#i’m not sorry for thinking about you again. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jasonsmirrorball · 2 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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cyripticchronicler · 2 days

Note

i adore your writing & i had an random idea! (it’s absolutely okay if you don’t do it, i just thought i’d request <3)

any of the marauders having a crush on marauders!reader & the other maraduers just straight up teasing him about it all the time yet reader is SO oblivious to it & thinks the maraduer just flirts with everyone 😭

Teasing Words and Hidden Feelings

Paring: James Potter x Reader

Summary: You're used to Sirius and Remus's teasing, you just wish the things they always teased James about were true.

A/N: I haven't written in forever and this definitely isn't my best work. But thank you for requesting! I appreciate it and hope this fic did your request justice. Also please ignore the really bad summary and title lmao.

Warnings: Not proofread, kissing, alcohol, spoiler for the ending of Romeo and Juliet??

Masterlist

The candle-lit hall glows brightly in the dark of the night, chattering bouncing off the stone walls as people eat the feast in front of them. Remus and Sirius sit across from you, a knowing glint in their eyes as they huddle together, whispers drowned out by the bustling crowd in the great hall.

“What?” You question nervously, your hand fiddling with the hem of your skirt as they cast another look your way.

James sits beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder when he notices the confusion on your face. “Ignore them, love, they’re being idiots.” He shoots them a glare and Sirius waggles his eyebrows. “Sorry…Love,” He says to you, bursting out in laughter while he smacks his knee.

Your heart sinks at the feeling of being left out, like you were missing the joke but you push those thoughts away, shooting James a warm smile and shoving food in your mouth.

You’re relatively new to the group. James, Remus and Sirius have been friends for years, even hanging out over the summer, but you’ve only joined their group just last year, and you can’t help but feel you’re missing something when it comes to their jokes.

They've been nothing but kind and inclusive but it’s obvious that there’s something they’re not telling you. And when Sirius starts dramatically confessing his love to Remus while James sits beside you, tense as a rock, you’ve decided to just ask.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your tone light as you look between the boys. Sirius stops what he’s doing, a mischievous smirk gracing his harsh features, “I’m acting out-”

“-The scene for the play he’s in.” James interrupts, laughing awkwardly and running a hand through his hair with flushed cheeks. Your heart tugs at his laugh and you smile, knowing you’d never get sick of hearing his joy.

“You’re in a play, Sirius?” You ask, brows furrowed in confusion as you rack your mind to figure out whether the school even does plays. “Where are you doing the play? I’d love to come.” You smile supportively, though it wavers when you notice James cringing and Remus shooting you a pitying look.

“Oh,” You force a laugh, “You’re not are you?”

Sirius shakes his head, grinning wide, “No, but I’d be great in a play. I mean, I have the looks for it.” He runs his hand through his silky black hair, posing and winking, “I could be part of that muggle play, Romeo and Juliet. Then I’d meet my true love.” He jokes and a small smile pulls at your lips.

James chuckles, his arm hitting yours, “Maybe we should be part of the play, and you’re my Juliet.” Your cheeks flush ferociously at his words, eyes widening but you force yourself to shrug it off, knowing he flirts with everyone. “Yeah, maybe.”

Sirius groans, capturing your attention once again. “Did you hear that, James? Maybe. I’m telling you, darling, he’s going to go back to his dorm and cry himself to sleep. How could you be so cruel?”

You scowl playfully, “He’s going to need to try a lot harder than that if he wants me to be his Juliet.” From the corner of your eye, James nods, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. You turn to look at him fully, shooting him a small smile that he returns.

“You know they both kill themselves, right?” Remus questions from where he sits, silently observing the conversation.

“Oh.”

✰✰✰

The soft crackling of the fireplace has your eyes fluttering shut, moving your hand so that it’s placed under your cheek in a makeshift pillow. You know you should probably head up to your dorm for an actual nap, but the warmth of the common room draws you in until you’re lying on the couch in front of the fire, the hand that’s not under your chin moving to cover your eyes from the bright sun that reflects through the window.

It’s Saturday and you’ve planned to sleep the draining week behind, the clear sky allowing you to rest in an empty common room since everyone else decided to soak in the sun.

You’re close to falling asleep, ready to sleep your problems away when the common room door opens, the familiar sounds of the boys laugh causing you to snap your eyes open.

You smile at the snarky comments aimed at each other, sitting up to peek at them over the couch. Remus spots your slow movements, grinning at you with a roll of his eyes and coming to sit in the armchair across from you.

“Were you trying to sleep?” He asks, amusement shining in his eyes when you nod, returning to your previous position lying down, eyes fighting to stay open.

“How was Hogsmeade?” You attempt to converse, though you wish to sleep. “It was good!” Sirius answers for Remus, patting your head playfully as he moves towards the other couch, legs splayed out in front of him, leaving no room for James and you roll your eyes with a smile, forcing yourself to sit up so there’s room for him.

“Thank you, Love.” He winks and you blush, the strength in your neck failing you as your head falls on his shoulder. He tenses and holds his breath, cheeks turning a deep red.

Remus notices and grins cheekily, “Remember to breathe, James, or else you’ll never get to ask her on a date.”

Your eyes widen and you groan, moving to sit up properly. James grips the back of your neck, moving you so you’re back against his shoulder, your heart beating wildly in your chest, resounding in your ears. “It’s okay, love, I’ll make sure to ask you out on a date before I die.” He mutters, playfulness coating his voice though his smile is strained. You scoff to cover the squeal that threatens to escape your lips, “Go find another girl to torture please.” You don’t mean it, wanting nothing more for James to mean the words he’s saying.

But he’s a flirt. You’ve seen the way he talks to others, the way they blush and bite their lips, you just wish he didn’t have such a big effect on you. That he didn’t cause your heart to speed up, your palms to turn sweaty, or your body to burn from his gaze.

You lay back down, knees curled up to your chest so James has room, you close your eyes, planning to ignore the boys as they chat quietly.

You’re half asleep when James grabs your calf, moving so your feet are atop his legs, thumb gently stroking your ankle.

“You’re so whipped.”

“Shut up, Moony.”

✰✰✰

Your screams are drowned out by the others around you, hands clapping while you jump up and down, breaking out into laughter when you make eye contact with Lily who’s cheering just as hard.

James’ smile is the sun itself, his wide grin shining as he soars through the sky, arm up high, showing off the golden snitch.

His eyes search the crowd, landing on you and you grin, biting your lip to contain your laughter. His eyes crinkle, head tilting in an invite for you to get off the stands.

You make your way with the rest of the crowd, linking arms with Remus so you don’t get split up. You’re talking excitedly when you make it to the field, hands moving frantically in front of you. “He was amazing, Remus! He was so fast- Merlin he’s incredible.” You laugh, jumping up and down.

Remus chuckles. “Why don’t you tell him that? He’d grow red faster than you could blink.” Hitting him playfully on the arm, you roll your eyes. “Oh shush.”

Your eyes track James, talking to Sirius with a big smile. You run up, pulling him in for a tight hug. “You did so well,” You whisper, breath fanning across his neck, unknowingly sending goosebumps up his spine.

He kisses your head, your heart skipping a beat, “Thank you, Love. It means a lot to me.” With one hand stroking your cheek gently, the other moves to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You turn to mush, eyes softening. “James, I-“

“Quick Remus do the same,” You frown, turning around to see Sirius forcing Remus’ hand on his cheek, giving him his best doe eyes.

“What the-“

James forces your eyes back on him, a tight smile on his face. “Ignore them. What were you going to say?”

You shake your head, hands moving to hold his arm, muscles straining against the tight quidditch shirt, “Nothing. Are we celebrating the Gryffindor win tonight?”

He nods, walking off and not casting a glance toward Remus and Sirius behind you, “Yeah, you coming?”

You nod, “For a little bit.”

He winks, wrapping his arm around your waist. “I'm glad, It won’t be a party without you.”

You both jump as Sirius interrupts our conversation, “I’m coming to the party too, Padfoot. Are you just so so happy I’m coming? Will it make the party a million times better?” he pouts, doe eyes aimed at James and you snort.

James groans, pushing him away playfully. “Fuck off.”

He grins, moving so he’s in front of us, walking backwards, “I see who your favourite is. It’ll never be me, will it?” He sighs sadly, lips turning down into a pout.

“She is my favourite,” James mutters, smiling cheekily at me and my cheeks flush.

✰✰✰

The party is in full swing by the time you make it to the common room and everyone cheers when James enters. You grin, moving to give James the spotlight but he grips your hand tightly, ensuring you don’t leave his side.

With a flush, you grab a random bottle of alcohol, pour it into a cup and practically chug it down, relishing in the buzz it gives you.

“You planning on getting drunk?” James asks, amusement shining in his eyes when you pour yourself another drink. “Merlin, yes,” You laugh. He rolls his eyes, hands reaching up to pull the cup from your nimble hands.

Before you have time to glare, he refills it and takes a small sip before handing it back to you.

You grin, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the crowd. He gets swept away, conversing with people about the game. You find Lily and Alice to talk to for a bit, downing your drink and finding another.

By the time James returns to your side from where you’re standing by yourself in the corner, eying the crowd, you’re more than tipsy, on the way to drunk.

“You look so pretty,” James mutters in your ear, causing you to grin. “You’re also pretty.” His cheeks flush a deep red, suddenly shy. “Thank you, love.”

You take a sip from your fifth drink of the night, “You’re also hot.” You don’t flush or show an ounce of shame, the alcohol giving you confidence.

He grins through red cheeks, “Yeah?” You nod. “You’re also hot.” His hands land on your waist, pulling you into him. You shake your head, “I’m pretty. Don’t know about hot though.”

James shakes his head immediately. “No, Love. You’re so hot. You make my knees weak every time I see you. Do you know how hard it is to control myself when you walk in, drop-dead gorgeous and looking so fine? Trust me, you’re hot.”

You sober slightly at his words, moving your hands up to link behind his neck. Your palms stick with sweat, legs turn to mush beneath you. “Yeah?” He just nods in response, eyes tracking your face, trying to gauge your reaction.

Without thinking about the consequences, you pull him in.

He responds immediately, lips meeting yours with an urgency, his hands gripping your hips tight. His hair in your fingers, you pull him harder against you, growing dizzy at his groan. He deepens the kiss, devouring you completely.

The lack of oxygen forces you apart, lips wet and swollen. James doesn’t go far, his forehead falling against yours. You suddenly grow nervous, looking down at your bodies, pressed against each other. “I should’ve asked first. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head immediately, placing a kiss on your nose as his hands rub soothing circles from where they now rest on your waist. “You can kiss me anytime, anywhere. No need to ask.”

You grow hopeful, eyes lighting up, “Does that mean you like me too?” The room is crowded but the way James is staring at you makes you feel like the only person in the world, the crowd droned out by the happiness and love reflecting in his eyes.

“Honey, I love you,” He states sincerely, nothing but honesty painting his features. Your mouth stretches into a wide smile, heart flipping in giddy, “I love you too, James.”

“Thank the heavens above,” He mutters playfully and you laugh loudly, fingers fisting his shirt.

✰✰✰

The great hall is obnoxiously loud, the early morning light shining through the pristine windows making you squint, a frown pulling at your lips. The pounding in your head is hard to ignore and painful enough to make you regret drinking so much last night.

But James is sitting next to you, his large hand in yours under the table while his thigh presses against your own. The subtle touches warm you over, an unmistakable flush crawling up your neck. “You look so cute,” James whispers into your ear, his soft eyes, filled with admiration inspecting your face.

You smile wildly. “Thank you, so do you.” His free hand drops the spoon he was holding and brushes a stray strand of hair from my face. He leans closer, hand cradling my jaw gently. A loud clearing of the throat from across the table has us looking away, your eyes narrowing at the confused looks on Sirius and Remus’ faces.

Sirius his confusion off with a grin, twisting his body so he’s facing Remus, hands moving dramatically in front of him. “Remus! Please, let me call you cute and almost kiss you!”

Remus turns to face him, one of his scarred hands cradling his jaw with a mischievous grin. “Of course! But I’m going to be oblivious while my friends grow sick of our pining.”

“You know we’re together…Right?”

Their wide eyes whip around to face us, jaws to the floor. Remus’ hands are still on Sirius’ jaw as he mutters in shock, “What?”

