to stop?” Marcus’ face is flushed, but his eyes are clear and laser focused on you.

“Is this, uh…safe?” You rap gently on the table with a forced air of nonchalance.

Marcus smiles and strokes the outside of your hip and thigh with his hand. “Totally safe. I triple-checked the specs and tested it out already.”

You lift an amused eyebrow at that. “Tested it out?”

Marcus’ eyes go round at the implication, his dominant persona dropped. “Not like that! I mean I stacked a shitload of evidence boxes on it and did a– well, ah– a simulation, I guess you could call it.” His self-effacing chuckle is endearing. He always knows how to make you feel safe and secure during your more adventurous times together. You smile and stroke his hair as he rubs his cheek against your inner thigh, the rasp of his five o’clock shadow sending shockwaves to your pussy.

“I’m very interested in finding out more about this simulation…Sir.” His honorific on your lips is your signal that you’re ready to continue and his grin turns wolfish. With a playful, smacking kiss to the tender flesh of your inner thigh, Marcus slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Bracing your calves on his broad shoulders, you lift your ass a little to help Marcus slide the panties the rest of the way off.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.” Gently, he applies pressure to your knees until you’re completely spread out before him. You might be a little embarrassed being on display if you didn’t know how much he loved you like this: open, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy. The expression on Marcus’ face is practically one of reverence.

“This is exactly why I wanted to bring you here,” Marcus places open-mouthed kisses up your thighs, sucking and nibbling his way to your center. It’s difficult not to squirm, he’s got you feeling antsy and impatient. “I wanted to see you lit up and on exhibit for me, like the work of art you are.”

You must be quite a sight to behold with the bright light of the table shining from beneath you. To drive his point home, Marcus dips his tongue to your core and collects your gathering slick on his tongue, spreading it and his saliva up to your clit in a broad swipe. Riding his thigh earlier has left you swollen and sensitive; your back arches off the table and you gasp at the sudden contact.

Marcus holds you open with one hand so his tongue can more freely explore the full length of your slit, while the other alternates between massaging your breasts and rolling a peaked nipple through your blouse. Desperate for more, you unbutton your top enough to pull the cups of your bra down and leave yourself exposed to Marcus’ roaming fingers.

Your whimpers and shuddering breaths combine with the sounds of Marcus lapping at your seeping cunt. His nose bumps against your engorged clit and you gasp, hips spasming. The hand on your breast disappears, and a finger gently nudges your entrance.

“I’m going to get you ready for my cock, baby. Are you ready?” You nod wordlessly, and Marcus eases a digit inside you, watching your expression. “Oh, pretty girl, you’re so good, so wet. So tight, fuck.”

Marcus laves his tongue over your clit and you clench around his finger. “Mmm, you’re going to take me so good, aren’t you?” Soon, he adds a second, working it rhythmically in and out, sucking and flicking his tongue against your clit until you’re panting.

The wet noises made by Marcus’ fingers inside you are practically obscene. When he crooks them at just the right spot, you lose all sense and writhe against him. You can hear a question in his inflection, but the twist and pull of his fingers are distracting, to say the least. He’s leaning over you now, the heel of his palm applying pressure over your clit to replace his mouth.

“You’re doing so well, I know you can do it. You just need to ask me first.” His fingers inside you are relentless, and you can feel the pressure building inside, pulling taut like a rubber band about to snap. Marcus can tell how close you are and stops with his two fingers buried deep inside and applies his other hand to each side of your neck with just enough pressure to get your attention.

“C’mon, sweetheart, focus for me, otherwise I’ll have to stop.” His fingers are barely moving inside of you, just enough to keep you right on the edge. “You know what to do.”

A sob practically escapes your throat. “Please, Sir. I need to cum. Please can I? I want to be good for you.” It’s impossible to keep the pleading from your tone, you’re so close. Your hips are gyrating of their own accord, feebly fucking yourself on his fingers.

Marcus moves his hand off your throat to cup the side of your face and tangle his fingers in your hair. “Mm, do it. Be my good girl and cum.” Marcus leans down for a final taste where you’re stretched around his curling fingers, then settles his lips around your clit. With a cry, you break and see stars behind your eyelids as your orgasm crashes over you.

“Fuck yes, that’s my good girl. So beautiful like this, so perfect. I can feel you dripping into my hand, baby, you’re so wet. Did that feel good? Is that what you needed?” Marcus praises you through it all, stroking your neck, your breasts, peppering kisses over your mound and belly. His fingers retreat, leaving you fluttering in aftershocks, and you watch him lick your cum from his palm and fingers.

“Thank you for being such a good girl for me, sweetheart. I had to taste you at least one more time before you leave...” Reality falls over the room like a weighted blanket, and you let your engaged muscles go slack against the lit surface of the table, suddenly harsh and blinding. You feel exposed instead of exhibited and you squeeze your thighs together as the final flutters of your orgasm subside.

“Hey, come back to me,” you hear Marcus murmur, and feel him turn your face to meet his. He kisses you slowly and deeply, and you taste your tang on his plump bottom lip. He presses his forehead against yours and you share a couple of breaths.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Additional Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! There is plenty more to come (had to). I'd love to know what you thought -- any and all feedback is welcome! I just want to become a better writer. :)

Chapter 3 || SeñoraBond's Masterlist

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