#fanfiction #james potter #james potter fic #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter drabble #James Potter x reader #james potter x reader hurt/comfort #james potter oneshots #marauders era #the marauders #marauders #james potter angst to fluff

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mattscoquette · 2 days

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as you laid sideways on the sofa, you heard your boyfriend matt pad into the room, plopping himself down on the floor in front of you. you smiled tiredly at him, work absolutely draining you today. you were currently five months pregnant with twin girls, your first babies. you and matt weren’t necessarily trying, but when you came home to him with three pregnancy tests announcing your period was late, you two were over the moon. since then matt has been an absolute sweetheart to you. he constantly was checking up on you, making sure you were getting enough rest and water, always offering to help in anyway he can. he was so excited to be a dad. every time you two went out together, you’d somehow end up at target browsing through the baby aisle, finding more things to buy for your daughters. he would come home from work with bags filled to the brim full of little dresses, shoes, bows, anything he could find for his babies.

“hi my little loves,” matt spoke gently to your bump, rubbing his hand back and forth across it, “how was your day with mommy?”

“matt, they can’t answer you.” you giggled, reaching your hand down to caress your stomach as well. being a mere four months away from giving birth, your baby bump was really beginning to show. at first you felt super insecure about it, but all it took was one night of matt in between your legs, his hands roaming all over your stomach whispering soft praises into your skin for you to feel better.

he laughed, leaning forward to press a kiss to your belly. “i know, i just love talking to my three girls.”

you smiled, closing your eyes and relaxing from the long day as matt began to talk more.

“today i went out with your uncle chris and uncle nick,” matt continued, returning his attention to the twins again, “they made me stop at three different gas stations because they didn’t have the nerd gummy cluster flavor uncle chris wanted.”

“that sounds like chris.” you mumbled quietly and grinning.

“then we stopped by the store to get some things for our video on wednesday and i bought you both matching pjs you can wear.”

matt continued to ramble about his day to your bump, kissing it every now and then and telling the girls how excited he was to meet them. he was mid-conversation about how he was planning to cook dinner tomorrow when he noticed you dozed off, snoring quietly. he crawled over to sit in front of your face now, brushing your hair gently behind your ear. “come one, love, let’s get you into bed.”

your eyes fluttered open, being met with the soft smile on your boyfriends face. you extended your arms out, letting matt scoop you up and carry you into your shared bedroom.

“sorry if i’m heavy,” you spoke quietly into his shoulder, nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck as he carried you, “i’ve been eating a lot lately.”

“i need you to eat,” matt assured you, laying you down softly on the cotton sheets when you arrived in your room, “you’re carrying our babies.”

you smiled up at him lazily, watching him change out of his day clothes, crawling in bed next to you in just a pair of plaid boxers. he pulled you in close to his chest, one hand on your back and the other one laying on your stomach.

“do you think the girls will like me?” you asked, looking up at your boyfriend.

“of course they will,” he told you, giving you a puzzled look, “why would they not?”

“i’m just scared i won’t be a good mom.” you admitted.

matt sighed, pressing a loving kiss to your head. “you’re gonna be the best mom in the world, you already are.”

you smiled, giving matt a quick peck to his chest. “i love you, thank you for being so good to me.”

“anything for my girls.” he smiled.

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dollfacefantasy · 2 days

Text

Room for One More

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader x chris redfield

summary: months ago, chris let his apprentice slip through his fingers when she transferred to the d.s.o. to work with leon kennedy. now the three of them have been sent on a mission together and are forced to share a hotel room.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, threesome, p in v, oral sex (f and m recieving), face-sitting, exhibitionism, age gap (early 20s, late 30s), jealousy, light angst

word count: 9.2k

a/n: had this in my drafts since february let's go. hope you guys like it <3

You and Leon were so fucking annoying.

Irritating, aggravating, infuriating pains in his ass. That’s all Chris could think while speeding down the road, his knuckles white from their tight grip on the steering wheel. The three of you were all supposed to be professionals for god’s sake. He shouldn’t have to deal with the two of you acting no better than a couple of horny teenagers during a fucking mission.

It was constant. The giggling and gasping, soft whines of “Leon stoppppp.” And he could hear Leon’s stupid fucking smirk when he chuckled and kept doing whatever was causing you to squirm around with him in the back seat. If he had to sit through much more of this, he was pretty sure he’d end up plowing the car into a nearby tree and putting himself out of his misery.

Chris glanced in the rearview mirror. Darkness engulfed the car right now, making it hard to clearly see what his ‘partners’ were up to. All he could really make out was that Leon’s head had been in the crook of your neck but was now tilted upwards to capture you in a kiss. The only thing keeping him sane was the miniscule light in the distance. The small reminder that he wouldn’t be stuck in the car with the sounds of saliva swapping forever. He lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head, trying to will himself to just tune the aggravation out. But as the minutes pass by, each wet smack of lips grates on his nerves more and more.

“Can you two cut it out back there? I’m trying to focus,” he says. His harsh stare remains on the road ahead.

He hears your bodies briefly untangling as his words pierce the bubble you had created for yourselves. Leon is the first to respond.

“Our mistake, Redfield. Didn’t know it was such a challenge to go twenty-five miles an hour on an empty road,” he remarks. Again, Chris’s blood boils as he senses that self-satisfied expression taking over the other man’s features.

Your light slap to Leon’s bicep sounds through the car’s interior. “Sorry, Chris. We’ll keep it down,” you apologize.

In contrast to your boyfriend, your tone rings genuine. You sounded almost a little embarrassed by Chris calling out your antics. Your soft voice drifting to his ears actually softens him a tad. He knew the expression you wore now too. How your eyes were fixed on the DSO agent, giving him the glare you used when you wanted to seem firm. In reality, it came off as cute, like an angry kitten. And now Leon got to be the one to grin at you and shake his head, amused by your sweet face. He got to be in the position Chris let slip through his fingers months ago.

***

You’d been his first. Started out at the BSAA as his rookie. Your first day you’d been so bright-eyed, hopeful and ready to start out your career and face the world. He’d been reluctant to take on a trainee at first. It’s a lot of work with a 50/50 shot at reward, but the second he laid eyes on you, he knew the luck of the draw had worked in his favor.

You were the ideal apprentice. A great listener, eager to learn everything you could, and accepting of commands. Every day with you was a breeze. And besides the parts of you suited for your job, you were just generally pleasant to be around. He could joke with you, talk to you about damn near any subject. You were a great partner in the field too. At first, he’d been worried. A cute little thing like you taking on bioterrorists? He struggled to believe that would work out. As soon as he saw you in action though, you left no doubt that he’d been wrong. He became more taken with you upon seeing you act so capable. He realized that he felt a connection with you that he’d been lacking for so much of his life.

Unfortunately for him, he had these pesky things called ‘morals’ that prevented him from pursuing you. Every time he legitimately considered flirting or asking you out, the guilt gnawed at him, filling his mind with words of shame rather than anything that could charm you. No matter how he thought about it, he just couldn’t work out any way it would be right. Not only were you his subordinate, his rookie, you were nearly twenty years his junior too. You shouldn’t be wasting the prime of your life with some old man, so he cut off any hope of being more than a mentor to you.

About a year after he’d taken you on, the two of you were sent on that mission in Texas. It was simple, standard, routine. You and Chris were simply there to assist local police with the aftermath of a bioterror attack. Both of you were in the transport vehicle on the way to the site, and this was a rare occasion where he was pretty calm. He wasn’t tense or anxious, didn’t have any other motive than getting in and getting out. He was just enjoying the ride and watching your pretty face soak up the sunlight beaming through the window.

What he hadn’t been briefed on was the DSO’s involvement in the case. More specifically, a certain DSO agent’s presence. Apparently he’d been in the area on unrelated business and had been ordered to stop by in case your team needed assistance.

The two of you got out of the car and wandered through the remnants of the event. At first, Chris was happy to see him. It’d been a while, and he seemed to be in a better place than the last time they’d met. You seemed happy to see him too despite the fact that you’d never met before. Right then, Chris should’ve known it was over.

“Who’s that?” you asked with more interest than he felt was appropriate, leaning closer his muscular frame to keep your tone hushed.

He glanced down at you and raised his eyebrows, initially amused with the way you almost seemed in awe.

“Leon Kennedy. He’s with the DSO. Probably just here for some backup,” he informed you.

You nodded, and as you padded along behind Chris, your eyes remained locked on the agent in front of you. If he hadn’t been wrapped around your finger, it would have been obvious to him that you were developing a little crush. You became so bashful around Leon. Smiling up at him, batting your eyelashes like a cartoon character, following him around the scene like a puppy.

At the time, Chris thought that you were simply intrigued by the prestige of the DSO. Looking back, he couldn’t believe how clueless he’d been.

It was only six weeks later that you came to his office to notify him you were transferring agencies.

“What do you mean transferring? I’ve been training you to work here. I need you here,” Chris said.

Your eyes had cast down. Your body appeared to shrink in on itself. “I know. The BSAA is important and all, and I’ll always be grateful for what I learned here. It’s just that Leon said…”

And those last two words were all Chris heard.

“Leon said? What’s he know? He met you one time. He’s gonna try and tell you that you’re a better fit for the DSO?” he asked, probably coming off more interrogating than concerned, “You’re perfect for what we do here. The Agency hasn’t had someone with your propensity for research and field work in years.”

All his reasons paled in comparison to the hearts you had in your eyes for Leon. Chris ended the day by signing off on your transfer and watching you pack up your desk. You gave him a hug and tearful words of goodbye before walking out the translucent doors of the BSAA building.

The next time he saw you was another two months after that. He had to bring some files over to the DSO building. The only thing he was looking forward to about it was seeing how his rookie was adapting to her new position. He wasn’t prepared for the sharp pain in his chest when he saw your new position was on Leon’s lap.

Your eyes had gone wide. You shot up off the other man’s thighs to try and act as if you two were merely two agents and nothing more. Chris wasn’t fooled, but he kept his composure even in the face of Leon’s obvious amusement. He had no real place to get mad at you. It’s not like you were throwing your career away; you still held a respectable position at a federal government agency. You hadn’t betrayed him either. The relationship between you and him had actually just been professional. He had no claim on you that could keep Leon away. The only thing Chris had to be angry about was the fact that you were going to spend the prime of your life with some guy over a decade older than you. It just wasn’t gonna be him.

***

The collection of lights down the road were getting closer now. You and Leon had settled down enough to make the last fifteen minutes of this trip bearable. Chris glances around the small, misty town the road was leading into. It was pretty desolate and old-fashioned. Everything was tinted orange from the dated street lamps lining the road. Buildings were mostly bricks except for the upcoming motel which looked primarily wooden. It would’ve been eerie if he wasn’t so exhausted.

He pulled into the parking lot of the place and stopped the car. Turning around in his seat to talk to you and Leon, he tries not to roll his eyes at how the younger man has you tucked to his side while you show him something on your phone.

Chris clears his throat. Leon’s eyes meet his, still smug from the earlier exchange. He can’t be mad though because you look up at him in earnest, ready to do what needs to be done.

“The target isn’t going to be passing through until tomorrow. How would the two of you feel about staying here for the night?” he asks.

Fortunately, you and Leon seem to want to rest for a while just as much as he does so there’s no pushback.

Chris steps out of the car into the brisk air. He heads across the way into the small lobby of the motel to grab a room. You and your boyfriend handle getting the small bags you were allowed to take on missions out of the car.

“Cold out here, baby,” Leon mumbles as he pulls you flush against his chest and plants some kisses down your neck.

“Mhm. And you’re making me shiver more,” you say as you still try to collect the bags.

He chuckles at your little joke and nips at the warm flesh of your throat. “Once we get in the room, I think I’ll be able to heat you up,” he says.

You giggle and squirm a bit in his hold as Chris comes back to the car. He’s stone faced, but for once on this trip, it isn’t due to you and Leon.

“They only have one room available,” he says flatly and holds up the small golden key.

Your face drops and Leon lets go of you.

“What do you mean they only have one room?” he asks, “Look at this place. It doesn’t even look like anyone’s even accidentally wandered through here in this century. How could they only have one room?”

“They said the others are closed for renovation,” Chris relays.

“Renovation for what? For the ghosts of people who stayed here the last time this place was actually full?” Leon continues.

“I don’t know, man. You wanna go in there and argue with the lady at the desk? She’s half deaf and in a great mood, I’m sure she’ll be open to hearing your concerns,” the older man says sarcastically, beginning to grow frustrated.

Their bickering continues as you glance around at your surroundings. It was cold, it was dark, and it really was starting to creep you out how empty this place was.

You carefully take Leon’s hand and give it a little tug.

“I’m really tired. Can we just deal with it for the night?” you ask him hopefully.

He looks over at you, the petty complaints seeping from his body when he hears your soft voice requesting something so simple.

He sighs and nods. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he says and kisses your forehead.

Chris is grateful for your intervention and scoops up the bags so you aren’t bothered with them. The three of you walk in line to your room.

The door creaks as your ex-mentor pushes it open. It’s pitch black inside until Leon reaches over and taps the light switch. Your eyes scan the small room. It wasn’t a horrible set up. The furniture was a little vintage to put it nicely, but it didn’t feel haunted. Two double beds sat against one wall while a ratty leather chair occupied the opposite corner. Besides that there was a dresser, an old tv that was shaped like a cube, and a small counter with a microwave and mini-fridge. Leon looks around with the same disinterest displayed on your face.

“Hey, at least there isn’t only one bed,” he jokes and slaps Chris’s shoulder.

The older man rolls his eyes and tosses his duffel onto the mattress closest to the door. You and your boyfriend follow suit. You tuck your bag neatly against the side of the dresser while he drops it on the floor next to the farther bed.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Chris tells the both of you as he fishes some fresh clothes and toiletries out of his bag.

He gets two unconcerned nods in response, and that’s enough for him to head to the bathroom. As he’s shutting the door, he can already hear your giggling starting up again along with the creak of the mattress, presumably from Leon pulling you down onto it.

Turning on the water, he sighs deeply. The faucet was as old as everything else in the room. It whooshed and groaned before starting up and letting out some water. The stream was hot and even, so he guessed he couldn't complain too much. He sheds his clothes and steps in the shower that was too small for him. The confined area didn’t act as much as a reprieve for him. His head is about three or four inches too tall for where the showerhead was angled. The slick curtain clings to the part of his bicep that stuck out against it.

It felt like a physical manifestation of how the next twelve hours would feel.

Being in the room next to you and Leon would’ve been bad enough. He’d have to hear you two going at it for hours like there was no tomorrow, but at least he’d be alone. He wouldn’t have to repress his grimaces or hide his wistful exhales. No one would have to know how shameful he looked when he felt himself getting hard over the way you whined and mewled for the other agent.

Now you two wouldn’t be going at it, but he’d have to be in the room clouded by both of your desires to do it. He’d have to watch the lingering looks and hear the little hitches in your breaths. He’d see whatever cute little pajamas wore and the way you curled up to Leon beneath the covers. He’d witness how peaceful your face looked while you slept in another man’s arms.

He’d honestly just prefer to be forced to listen to the sounds of your headboard banging against the wall all night.

But he pushes those thoughts away to finish up washing himself. His large hands guide the shampoo out of his hair and glide the washcloth over his muscular form. The steam starting to rise helps to calm him a little.

He isn’t in there for much longer before he shuts the water off and steps out of the shower to dry off. He wraps a towel around his waist, letting the cloth hang on hips just below his happy trail and v-line. His reflection gazes back at him through the fog on the mirror as he rubs a towel over his head and dries his hair.

In an effort to be considerate, he dresses in the bathroom. Gray sweats cover his lower half while a loose t-shirt adorns his chest. He makes sure everything in the bathroom is back in place before heading back out there, hopefully to just get some sleep and not be bothered by his temporary roommates.

That isn’t meant to be though. As soon as he steps back into the main portion of the room, he’s greeted by the sight of Leon’s hand down your shorts and your lips locked together in a flurry of kisses. He’s frozen in place for a moment, watching how Leon’s knuckles move underneath the fabric between your legs. Though a moment later, he remembers how he should be reacting.

“Come the fuck on,” he says and brings his hand to his face in frustration.

Your eyes widen, and your head snaps up. Leon lazily glances in his direction. Chris looks back at the pair of you, thinking you’d had enough time to readjust. What really enrages him now is that Leon’s hand was still where it was. You have to grab his wrist and pull it away.

“I’m so sorry, Chris,” you apologize without another thought, “We got distracted and didn’t hear the water shut off. I’m so-”

He doesn’t even look at you though. He’s locked in a stare with the other man in the room.

“Grow the fuck up, Leon,” he says, his tone deadly serious, “I’ve had enough of this shit. You’re acting like a fucking high schooler. Like a dog with a bone.”

You go silent and look down with guilt. He would’ve felt bad if he wasn’t so fed up. To make matters worse, Leon merely rolls his eyes.

“Jesus, calm down,” he says, “You’re acting like you just walked in on a porno or something. You’ve never seen two people making out?”

“Leon, shut up,” you say, keeping your voice hushed as if Chris couldn’t hear you from a small distance of ten feet. Your boyfriend doesn’t even acknowledge you though.

“That’s not what it’s about, and you know that. I don’t give a shit if the two of you want to make out till your lips are blue. Do it on your own time. I don’t wanna have to deal with the two of you slobbering all over each other while I’m trying to do my job,” he says with a glare.

“That’s not what this is about either, and you know it,” the younger man retorts.

“Leon, just give it up!” you plead. He shoots you a look though that makes you react like a scolded puppy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chris asks incredulously as he crosses his arms.

Your boyfriend almost laughs in his face. He sits up, looking at him with a more pointed gaze. “You don’t care about what I’m doing. You’re pissed off because I’m doing it with her,” he taunts.

Somehow the look on Chris’s face darkens further.

“Alright, man. I’m sure that’s what it is. It’s not you just being an insecure dickhead like always,” he says, trying to sound dismissive as he walks to his own bed, “You're more immature than I thought.”

“Don’t try to act like it’s bullshit because I know it’s the truth. All the years I’ve known you, all the missions we’ve partnered on; this isn’t the first time you’ve seen me with a girl but you’ve never pitched a fit about it before,” Leon says.

Chris shakes his head, not dignifying the accusations with a response, but he won’t give it up.

“Also, you think I’m fucking stupid? You think I don’t see the way you’re looking at her? Undressing her with your eyes, laser focused every time she bends over? I think if she gave you the go ahead, you wouldn’t even hesitate to steal her away from me,” he says.

You notice as they argue that in contrast to the genuine aggravation on Chris’s face, Leon’s words come from somewhere else. Almost as if he’s enjoying calling him a liar, poking and prodding at the other man to provoke a reaction.

Chris looks directly at him now as if he’s ready to lunge in a moment’s notice.

“Shut your mouth. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Tell me then. Tell me how it is.”

That makes the older man pause. Of course Leon was right, but under no circumstances would he make that apparent.

“She had a bright future ahead of her, and look what you’ve done. She’s the best either one of the agencies has had in years, and you keep her in the palm of your hand like she’s a barbie doll!” he exclaims.

He sees the flicker of hurt on your face and knows he fucked up, but he could apologize later. He continues speaking to try and temporarily rectify his slip up.

“She’s too good for you, Leon,” he says simply, sighing and sitting down on his bed.

You see genuine emotion flash in your boyfriend's eyes. Chris struck a chord, picking at a very real insecurity Leon held. But he wanted to win this confrontation too, so he wouldn’t let that be known. Instead, he beckons you to him with a languid wave of his hand.

“C’mere, baby.”

Chris rolls his eyes, thinking Leon was gonna swoop in to comfort you for the way your feelings had been hurt. You waddle across the mattress on your knees and plop down between his legs, your back against his chest. His hands sweep over your stomach, soothingly caressing your skin.

“She might be too good for me, but you’re pissed off because she’s too good for you too,” he says.

“Leon, stop,” you whisper. Tomorrow was going to be awkward enough as is. He didn’t need to make it any worse.

Chris glances up at the two of you but looks down again quickly, not wanting to see the way the other man’s hands moved on your body.

“You think I’m the bad guy. That I’m corrupting your innocent little rookie,” Leon mocks, “But tell me you wouldn’t take my place if you could.”

“I wouldn’t,” he mumbles instantaneously.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me. Tell me that if she was actually interested in you, that you wouldn’t have taken her in your arms as fast as you could. When she was prancing around the BSAA, looking up at you with stars in her eyes, tell me you didn’t want her,” your boyfriend challenges.

Chris looks up at the both of you. His expression is hard to read. It’s some mixture of hurt and relief that you’re unfamiliar with.

“I didn’t,” he maintains.

Leon’s hand continues trailing on your tummy up and down. His fingers coast in between your breasts, causing you to shiver, but everyone’s so wrapped up in the conflict that you choose not to say anything.

“That’s a shame because I’m pretty sure your little rookie had a crush on you,” he says quietly.

“Don’t joke around like that Leon,” Chris scoffs at the same time as your eyes widen and you start to tell your boyfriend to be quiet.

“Shh shh shh,” he hushes you and places a small kiss on your temple, “You’re giving yourself away, sweetheart.”

You look down and the man across from you just looks confused. Leon smirks at the both of you before resuming.

“C’mon man. Don’t tell me you couldn’t see it. She’s a terrible liar, and I think she had it pretty bad for you. I just came along and pulled her attention elsewhere,” he says, teasing you while redirecting his words to Chris.

Your face was heating up fast as Leon aired out a confession you’d made to him on a night after too many drinks. Chris slowly returned his gaze back to the two of you. Instead of bothering with Leon, he looked into your eyes this time.

“Is that true?” he asks.

Every limb on your body feels frozen up, but you manage to force your head into nodding. You hear Leon chuckle from behind you, which only intensifies how awkward you feel.

“I liked you at first when I first started working at the BSAA. For the first few months,” you begin to explain. It’s not like anything you said would help the situation at all, but it still felt like you were supposed to offer something.

He continues staring at you, and you honestly can’t tell what’s running through his mind. All you can think is that he looks like he’s in pain. Meanwhile, your boyfriend’s hands caress over your skin in a pattern they’d developed.

“You were just so nice and understanding with me-” you start. But you’re cut off by your sharp gasp when Leon’s hand slides under the waistband of your bottoms and into your panties.

“Leon!” you whimper as fast as his fingers find your clit. You grab his wrist and try to pull it away like you’d done earlier, but when he didn’t want to be interrupted, he wouldn’t be. It wasn’t like you tried too hard anyways. You were still a little pent up from earlier, craving the pleasure that had been cut short.

“No, go on, sweetheart. Keep telling Chris how much you liked him. I know he wants to hear it,” he says lowly while his fingers toy with you.

“Leon,” Chris says firmly, trying to stand up for you. But fuck, if he didn’t want to keep watching your breath hitch and your hips squirm. Or your face getting pouty whenever his fingers stroked a certain way.

“Chris,” he says back, “Don’t act like you don’t wanna see. This might be your only chance.”

He smirks and kisses your temple again, rotating the pad of his middle finger over your clit. The motions draw little whines from you, and your eyes flutter. You keep them on Chris, looking into his own as you sink back into Leon’s chest.

“Go ahead, honey. Continue your story,” Leon prompts.

“You were so sweet- mm- and you taught me a lot and- ah- I don’t know it was just a little crush,” you say timidly.

Chris watches you. He doesn’t move at all for fear of bringing attention to how fast his cock has hardened.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he breathes.

“Cause you were my boss,” you say, “I- Leon fuck- I didn’t wanna put you in a bad position.”

His chest feels like it’s turned to stone as he takes in these revelations. It’s hard not to let the regret take over. The realization that he’d been much closer to everything he’d wanted threatened to consume him if he dwelled on it. That on top of the fact that he was hearing all this while you whimpered another man’s name between your words had his mind scrambled.

“It wouldn’t have put me in a bad position, sweetheart,” he says, attempting to sound normal about the situation.

Your lips curve further down, as if you feel guilty for the mess of emotions building inside him. Behind you, Leon’s mouth makes the opposite expression.

“What happened to not wanting her, Redfield?” he teases.

“Shut up,” Chris says. Even if he wasn’t the one pleasuring you, this was a moment for you and him.

His eyes are locked on you, trying to drink in everything about the vision of beauty in front of him. Leon’s warning that this could be the only time he gets to see it echoes in his mind. He doesn’t know how he’ll survive if this is the only time. He doesn’t think he could ever get enough of this. The way your lashes flutter and your eyes look dreamy. How your soft thighs tremble while spread open. The little movements of your hips rocking your ass back and forth against the man behind you.

Why couldn’t that man be him?

It was the most blissful form of torture he’d experienced. He tried to tell himself that even if he just got to watch you cum, it’d be worth it. It’d be better to share this unforgettable sliver of time with you than to have nothing special at all.

He tries to refocus himself back on enjoying the view of your shorts sliding off your legs rather than mourn the relationship he’d lost out on. It was just nearly impossible to avoid envisioning himself and the other man swapped. He had imagined you in his lap like that for months before you even knew the name Leon Kennedy.

Chris’s mind is actually drawn back to the action in front of him once Leon’s got your shorts off, and your panties are fully exposed. The crotch is soaked through. He can see the way the fabric sticks to your center, only peeling away to make space for the nimble fingers working beneath it.

“Leon…” you mewl and tilt your head back against his shoulder.

“I know, princess,” he murmurs, “You’re doing such a good job showing off for Chris. I’m proud of you. You’re really making it worth his while.”

“Thank you,” you whimper.

Leon grins at your display of submission and rewards you with a gentle pinch to your clit. You yelp, and Chris’s cock jerks inside his pants. His bulge is completely visible to everyone in the room by now, no way of sitting could hide that. Despite his arousal, he still had questions.

“Am I the reason you left?” he decides to ask you.

He watches you snap out of the throes of lust and look at him. You hesitate before answering.

“No,” you say softly, “I left to be with Leon.”

It feels like a dagger straight to his heart. He watches any chance of salvaging you as his own die before his very eyes, those words acting as the nails in the coffin. It shows on his face too because he can see the guilt replacing the desire in your eyes. Even Leon’s face flashes with some sympathy. He tilts his head towards you again and nips at the shell of your ear.

“I think you might have hurt Chris’s feelings, baby,” he chides lovingly. His hand then leaves your panties and goes with his other one to your waist. Boosting you to your feet, he looks up at you and taps your ass. “Maybe you should help him feel better. Show him some of what I taught you.”

There’s only a brief pause on your part. You stand between the two beds, between the two men, looking back and forth. You weren’t against the idea at all, it just didn’t seem real. You never imagined this happening in your wildest dreams.

You drop to your knees and approach Chris from the ground, positioning yourself between his legs and looking up at him.

“You don’t have to,” he says, his tone quiet and genuine.

You reach up, sliding your hand up his thigh to palm at his bulge.

“I know,” you respond.

In the simplest of terms, you were still very much attracted to Chris. Your relationship with Leon had extinguished the torch you carried for him down to a small flame, but on a physical and instinctual level, you still wanted him bad. Especially having not cum yet after being teased twice. Your fingers unzip his pants and begin pulling them down, eager to get his cock out.

In a way, you were pretty sure you loved him. Not in the way you love Leon. You knew that. You didn’t dream of love and marriage and the baby carriage with Chris. But for so long, he’d been your safe space. Amongst the violence and horrors in the world of Bioterrorism, your mentor had always been there for you to hold your hand.

You yank his pants down to his ankles, and his dick flops out against his thigh. Your eyes widen slightly. It made sense for it to be big just like everything else on him was, but the sight had you drooling. It was thick and long, from one look you could only imagine how it would stretch you out.

Your fingers wrap around the length, feeling its warmth. The veins that sprawl across it pulse with desire for you. He moans quietly with only one stroke. Your hand pumps up and down tentatively as you spit down onto it for some lubrication.

No one in the room is in the mood to be teased tonight, so you lean in and flick your tongue against the tip. Another groan bubbles from Chris’s lips and you can feel Leon’s lecherous gaze on you the entire time. You lap at the head some more and keep working your fist up and down.

You’re either very talented or Chris is very needy for you, because it only takes a handful of gentle licks before precum beads at the top. His eyes are blown out and locked on you as you suckle the swollen tip between your lips and bob your head. Your mouth is the perfect combination of warm and wet and soft. You cup his balls and give them a gentle massage while working your magic.

He reaches down and pets your head as you work. His head snaps up when he hears the other man speak to him.

“How’s it feel? As good as you imagined?” he asks.

“Better,” Chris moans.

His breaths enter and exit his lungs in deep puffs. This truly was better than he could’ve imagined. Everything about you was beyond the capabilities of human imagination. Your gags were so soft and tender. They were precious despite their inherent lewd nature. You looked up at him with glossy eyes, maintaining eye contact most of the time. That was something he’d taught you. Your first days of work you were always looking down at your shoes or right through him at the wall. He’d been the one to tell you eye contact was important. It was the most baseline form of connection.

You take your mouth off Chris’s shaft with a small pop. A string of saliva dangles between you and his cock, but you quickly destroy it when your lips smoosh against the flushed skin. You kiss the tip over and over, savoring the taste of precum it brings.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, not caring if he heard or not.

But he does, and his gaze softens. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, rookie,” he says back.

Leon decides not to interrupt the exchange or tease Chris about the old nickname for you. He had no genuine ill will toward the other man. That plus his own cock was rising to attention, and he was more interested in palming it through his jeans.

“You're such a good girl. You don’t need to apologize for anything,” Chris continues to coo at you as you take his length back into your mouth.

His eyes crinkle as they shut. He doesn’t want to cum yet just in case there was the chance for anything more. You’re too taken with servicing him to notice that you should maybe slow down. Lucky for the both of you, Leon intervenes.

“Ah ah, baby. Don’t take Chris out of the fun too quick,” he tuts, reaching forward to guide your head back.

You pull off obediently and lean back onto your knees. Chris sighs at the reprieve but nearly blows his load when his eyes refocus on you gazing up at him with spit and precum on your lips.

“I think Chris needs a break, angel. You know how good that mouth of yours is,” he says and pets your head before looking up to the older man, “You want a little taste of her while you cool off?”

It’s like time slows to a halt in the world of Chris Redfield. The heavens part and the words he just heard are the gateway to paradise. He stares at Leon, almost in the same disbelief you had been in minutes ago.

“You’re cool with that?” he says, trying to seem casual.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” he says and shrugs, “Plus, I think your rookie deserves a treat for her performance.”

“Of course she does. She’s probably feeling pretty needy by now too,” Chris says in return, beginning to feel more comfortable with the situation at hand.

“I’ll even let you pick, man. You want her spread out on the bed or riding your face?” he asks.

You look between the both of them as they speak before stopping on Chris as he makes the decision.

“Riding my face. Want her to smother me,” the older man says as he looks down at you with his familiar smile.

Leon glances down at you too. “You heard him, baby,” he says.

You return to your feet and approach the bed closer to the window. Chris discards his pants completely and removes his shirt before lying back. He pats his chest, signaling for you to climb up. As you move closer, so does your boyfriend. He rounds the bed and sits on the other side of the mattress to watch the pair of you.

You crawl over Chris’s muscular body, looking down at him for a moment when your faces are level. You then scoot up more so you’re basically sitting on his chest. You weren’t shy about sitting on someone’s face necessarily. You’d done it for Leon about a dozen times before, but Chris was new and you didn’t know how he liked to do it. From the way he guided your hips higher up though, you could already tell he was a little more gentle than your boyfriend.

He pulls you up until your pussy is hovering over his face. Then he takes a few moments to just admire it. It was cute just like every other part of you. One of his fingers drags over your flesh and pulls on the puffy folds, showing off your pretty little clit and slick entrance.

“Don’t hold back for me, rookie. I want to taste all of you,” he says as he looks up at you.

You return his look and nod before he pulls you lower by your hips onto his face. A squeak flies from your lips when his tongue makes contact with your cunt. Leon chuckles as he watches the two of you with lustful eyes. He’s working on undressing himself now.

Chris’s tongue takes a long swipe from the bottom to the top of your pussy, taking in as much of you as he can. Right now you’re all he can smell. Every breath brings him more of you. Your taste overwhelms him too. It’s the way he wants to live. You whine as his lips engulf your clit to suck on.

“Already making such pretty noises,” Leon teases, “Is Chris doing it how you like, sweet girl?”

You nod, your eyes connecting with those of your boyfriend’s for a moment. He kneels on the bed to be closer to you. His hand comes up to stroke your cheek.

“Good. You deserve it, baby. Just look at you. So precious. No wonder he’s crazy about you too,” Leon murmurs as he leans in and kisses you deeply.

His lips move with yours as you moan into his mouth. You begin rocking your hips back and forth on Chris’s face to get more of the stimulation he’s providing you with. His tongue flattens over your cunt and presses against it in stripes, making broad strokes that spark euphoria in your belly each time. His hands lock onto your hips to keep you still enough that you’re not interrupting his devouring of you.

The constant pleasure to your core makes you lightheaded. You would be swaying if not for the two men’s combined efforts to keep you up right. Your kisses become sloppier, and to alleviate it, Leon ducks down to kiss your neck instead. He peppers your skin with hickeys, his possessive nature shining through a bit.

“My pretty girl, doing so good for us right now. Taking it like a pro,” he whispers teasingly as his hands cup your breasts and give them a tender squeeze.

His lips travel down to where his hands are. He plants a few kisses on the swell of your chest. The sight of your nipples perking up for him would never get old.

“Sweet baby, everything about you is perfect. Don’t know how Chris resisted and never got a taste,” he says as he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

Your head falls back and you shudder. Two mouths on you, both licking and sucking in harmony. It made you moan loud enough that you would’ve certainly got a noise complaint if any of the other rooms were occupied.

“Is that for me or Chris, babydoll?” Leon asks and smirks up at you.

“Both,” you whimper, “Both of you are making me feel so good.”

“Not picking favorites, hm?” he goads you further.

“Can’t think enough to pick one right now,” you say simply before another whine leaves you. You didn’t want any more drama. At least not before you came.

“Oh, is your head getting all foggy, baby?” he coos.

“Mhm,” you whimper and nod.

On your lower half, Chris keeps his mouth firmly attached to your pussy. He’s pretty sure you already have him addicted, and you haven’t even cum yet. He’s licking with all the dedication in the world as if this task was his life’s purpose, the action he was put on this very earth to complete.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he grunts into you as he continues open mouth kissing your cunt, “Prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen.”

Leon smiles at the compliment, almost as if it was partially intended for him by virtue of being your boyfriend.

“She’s loving you, Chris. You’ve got her brain melting out her ears,” Leon purrs while rubbing your back soothingly, steadying you from the tremors that rack your body, “Pretty baby’s probably gonna cum all over your face soon.

When he hears that, the man below you pulls your hips down even harder and locks you onto his mouth. He works even harder to please you, relishing in the way your noises grow louder and more strained.

You give Leon puppy eyes as your hand darts out for his. Your fingers squeeze his palm so tight, he’s sure there will be little red crescents on the skin when you let go.

“What is it, sweetheart? You need to hold my hand?” he croons. He gently squeezes your hand back and moves his face to your neck to press a few more kisses there. “I’ve got you, baby. You cum whenever you want, I’m not gonna let go. Show Chris how pretty you are when you cum.”

Your teeth dig into your lip and your hips quiver violently.

“Fuck Leon- I just- I- Chris,” you stutter out. Your brain rushes to latch onto something, but it can’t seem to get a lock on anything.

“Don’t gotta say anything, angel. Just cum all over my face,” Chris commands from between your thighs.

“You heard him, baby. No thinking. Just let yourself feel good. That’s what we both wanna see,” he whispers and brings your hand to his lips.

Your lips part to say something, but you decide to just listen. You grind your hips down against Chris’s mouth, gasping as the euphoria paramounts within you. Your hips roll even faster as you feel release within your grasp. You’re closing in on it when you shriek and nearly double over with the shattering feeling of your peak.

“There we go, that’s it,” Leon chuckles softly, “Show him what I get to see every night. My favorite sight in the whole world.”

Your body moves as if it’s possessed when you cum. Your back arches into a curve with supernatural speed. Your eyes are screwed shut while your mouth is wide open. The younger man next to you grins while the older man below you continues to make out with your pussy, lapping up every drop of you that he could.

When you start to come down, he lets up, knowing Leon had more in store from you. He lets your hips go, and you basically topple over onto the mattress. You inhale and exhale deeply as the cool motel sheets rest against your cheek.

Chris’s eyes are hooded from lust, the effects of the most erotic experience in his life lingering. His cock is fully hard, standing up and aching for more of your touch. Yet in a way he’s satisfied, having just made you cum, tasted the sweetest part of you, and heard your most vulnerable sounds.

Leon’s undressed on the bed, the only one of the three of you whose mind didn’t feel hazy with clouds of desire. He tugs on his stiff cock a few times as he decides what to do. His eyes flit between your crumpled up form and the other man lying on his back.

“Chris, you wanna hold her for a little bit? Have her sit in your lap?” he asks.

The older man almost felt pathetic at how eager he was to play along and say yes. Almost. Because he still does that. He nods and sits up, leaning back against the headboard.

The next move is getting you up. Your boyfriend guides you to where Chris is, and he then helps you into his lap. Your mind was coming back to normal, and you were looking up at Leon with adoration while you melted against Chris’s broad chest. You nuzzle it gently, feeling its warmth and plush quality. His thick arms encase you, making sure you feel secure.

Leon pulls you on your hips to get you a bit lower where he has easier access.

“I’m not gonna let you fuck her this time. I wanna show you how it’s done first,” Leon teases as he slots himself between your legs.

In any other instance, this would’ve pissed Chris off. Everything about it would’ve left him disappointed and annoyed. But now any negative emotion is overshadowed by two words.

This time.

Because this time implies there will be a next time. And maybe even a time after next time. Another time for him to feel his cock inside you. Another time for him to make you cum on his fingers or watch you ride him. Some of his hopes spring back to life.

Internally, his heart is soaring. He kisses your hairline carefully as Leon slides his tip between your folds that are sticky with arousal. He teases himself with the feeling only a few times before nudging the tip inside.

Your head falls back against Chris’s chest and you moan. He kisses your temple and caresses your sides as if you need to be soothed. As if this isn’t the dick you’ve been taking nightly for the last few months.

Chris’s own length is rock solid against your back. Every small change in your facial expression or rise in pitch of your voice sends blood rushing to it, the threat of cumming untouched ever present.

Leon steadily pushes in until he’s buried all the way inside and you’re nice and filled to the hilt.

“So fucking tight. You gotta feel it, Chris. You thought she tasted good? Just wait till you feel her,” he grunts.

“I bet. I could tell from how cute her pussy was. She was clenching around nothing the whole time. I’m sure she loves to squeeze down anytime she’s got a cock in her,” Chris whispers

More hope was rising in him that this wouldn’t be a one night only thing, and it took all his strength not to smile like an idiot. His knuckles move down your cheek lovingly as he speaks to you and holds you while Leon thrusts. Your body rocks gently with the momentum, pushing you against Chris’s cock each time.

“She does love to get all tight. Just wants to suck me in so I can never leave,” Leon says and holds your thighs to start thrusting harder.

“Such a needy girl. I should’ve known, rookie,” Chris murmurs to you.

“It just feels so good,” you whine, “It’s not my fault.”

“Oh I know it’s not, precious,” Leon mocks, “Your head is always full of nothing but air when I’m around. It probably just gets worse with Chris here.”

You whine in protest and squirm a little, unknowingly grinding your ass on Chris’s cock and coaxing a moan from him. Leon’s dick hits deeper too, bringing you heightened pleasure.

“You’re not an airhead, baby. You’re a sweet girl. My rookie. You just wanna feel good, hm?” Chris says teasingly.

You nod along, and from the look on his face, Leon is amused, pleased with the dynamic Chris opened up.

“No one said she isn’t sweet. Just that she goes a little dumb as soon as she’s got my dick in her,” he teases.

He sighs and his eyes roll back for a moment as you clamp around you. He keeps rocking in and out, enjoying the wet sounds coming from each one of his movements. He also can’t get enough of your mewls or the way you're clutching one of Chris’s forearms right now.

“Maybe he’s right about that. You just work so hard all the time. You need something that can calm you down,” Chris says and squeezes his arms around you, “You’re still so precious.”

You look up at Chris with lovey dovey eyes, remembering why you’d been so enamored with him in the first place. He talked to you like you were the sweetest thing to walk this earth and made you believe it. He made you feel cared for in a way that was indescribable. Pure feeling.

“Yeah you are,” Leon grunts, “And you can go as dumb as you want right now, baby. We’re both here taking care of you. I’m sure Chris loves holding you while all you can do is whine for more.”

“That’s right. I love seeing you like this, knowing you’re taken care of,” he whispers, “And you know I’ve always got you. I’ll never let my rookie go.”

All the words are overwhelming. You pant and writhe more in Chris’s grasp.

“You getting close again, babydoll?” Leon asks, knowing your tells.

You whimper and nod quickly.

“Good. I am too,” he grunts.

He starts working himself into you harder. The momentum from each snap of his hips keeps you rubbing against Chris’s shaft and working him closer to the edge as well. All three of you are panting, muscles tensing up in some way as the end approaches.

You stare into Leon’s eyes for a moment before rotating your head and looking up at Chris. Both sets of eyes are fixated on you. The overflow of attention is the final strike your body needs to start convulsing with release. The older man’s arms tighten around you, keeping you close as your skin heats up and your noises grow whinier. Your boyfriend keeps a steel grip on your hips, his fingers stroking back and forth.

“That’s my girl,” Leon grunts, “Let it out, baby.”

He moans and lets his head fall back as he feels himself hurtling towards the finish line.

“My rookie. Just perfect, honey,” Chris whispers, “I’m so proud of you.”

The words nearly triple your pleasure and you continue to ride out the high as Leon finally cums and shoots it inside you. He nearly growls as he pounds into you, completely emptying himself. All the rutting is enough for Chris to cum too. He spurts his hot seed against the small of your back, holding onto you with all he has as his hips jerk upwards and he imagines it’s him buried inside you.

Leon’s the first to get his bearings back. He pulls out slowly, letting you adjust to the feeling of emptiness. He then rolls to the side of you and Chris, watching the final moments with the other man. You lie on his chest with your eyes drooping, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. His hand lazily runs down your side. He savors your warmth on his chest. Almost subconsciously, it feels like you really are his in this moment.

That is until you regain your composure and sit up. You hop up for a moment to clean off the mess on your back. He knew you’d have to, but the sight still makes Chris’s heart ache.

As you return to the bed, you give your boyfriend a dizzy smile and crawl over to curl up at his side. He rubs your back and pecks your forehead. For the two of you, it’s like a regular night. Chris isn’t sure where he fits in this anymore. Should he just move to the bed you two had claimed earlier? Should he make the two of you get up?

He’s running through solutions in his mind when your hand comes out and grabs his wrist. You’re looking up at him with some sort of longing in your eyes.

“Stay with us,” you say.

It was softer than he ever heard from you, different from when you introduced yourself on your first day of work or made a mistake on a mission. It was a new kind of shyness that just made him want more from you. He stares at you and contemplates the idea. Leon raises his eyebrows and gives him a look, giving him the silent ok he needed to slowly lower himself to the mattress.

He shuts off the light first, leaving the motel room in darkness except for the glow of the yellow street lamps shining through the window. His head hits the pillow, and he drapes an arm over you. You’re still leaning into Leon for the most part which he makes no move to interfere with.

The three of you don’t say anything for the rest of the night. Silence permeates the atmosphere of your shared space. The events of the last hour run through each of your minds in different ways. The mission had taken a back seat for now. It could return to prominence tomorrow once the mental dust had settled.

Leon’s eyes flutter shut first, and his deep, even breaths of sleep follow. You’re barely awake with your cheek squished against his pectoral muscle. Chris watches you, the outline of your face illuminated from the faint light outside. He wonders if this really will be the only time with you. If his taste of heaven will remain that, a sample of what he could have had. He chooses to not believe that and drive himself crazy.

He shuts his eyes too and brings his face to nestle against the crook of your neck. His breath hits your neck when he sighs. In the abyss that is the motel room, he feels your hands come up to rest on his arm.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil x reader #resident evil imagines #resident evil smut #resident evil x you #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield x y/n #chris redfield x you #chris redfield imagine #chris redfield smut

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dazednmatthews · 16 hours

Text

don’t ever tell me to go away (from you) ~number neighbor!matt x reader part fifteen

i’m so sorry that this is like days late omfg. i haven’t forgot abt my promises to finish this or the last chris work i want to post!! ive just been so fucking busy it’s insane. i love u guys let’s get back to it fr (this is not the last part of number neighbor y’all)

“dumb. this is so dumb.” y/n says under her breath, restlessly pacing in front of matt’s door.

she’s been losing her mind out here for about twenty minutes, walking to her car then back to the front door and then all over again. she knows she looks fucking insane, but she can’t help it. the anxiety was tearing her stomach to shreds.

she hadn’t put much thought into it, really. after her conversation with daria, she was immediately met with a wave of determination. she showered, put on a presentable outfit and even brushed out her curls, which was a lot better than she’d done for herself the last seven days.

she hadn’t stopped to think about it until she was halfway here. she had matt’s address because of the one time she had a matching minions poster delivered (he hated it) and it had just lived in his contact file ever since. she knew that she had to talk to matt in person. one, because she knew that she would a hundred percent pussy out over the phone, and two, she knew he deserved that. at least.

thinking about it now though, y/n is shaking in her fucking boots at the thought of matt slamming the door in her face. or calling her a psychopath (derogatory) for showing up at his house unannounced. the only reason she even knew he was home was the car parked in the driveway.

in hindsight, maybe this was a bad idea. maybe it was too soon, or worse, she was too late. the thought has her spinning around in place, ready to beeline it back to her car for the last time.

because nothing ever works the way she plans though, she’s frozen in place by someone calling her name.

“y/n?” nick is baffled by the sight of the girl who’s had his brother losing his ever loving mind in his driveway. he has the car keys in hand, looking as if he was going to go search for something.

y/n gives a smile that probably looks like she’s being electrocuted. “hey, nick.”

he’s standing there absolutely dumbfounded, mouth slightly ajar. she’s never even been to their house, or met him and chris in person. it was awkward, because what is she supposed to say? “hey nick! don’t mind me, i’m just here to beg for your brother to talk to me again! nice weather, right?”

it was something close to her worst nightmare.

there’s another voice. “nick! what the fuck did we say about leaving the door wide open?”

chris comes out the house while looking at his phone. when he bumps into nick’s back, he looks up with a scowl. when his eyes shift to what nick is looking at, his jaw drops dramatically. “holy shit.”

y/n shifts on her feet uncomfortably. she feels like she’s in a zoo, being watched and marveled at. it’s strange, talking to them so much on the phone with matt yet standing in front of them for the first time in the middle of a fucked up situation.

“hey, chris.” she does a weird hand wave that makes her want to punch herself in the face. “um, is matt home?”

they just nod, still unmoving. chris speaks first. “his room is up the stairs to the left.”

she basically runs away from the scene, thanking them. she can hear nick whisper-yell to chris behind her. “this is fucking crazy!”

she bounds up the stairs hurriedly, not stopping to look around. she can feel herself panicking slightly, but before she knows it, she’s already at matt’s door and already knocking.

she can hear a muffled, “fuck off.” and a groan, but she knocks again anyway.

there’s a couple moments before he opens the door that y/n tries to slow her heartbeat. it works. for maybe three seconds. cause then matt is flinging open the door, irritation on his face and tight tank top resting on his top half. then her heart is nearly hitting him with how hard it’s beating out of her chest.

the irritation in his face drops when he realizes that it’s in fact not his brothers coming to annoy him for the seventh time that day. but y/n can’t decide if the look he wears now is any better. it’s blank and indifferent. like her presence is no longer something he’s affected by. and man, does that fucking suck.

she forces herself to speak. “hi, matt.”

he scans her face. “y/n.”

she shifts uncomfortably again, only this time the feeling is much worse. “can we talk?”

“you can’t just show up like this,” he says, using the same words she’d spoken to him a week ago. it makes her stomach twist in guilt. “it’s not fair.”

her palms are sweaty and she feels like she might throw up. it doesn’t help that his hair is messy and fluffy, just how she likes it. or that he’s wearing a different color variation of those stupid pajama pants. not to mention, there’s that fucking chain. her being is torn in half from being so insanely attracted to him and feeling so absurdly guilty.

“i’m sorry.” she offers, pleading look across her features.

matt runs his tongue over his top teeth. “for showing up unannounced or for ghosting me completely?”

“both.” her voice is low, scared that he’s about to slam the door in her face.

he must accept that answer though, because he widens his door, stepping aside for her to come in.

she does, and instantly shes hit with about a million different memories while looking around his room. all the countless hours on the phone; laughing and arguing, flirting and fake-bashing each other— it caused an ache in her she didn’t know how to soothe. she wanted to try though.

when she turns around, matt is leaning against his bedroom door, arms crossed. he’s not saying anything, which is fair, but it does nothing to quell the worry clouding her.

“how-“ she stops, stuttering slightly. “how are you?”

matt raises an eyebrow. “fine.” his eyes are guarded. “if you count out the fact that the only girl i’ve been talking to for like forever suddenly disappeared without a trace for reasons she won’t tell me.”

she deserved that. “damn.”

her eyes widen after that because that is so not what she meant to say. she’s a shaky, disoriented mess and the fact that matt looks completely uninterested in what she has to say isn’t helping at all.

“is there a point to this or did you just come here to stare at me?”

“yes to both,” she admits, rubbing at her face. she takes a deep breath, choosing to just jump in. she thinks about daria’s words and she goes for it. “i’m a fucking idiot. i’m sorry.”

he doesn’t say anything, so she continues. “i didn’t mean it. what i said last week. when we were texting and when you came to my house. of course i care. of course this is something to me.”

matt still looks unbothered. it makes y/n want to stop talking, to run out of here and never look back. but she knows that she has to keep going. she has never once in her life backed down from a fight, and she wouldn’t start now.

“i was… scared.” she says begrudgingly. you have to be open with yourself. “everything was moving so fast. by the time i realized i liked you, i was so fucking obsessed i could barely even think about anything else. it freaked me out; made me feel like i had more to lose than you did.”

matt kisses his teeth. “i told you multiple times that i liked you. wanted to talk to you all the time. wanted to see you all the time.” he pushes off the door, coming to stand in front of her. “every ounce of free time i had was filled with you. do you think i spend hours on the phone with just anyone?”

y/n’s eyes are trained on the floor. “it didn’t matter because it all felt like a joke. saying shit like that was just how we were. it felt okay because it was never super serious. but as soon as i actually realized how i felt, i freaked and pushed you away. and then when you texted me that you wanted to be official it felt too good to be true. like you were lying. or it was another joke that we would laugh about. so i completely shut you out. and i’m so fucking sorry for that.”

matt scratches at his beard, which is so grown out it was making her dizzy. his eyes are soft but hesitant and all y/n wants is to kiss away the doubt she created.

“i meant what i said,” he lifts her head with his hand, making her look at him. “the or something.”

she knows exactly what he means. the blush that burns beneath her skin could light a fire. the second their eyes connected it felt like the world fell away. she wants to capture this feeling and tuck it away for any bad day after this. this feeling that matt gave her of iridescence. like she could shine in the darkest room. like she was something worth looking at. something worth really seeing.

the words are at the base of her throat, fighting to get out. she wants to tell him exactly how she feels but it’s still fucking stuck.

“just or something?” she baits, leaning into his touch when he moves his hand from her chin to her cheek. she kisses his palm and suddenly she feels like she’s right back on that park bench the first time they met. excited and giddy and nervous for the future.

matt’s lips turn up just the slightest bit. “if you think i’m gonna be the first one to say it after the hell you put me through,” he leans down and kisses the corner of her lips. “you’re even crazier than i thought.”

y/n has no choice but to laugh at that. it’s breathy and fleeting, because the heavy words are still on the tip of her tongue. she knows matt is half kidding, but he has a point.

she trails a hand up his chest, fingers toying with the chain she’s completely infatuated with. she hooks her index finger around it, tugging matt down to her level. she ghosts her lips over his. “unfortunately for the both of us, i’m in love with you, stupid.”

y/n finally wins the smile from him that she’d been fighting for. “unfortunately?”

she shrugs. “yeah. for you, because now you’re actually stuck with me. for me because you’re the most irritating person i’ve ever met.”

matt looks at her, eyes sparkling. there’s no joking annoyance or fake flat look. his eyes are lit up like the fourth of july, telling her exactly how much he’s ready to be stuck with her. he doesn’t even roll his eyes.

“i think i’ll manage.” he says, bumping his nose against hers, silently begging for a kiss. “i love you too, stupid.”

there’s about a half a second that y/n takes to just look at him, take him in. the man she loves and that loves her. then she basically jumps on him.

matt laughs into her lips and it sounds like heaven to her ears. he picks her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, kissing her like he’d missed her all his life.

it’s teeth and tongues and longing all being tied into each other. it’s doubt and fear and time wasted all falling away. it’s exactly where they need to be.

matt pulls away, and y/n opens her eyes, annoyed. “i wasn’t done.” she’s pouting, childishly.

matt smirks, moving to sit at the foot of his bed, still attached to his dream girl. “i know i’m irresistible but hold on a second.”

“i hate you.”

“no actually, you love me. said it yourself.” he winks obnoxiously, giving her a peck. his face stills momentarily, giving y/n a look that puts her on edge. “i just want you to know that i would never hurt you. i understand why you did what you did, i really do. but i need you to promise me that the next you feel like that or any kind of way, that you’ll talk to me. cause i can’t do that again.”

for a moment, y/n can see just how much it actually hurt him. how her apathy and avoidance had wriggled into his chest and made him the slightest bit insecure. he’d never tell her, but she knew.

so she grabs matt’s jaw, cupping it between her hands. her fingers scratch at his beard slightly and he preens at the touch. “i promise. i won’t shut you out again. i’m sorry i ever did.” the kiss she leaves on his lips is so soft, so gentle, she thinks she finally found the way to soothe and squash the ache. “i think you’re my favorite person.”

he smiles at her. it feels like no love she’s ever known. “you’re my favorite too.”

they spend the rest of the night there, wrapped in each other tightly. hands wandering and clothes falling. lips leaving white-hot kisses and sinfully sweet noises leaving them breathlessly.

and when matt’s lips leave a toe-curling trail of kisses all the way down to right between her legs, y/n thanks the fucking universe that she was bored that random day four months ago.

TAG LIST:

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rinhaler · 19 hours

Note

😩🤌 HOLD OOOOON JEALOUS UNCLE SUKUNA PLEASE? Extra Rough with a Sprinkle of loving

I got carried away but when don't I get carried away tbh also this is super icky sorry in advance hehe

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, incest, kinda cheating?, vaginal penetration, anal mention/slight teasing, degradation, pet names, jealousy, possessiveness, hair pulling, spanking, squirting, creampie.

words: 4.3k

There are eyes on you that you don’t feel. For the first time in your life, you don’t feel them. You’re engrossed in your phone as you swing gently in the hammock chair on your porch. The one that’s been continuously taken care of and maintained by him.

He watches you as you smile and bite your lip, your thumbs moving a mile a minute as you send reply after reply and wait with bated breath for a response in return. Even clearing his throat does little good. Is he really so invisible to you, now?

“Who is he?” he asks, muttering to your younger brother as he stands at the entry gate in your front yard. Your brother is confused, unsure of who he’s talking about. He looks around, until Sukuna looks at him directly. “You aren’t that stupid, are you? Look at her. Who’s the idiot she’s texting?”

Your brother looks in your direction, the cogs coming to life in his brain as he realises what he’s talking about. He smiles at him, but it soon fades as he sees your uncles disgruntled expression.

“Oh, she’s been bringing this guy around a lot called Megumi but she keeps saying they’re just friends. We all think it’s bullshit but—”

“That’s enough.” he groans. He puts his finger and thumb into his mouth and whistles loudly. Your eyes dart up from your phone, your giddy expression soon changes to one of surprise. “Hiya, princess.” he greets you, disappointed expression unchanging.

You get up from your seat, dropping your phone, and walk over to him. Even with both of his hands filled with gift bags, he wraps one around you and holds the small of your back. He kisses your cheek sweetly, pulling away to look at you properly.

“You’re getting prettier by the day, sweetheart.” he finally smiles. “You should drop out and become a model.”

“Looks fade, uncle Ryo, I’ll be a lawyer ‘til I’m old and grey.” you smirk. “You got us gifts again? You didn’t have to.”

“Speak for yourself.” Yuuji mumbles as he walks by you and into the house.

Your uncle shakes his head at him, a warm smile returning to him as he looks at you. You allow him to guide you inside, your phone a distant memory while his hand holds your shoulder.

You join Yuuji in the front room, sitting beside him on the couch while your uncle places the bags in front of you both. He sits nearby, in your dad’s old chair, while he watches you both sift through your gifts.

Well, you assume he’s watching you both. But those ruby eyes of his remain perfectly fixed on you. They wander to Yuuji every so often when he expresses gratitude for the gifts he’s received, but all he cares about, truly, is you.

“Is this a new laptop?” you ask, jaw almost dropping to the floor as you see it. “This must have cost a fortune. You didn’t have to do this.” you smile.

“It’s fine, I got you both one. What’s the point of my sister having kids if I can’t spoil them? Where is she, by the way?”

“Wait,” you stop him as you go through the rest of your gifts. “New stationary, bags, files. You got me all of this stuff for college? Thank you.” you beam. You jump up and sit in his lap, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing tightly, the intensity makes him wonder if you’ll ever let go.

Unfortunately for him, you do.

“She texted me a few minutes ago saying they’ve changed her shift and she won’t be back until late.” Yuuji says nonchalantly as he continues looking through his stuff.

“What?! She said she’d give me a ride tonight. I’m gonna have to get a taxi, where’s my phone?” you ask, leaping up from your seat in your uncle’s lap as you check all of your pockets. You head towards the front door to check the last place you’d been with it, when you suddenly feel his hand encase your wrist.

“Talk to me.”

“She’s meant to be taking me to the movies for my d- uh, I’m meeting a friend.” you explain.

“Boyfriend, you mean.” Yuuji mumbles before coughing loudly to cover up his comment.

“Shut up.” you snap back. “But I’m gonna have to book a taxi and start getting ready now in case I’m late. Thanks for the gifts, uncle Ryo.” you smile as you turn away to leave. But he squeezes your wrist hard, pulling you back to him.

“I’ll take you. Alright?” he tells you. “Just let me know when you’re ready to go.”

“Really?” you smile. “Thank you.”

“… What are uncles for, hm?”

Hours pass, time spent doing your makeup and choosing an outfit with texts sent to Megumi in between. Sukuna’s foot has been tapping incessantly as he waits for you, resisting the urge to check in on you every five minutes. He’d give anything to be in your room while you dress, allowing him to approve of your attire.

But instead, you appear hours later in a pair of shorts that would make him lose control in his younger years, but even now, he feels stirring in his slacks. A slight tightening that he’s fighting to ignore.

“Not leaving anything to the imagination, are you?” he grumbles, looking you up and down. You’re too irritated by his comment to notice the fact his eyes linger on your bare midsection and rake over your chest. Your little crop top almost looks too small for you, to him, with the way it accentuates your tits. “It’s a bit much for a movie.”

“Don’t start, I’m not changing. It’s so hot out I just wanna be comfy. Can we go?”

“Move, then.” he scowls.

You scoff, walking out ahead of him. He watches as you walk away before trailing after you. You’re mistaking his rage for sulking. You’ve never seen your uncle angry, not really.

If only you knew, he’s seething.

You spend twenty minutes in the car with him, panicking that you’re going to be late. You’d hate to picture Megumi there, waiting for you all on his own. You’ve texted him a few times to let him know you’re on your way, but you’re yet to hear back from him.

“Can you, like, do something?!” you ask before gluing your eyes back to your phone.

“What?” your uncle responds, teeth clenched as he looks over to you. His anger brewing further as he sees Megumi’s name with a bunch of heart emojis at the top of your phone. “Should I pick up the car and carry you it through the streets for you, darlin’?”

“If it’ll get us there faster, yes.”

“Tch.” he scoffs. “You know the world won’t end if you put your phone down for five minutes.”

“I’m letting him know I’m gonna be late! Is that alright with you?!”

“Him. The boyfriend, not friend. You lied.” and before he can stop himself, he speaks without thinking. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Your eyes widen at his words. And you can’t decide if you’re furious or devastated. Ashamed? Is he ashamed of you? You don’t know why he would be. He’s never said anything so mean to you before. In fact, you don’t think he’s ever said anything cruel to you in your life.

“What’s your problem?” you speak, your volume a little louder than intended.

“You are. I don’t even recognise you. Throwing yourself at college boys and dressing like a little slut. I thought I brought you up better than that.”

“You didn’t bring me up. Just because you visit with gifts every few months doesn’t mean you’re my fucking dad, Ryo. You’re barely an uncle.” you bite back. There’s more you could say, but you’re silenced by an incoming text from Megumi. “FUCK! I’m so stupid. Take me home, I got the time wrong.”

He grunts, turning the car around roughly before he parks down a nearby alleyway.

“Get out.” he orders.

“Huh?”

“Get out of my car, princess. You think you can disrespect me like that in my own fucking car? Get out and call a cab.”

Your heart sinks when you realise he’s far from joking. He actually wants you to get out of his car. In fact, he’s waiting for it. It’s hard to know if it’s genuine, if he’s legitimately planning on leaving you in a creepy alleyway all on your own and driving away. You hope he’s just trying to scare you, but the air is getting thicker.

His stare becomes harsher.

Your heart beats faster.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to disrespect you…” you pout. “Don’t make me get out, please. You’ve been so… off with me today. And I’m embarrassed I got the time of this date wrong and—”

“So it is a date after all, huh?” he sighs.

“We’re, ugh, we’re friends but—” you cover your face in embarrassment. “We keep talking about taking things further, but it’s just a movie I don’t know if it’s a date. Maybe we’re just gonna be friends forever and he isn’t interested at all.” and with that, you’re officially sulking, humiliated that you spilt your little secret to your uncle of all people. You feel his eyes on you, but you don’t want to look.

If they’re the same harsh eyes that told you he’s ashamed, you don’t want to see them ever again.

“Is that why you’re dressed like an easy whore tonight? Hah? Thought he’d be more interested if you put more on show.”

“Why are you being such a dick?!” you yell. The silence is too much, his bewildered face catches you off guard. It’s like he hadn’t expected you to raise your voice. You both maintain your silence, equally at a loss for words. But it goes on too long, and unintentionally, you feel the need to fill it. “What, are you jealous? Bet it’s been a while since you got any action, old man.”

“Old?” he scoffs. “What are you talking about, action? You wouldn’t do that… would you?” he asks, there’s venom coating his tongue, but it’s overridden by curiosity.

“Why do you think I dressed like such a… ‘little slut’, huh?” you laugh as his expression changes once again, he’s uncomfortable, so you decide to poke the beast. “We got seats in the back row… I don’t even care about the movie, it’s just an excuse to put our hands down each other’s pants.”

“That’s enough.”

“Why?”

You watch him as he unbuckles his seatbelt with haste. If you had blinked you would have missed it, and it’s not long before he does the same to yours. You’re weightless as he pulls you from your seat and into his lap, a few pathetic ‘ow’s’ leave your lips as he positions you over him.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, a combination of worry and curiosity overwhelming you.

“You really wanna get felt up at the movies by a little college boy? How pathetic you are… I thought you were better than that.” you’re too stunned to speak as his words consume you. Has he always been so protective of you? Has he always had this side to him? You don’t want to move. You barely want to think in case he doesn’t like how your thoughts sound. You gulp, nervously, and he smirks in amusement.

His fingers trail lightly across your chin before he holds it carefully between his thumb and forefinger. He licks his lips as his eyes examine your features. There is hunger in his ruby irises, a starved man sizing up the meal he’s worked so hard for.

But he’s patient.

He thinks it’ll be fine, nothing he does will make you object.

Though he can’t be too careful. So he proceeds with caution, allowing his fingers to carry on tracing downwards. Your wide eyes turn to a heavy lidded gaze as you feel the pads of his fingers softly dance across the column of your neck. His eyes follow the path they take, looking up once or twice to make sure you still aren’t opposed to his touch.

You gulp, again, when you feel him touch atop your breasts, and his eyes stay fixed on yours for a moment longer. But he’s greedy, now, unable to withstand the growing bulge in his pants or the thoughts he has about you in order to cure him.

He hooks his index finger into the low scoop of your crop top and pulls downwards. You’re unable to stop yourself from shuddering, and he looks up at you with a sympathetic stare.

“This is… wrong.” you speak, a slight whimper in your voice.

He grins, though he tries to hide it from you.

“How can it be wrong, sweetheart?” he asks. He holds your hips in heavy hands and pushes you down onto his clothed erection. “Feel how good you make me feel? Let me make you feel good, too. Megumi won’t satisfy you, I promise you that.”

“Ryo…” you sigh, soon stifled as he helps you roll your hips onto him. “It’s wrong… you know it is…”

“Well, maybe I don’t care,” he hisses, his cock leaking from the friction between you. He allows his head to droop back against the head rest behind him, smiling up at you as he realises you’re beginning to move all on your own. “I don’t think you do, either.”

Your eyes fill with water, and you bat your eyelashes in a bid to dismiss it. How did this happen? How did you get to this point? Maybe you’ve been waiting for Megumi for too long. Maybe some part of you knew you’d end up here with him. And maybe you want it just as much as he seems to.

“Naughty girl… give me a kiss,” he demands, fingers caressing the column of your spine before he pushes you down towards him.

A little whine escapes your lips before you submit to him. The feelings of his bulge nudging against your clit is enough to make you lose all sense. It’s clumsy and uncomfortable, a chaste kiss as if you were kissing your uncle turns into a sloppy, tongue tangling kiss as you soon dismiss that familial bond.

He pulls away, groaning slightly before he yanks down your crop top and exposes your bare tits.

His jaw tenses as he looks up at you again, as if he were withholding something he so desperately desired to say. But instead, he silences himself, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking experimentally.

Your eyes roll back into your head, your hand carding through tufts of pink hair. It’s been a while since you’d been intimate with anyone like this, the sensation making you weak and needy. The slightest touch feels enough to make you cum, though you hold back, savouring the way his hand holds your other breast and rolls your nipple between his finger and thumb.

You wonder if he sleeps around a lot, you wonder if he’s gotten laid recently. You want to know how good he is. You’ve heard from girlfriends that older men do it better, but you’ve never experimented so cavalierly, you wouldn’t even know where to meet one.

Little did you know you’ve had an older man vying for your attention all along.

“How do you like it?” he asks, breath fanning across your drool soaked tit before he swaps which one he suckles. You hiss a little as he grazes your perked nipple purposefully between his teeth.

“I— It’s good,” you say, shyly, body heating up further when you hear a small laugh leave his lips.

“No, baby. How do you like to fuck?” he asks again. You think you might pass out from the shame. Though it’s shameful enough that you’re allowing your uncle to suck your tits. You screw your eyes shut before opening them again, hoping that this could possibly be a bad dream you just need to wake up from. But he’s still there when you open your eyes, still looking up at you with a cocky grin as he observes your embarrassment consuming you.

“I don’t— I don’t really—”

“You’ve proven yourself to be a little slut, so you must have a preference. What happened to that mouth of yours, huh? You were so desperate to talk about your little classmate touching you up later.” he reminds you, and you pant from the humiliation. Any attempt to wriggle away is halted by him wrapping his arms around your torso and keeping your body glued to his. “How many little pricks have you let slut your cunt out, sweetheart?”

“Ryo…” you gasp, breathing becoming erratic. It’s too much, he chuckles as you start to fan yourself. “I don’t know anymore. I can’t think.” you explain.

“Have you lost count, princess? That’s disgusting, don’t you think?” he tuts, mock repulsion lacing his words. He only half means it. He’s disgusted that so many useless little boys have felt you wrapped around them without any inkling of how to truly satisfy you. “They don’t matter, now. No one will make you feel as good as I’m going to, you won’t want anyone else when I’m through.”

“This is… it’s a one time thing. Okay?” you tell him, and his smug smile only grows wider.

“We’ll see,” he starts, his fingers dig into the flesh of your ass as your shorts ride up. A pathetic yelp flees from you as his stinging palm lands on your body. “I don’t really care how you like it, I was just curious.”

“… how do you like it, Ryo?”

“It depends, princess.” he bites his lower lip. “But if it’s just this once, you’ll let me fuck you how I like. You’ll be a good girl for uncle Ryo, won’t you?”

You blink a few times. Are you really so easily manipulated? Are you really still grinding down on the throbbing bulge of your uncle? Your silence speaks volumes, to him. And with his patience wearing thin, you find yourself being thrown awkwardly into the back seat.

He takes a deep breath before stepping out, from behind the wheel and opening the back door.

You watch him as he unbuckles his belt, and he smiles when he notices you watching. He slows down the action, allowing you to savour the sight of him undressing. He stops after his cock springs free, slapping off his abdomen and leaving a pretty trail of pre on his pristine white shirt.

“Have you never seen a big dick before? You look scared.” He chuckles. You don’t say a word, and without realising you’re shaking your head. You thought you had, but apparently they were nothing in comparison to actual big dicks. You’re terrified, almost horrified, but you can’t look away.

Not until he tells you.

“Sluts take it from behind. Turn around.” he orders, and you immediately position yourself onto your hands and knees.

You squeal when his fingers curl into the waistband of your shorts and yank aggressively. He doesn’t pull them off, they remain around your thighs and keep your legs perfectly pressed together. His cock throbs at the sight, holding one of your ass cheeks and moving your lower half from side to side. You’d decided to forgo panties, and he couldn’t be happier.

The sight of your drooling cunt makes up for what has felt like an eternity of patience.

You scream, again, as you feel a multitude of spanks in quick succession. He thinks he might legitimately lose it at the sight of your holes clenching, and surprise rips through you as you feel a thumb pressed to your puckered hole. You cover your mouth to stop you from yelping at the unexpected touch, but he merely groans.

“Have you taken it here before?” he asks.

“… no… I h—aven’t,” you answer honestly. He hums in contemplation. He spits down onto your asshole and rubs his thumb across it gently.

“Next time, hm?” he muses to himself. Despite his words, he guides his cockhead to your tight hole. The thick tip rubbing teasingly against it. He doesn’t breach it, but the teasing alone feels pleasant. “I think you’ll like it…”

And with that, he moves from your rear entrance and plunges brutally into your drooling slot. You cry out, the unexpected entry taking you by surprise. He hushes and coos as your walls adjust to his girth.

The intensity of the pressure gives away to pleasure soon enough. Internally, he wants to be rough with you. He will be rough with you. However, he can’t ignore the fact that you are and always have been so precious to him. The thought of hurting you is hold him back.

But a deeper, darker part of him with a bruised ego overrides his conscience.

His fingers grab your hair harshly and wrap around his hand as if you were a dog on a leash. He pulls you until your back arches gloriously for him, and he uses the leverage to fuck into you harder.

He’s all too aware of the risks he’s taking. If anyone were to walk by they’d see exactly what he’s doing and has made no attempt to hide. Standing confidently outside the car with your ass on full display for anyone who’d dare to look. He could get arrested, your family could find out.

But it’s been too long of a wait for this taboo coupling for him to let something so trivial deter him from this. From you.

He’d like to hold off in favour of extending your pleasure. He’d like to see you cum and make a mess of his cock before he fills you to the brim with his creamy load. He’d like to see your pussy twitch and struggle to hold in his kids after he fucks them into you.

But he’s just a man, after all.

He doesn’t care if you cum anymore. He did, but this is for him. His heavy tip rocks repeatedly into your sweet spot and your raucous moans are bound to catch attention sooner or later. He’d love to stifle you in some matter, whether by covering your mouth or shoving his cock down your throat. But he can’t. His hands are still filled as one remains wrapped around your hair and the other keeps a bruising grasp on your hip.

He wants to tell you to shut up, he wants to tell you you’re being too loud and you’re soon to be spotted. But he can’t, he’s proud of you. Your pussy begins to suck him in and pulses around his thickness.

He chuckles and further fuels your shame as your pussy begins to gush from the pressure. Clear liquid jets out of you, dousing his cock, your shorts and his leather seats as you cum from the staggering sensation of being ploughed by your very own uncle.

The sight has him gritting his teeth as he uses your quivering cunt to reach his own satisfaction. His head falls back as he spurts stream after stream of viscous white cum into your womb. The warmth makes you hum contently, giggling as his movements slow, still determined to fuck his seed deep into you. He doesn’t even want to pull out, but the chill of the night air brings him to his senses.

You’ve been lucky to get away with this.

He pulls out, admiring the sight of his sperm dripping down into your shorts as he tucks himself away.

Your body is tired, but you find the strength to pull up your now soiled shorts before slowing making your way back to the passenger seat. You sigh, taking a few deep breaths as you contemplate what just happened.

“You look tired.” your uncle says casually as he starts up the car.

He’s right. You look at yourself in the mirror before you fold it back up, too disgusted with yourself to even look at how dishevelled and smeared your perfectly applied makeup has become. It’s all ruined. There’s no point in seeing Megumi, now. As excited as you were, you can’t go like this. You can’t let him see you like this.

Whenever you see someone walk by as your uncle drives you home, you can’t help but think they know. When your car stops at a red light, you think the people in the car beside you know. If you go and see Megumi tonight…

He’ll know.

YOU: sorry Megs, can we reschedule? My uncle just got to town x MEGUMI: of course. don’t worry about it, have fun with your uncle x

He reads your messages out of the corner of his eye, and does all he can to supress the satisfied smirk desperate to break out across his face. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife, he understands. You did something wrong. But that isn’t why it’s so quiet.

You’re quiet, and uncomfortable, because you liked it.

You can’t make eye contact with him, because you liked it.

And you can’t talk to him normally, because you want to do it again.

Your body language tells him all he needs to know. He’ll be in town for as long as you need to wrap your head around this. As long as you need to confess how desperately you desire him once more. It’ll only be one more time. Every time you tell him, beg him, crave him to make you feel good again, you’ll say it’s the last time.

But that one last time will never come.

Poor Megumi, he has no idea just how much fun your uncle intends to have with you.

259 notes · View notes

zyonsay · 3 days

Text

Een Nacht JOOST KLEIN

Fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!

Summary: An unplanned encounter led to a fun adventure.

Reader: Male, Tattoed

Warnings: NSFW, Unprotected sex, swearing, alcohol, cigarettes

Now playing: 'One of the girls' by The Weeknd, Lily-Rose Depp & JENNIE from BLACKPINK

AN: Hello everyone <3 i've been gone for a while and i still dont have much time to write, but i got overcome by my joost klein obsession.. again. I hope y'all enjoy this. I expected to write like 2k words, it ended up being 4,5k. Take care!

#Justice for Joost

...7 Missed Calls from ‘Millie’

Your best friend and roommate had left you hanging for a one-night stand, to put it shortly.

Tonight was Joost Klein’s concert in your area and you had bought these tickets ages ago. Both you and your roomie were huge fans of his music and planned on having the most amazing time ever. That was until she texted you, a few minutes after the time you had planned to meet at.

‘Hey dude, im soooo sorry, but I just met this really amazing dude at the library and I really wanna take him home ymwim?? I hope you still have an amazing time, byeeee!’

Saying you were angry was a brutal understatement. Absolutely fuming fit better. But nevertheless, you had so much fun at the concert. You didn’t need Millie to have a good time, you hope he at least fucked her well if she’s going to miss a Joost Klein concert for that. But this isn’t about Millie, this is about you jumping around all night and screaming your heart out.

All good things must come to an end and so did the concert. Joost thanked the crowd dearly and seemed really happy with the performance. Now that you had gathered your stuff, you pulled out your phone and prepared to walk to the bus station. Should be a 23-minute walk. An interesting insta reel popped up on your phone, your eyes were practically glued to the screen. That was until you inelegantly collided with someone. “Oh, I’m sorry!” You had your phone in a death grip, it had almost dropped to the floor. “My bad, I didn’t look where I was going!” Then you were greeted with the sight of a messy bleach blonde head of hair and two bright, blue eyes. This was Joost Klein himself. +A shy smile crept onto your face; you didn’t know what else to say. “Yeah, I’d be shocked too if I was standing in front of a celebrity.”, his attitude seemed cocky, but in a playful way. He was beaming, his grin as bright as the moon. Without thinking much, you opened your mouth to speak: “haha, exactly.” The sarcasm was dripping from your voice. “You seem happy, the concert went really well.”, you offered him a genuine smile. “Yes! I loved the crowd.”, his eyes lit up, “the numbers could be better though, at least my manager says so. But that’s just how the art industry is.” He kept rambling to you like he already knew you for ages. “Sorry, you probably don’t care. Oh yeah, and I forgot to ask for your name.” Joost lazily smiled at you. “I’m Y/n. I totally get that thing about the numbers. It’s difficult when you’re doing art as a job.” His gaze softened slightly. “It’s hard bringing in new fans when there are new artists every day. There’s always a younger, more talented artist out there.” His smile turned into a rather sad one, maybe he wasn’t so happy after all? “But I think you got something special going. Something different than those soundcloud rappers, you know?”, you chuckled lightly, “I think your music is true art.” For a moment he seemed to taste your words on his tongue. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a while. “You seem like you do art too?”, Joost raised an eyebrow in genuine curiosity. “Yeah, I’m not that relevant though.” An awkward feeling crept over you; you scratched the back of your neck. “Ah, I don’t wanna hear it.” He barely let you finish your sentence. “I bet your really talented. I mean just your vibe right now!” Joost was now standing pretty close to you. He tended to close the distance between him and the person he’s talking to. Personal space is not in his vocabulary.

A quick glance to your phone screen revealed that your bus was about to leave in three minutes. Doesn’t matter, you’re striking up a good conversation with one of your favorite singers right now. “That’s so nice of you. People rumor that you’re kinda rude, but I haven’t seen any of that yet.” The left corner of his lips curled up, that was probably not the first time he heard about that rumor. “That’s because a lot of people who meet me say the dumbest things I’ve ever heard and then get mad when I don’t answer nicely.” He then intently looked at your eyes. “But you haven’t said anything bad yet.” Now he was smiling brightly again. “Hmm, so I gotta try harder to get on your bad side huh?”, he chuckled heartily. “You’re chill. I like you, I don’t get that with most people I meet.” He for sure is a big personality. “Oh my god, you should totally get your nose pierced. Would suit your look!” Admittedly, you have been thinking about getting a septum for a while now. But until shortly ago, you were working an excruciating office job, where piercings, colorful hair, gel nails and tattoos were strictly forbidden. That didn’t stop you from getting inked though. You waited to do your arms until you quit your job, but otherwise your whole body was littered with small and relatively big tattoos.

“I already got a few tattoos though; I worked an office job until recently. Getting a new piercing would’ve been difficult to hide.” Joost curiously eyed you, in search of any tattoos that might be exposed at the moment. “What kind of tattoos do you have then?”, he caught a glimpse of some ink under your shirt. “Loads actually. But my first one was a moth under my chest, I really like that one.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah? Let me see.” You could see right through him but decided to entertain his idea for a minute. Pulling down the hem of your loose button up, whose top few buttons were undone, you revealed a small part of the moth’s wings and head. With a gentle grin you declared that he would have to pay to see more. His smile now turned into a light smirk. “How much would I need to pay to see the rest?” Quickly, you quipped back: “How much does a drink in this town cost?” He now inches slightly away from you, he was all up in your space until now. “A drink, huh?”, he mused, “I’ll buy you the whole damn bottle.”

Joost guided you to one of his favorite bars in the area. His hand was on the small of your back when you two enterer the establishment, which seemed slightly out-of-place for a first meeting. “You know, I’ve never paid so much to see a tattoo before.” He teased while he ordered a bottle of vodka and two glasses. You really hope he wasn’t a creep, cuz this seemed like a red flag. “I must be pretty special then”, you grinned while ogling the clear liquid. The blond was now swirling the vodka in his glass. He chuckled, “Yeah I’d say you’re pretty special.” Then he avoided your gaze. He was wondering how the rest of that tattoo looked like. And maybe it wasn’t the only thing he’d get to see tonight.

The swig you took from your glass made you grimace. Vodka was one of your top alcohols, but you had to be honest with yourself and admit it tastes like hand sanitizer. “Don’t tell me it’s too strong for you.”, he teasingly smiled at you. His blue eyes darted towards your hand, which was resting atop the wooden bar. In a smooth motion, he interlinked his pinky with yours. ‘Drink je moed met alcohol’ or whatever the saying is. Nevertheless, Joost felt more forward now. Maybe it was the vodka, maybe it was the way your eyes sparkled. But the alcohol for sure gave him an extra bravado. He carefully inched closer to you. You could tell he was getting a bit woozy, even if he was lazily smiling at you. “You ok?”, a small chuckle escaped you. He intertwined his hand fully with yours now. The look in his face was soft and affectionate. A bit wobbly, but very sweet. You got a bit closer; the tips of your noses were almost touching. Only a few centimeters apart. Joost kept his eyes fixated on you, his breath hitched. His ice blue eyes seemed to roam you whole face. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest, the proximity was intoxicating to him. Joost’s eyes fluttered shut and you waited for a few seconds, messing with the dutchman in front of you. His eyes opened again and saw you grinning teasingly at him. “Really? We’re doing this now?” A hint of disappointment flashed across his face for a split second, but soon after mischievousness played in his eyes.

The two of you seemed to be getting along well, chatting and laughing with each other which felt like hours on end. Your knee was now touching Joosts and his hand has landed on your thigh. He slightly squeezed it, trying to give you a signal of what he wanted. “What?”, you grinned knowingly. The blond playfully huffed but the smile on his face remained. “You know what.” He tried to play it cool, but the intent look in your dark eyes made his adrenaline levels shoot through the roof. Sneakily, you slid a hand behind Joost’s neck. “I’m usually not into blondes.” With that you caught his lips in a sweet, gentle kiss. The man practically melted into your touch, he held onto your shoulder as if he’d fall off the barstool if he didn’t. Maybe it was the alcohol or the massive interest he had for you, but Joost was kissing you fervently. A desperate noise escaped him. One of your hands rested on his chest, you could feel his heart beating rapidly. As you parted lips, Joost tried to calm his erratic heart. Suddenly feeling a bit shy, you hid your face in the crook of his neck. His cologne smelled amazing, even after messing around on stage the whole evening. The huffs of your hot breath sent shivers down his spine. He gently kissed your neck, you gasped and flushed ever so slightly. The bastard even slid a hand under your shirt, feeling your lower back. You let the hand on his chest wander a bit, earning a content gasp. “I’m loving this, but can we go somewhere more… private?” Joost let out a small laugh. “Yeah of course! My place or yours?”, he grinned at you. “My roommate is probably getting laid right now, so could we go to your place?”, he nodded with a sweet, drunken smile. “I’d love to take you to mine. It’s just a few minutes away from here actually.”

Either he was very bad at math, drunk or both at the same time. The apartment building was at least a 18-minute walk outside the city center. The breeze messing with your hair was fresh, a shiver ran down your spine. Joost risked a glance over at you from time to time, his stomach was churning with an excited flutter. Even though your gaze was directed straight ahead, you noticed the blond eyeing you. The faintest shade of rose feathered your cheeks, you bit the inside of your lip from nervousness. That didn’t go unnoticed, as Joost laughed brightly while pulling you into a side hug, still keeping up the pace. “You’re so flustered.”, he chuckled. Playfully, you slapped his arm. “Quit it.”, his smile widened and for a moment it seemed as if the sun was shining. “Try and make me.”, now his expression turned devious. “I’ll make you regret being this cocky.”, a pleased smile spread across your face. He wanted to provoke you a tiny bit more. “I’d love to see you try.” He brought you both to a halt in front of a building and opened the door. Joost looked at you and brought a hand to the small of your back. “Let’s get inside.” He intertwined his fingers with yours and pulled you up the staircase to the door of his apartment. His hands were slightly shaky from anticipation and the keys in his hand rattled and clinked.

After a few seconds he had finally unlocked the door and led you in, he didn’t bother to flick the light on. You turned around, faced with Joost’s back, a click indicated that he had closed the door. You slide your arms around his torso and press up against him. His breath hitched as you began trailing sweet kisses down his jaw and neck. Joost, now reddened and smiling lazily, turned around and slid his hands down to hold your hips. His scent was fogging up your mind, and you couldn’t help but be excited. Once again, you pecked his neck, occasionally nipping at the skin. To give you more room, he tilted his head ever so slightly. A content huff escaped him as you bit down harder, now having found his sweet spot. “Not so cocky now, huh?”, you chuckled before continuing your shenanigans. Joost let his head rest against the wall behind him and let out a small needy sound. He placed a hand on your shoulder, to steady himself. His breath was rugged, and his skin felt as if it was on fire. “Fuck, you drive me crazy.”, he whispered before letting his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder. When releasing your hold on him, you were greeted by two dilated eyes. “Let me be good to you.”, his voice was breathy, and his hair was messed up. “Let me take charge for a bit.”, he pressed the sweetest kiss to your lips. You quietly hummed as he began nipping at your neck, but before you could enjoy it more, he gently pulled you towards, presumably, his bedroom.

He gently pushed you onto his bed, you gladly let yourself fall backwards. “There we go.”, he murmured as he glanced down at you, splayed out. A possessive glint played in his eyes. With a tilt of your head, you invited him. You wouldn’t have to ask him twice, he quickly got on the bed with you. In a swift motion, he straddled you and placed his hand on your chest. You slide your hands up his legs and let them rest on his hips. Joost softly moans into the sweet kiss he embraced you in. He enjoys the heat and friction from his body being pressed down on top of you. His lips taste like cherry bubblegum from the local kiosk, you deepen the kiss as the blond grasps your shoulders. Carefully, you broke the kiss and tugged on his shirt. “Get rid of that. “, you groaned at the hot feeling spreading over your skin. His gaze darkened at the command, and he slowly leaned back. He lifted the hem of his shirt and slowly pulled it over his head, then tossed it away. A cheeky grin was now plastered onto his face, you slid your hands up his body, feeling his abs. “Thank you.”, he laid his hand atop yours, which was still resting on his body. “But you’re pretty hot too.” Now his hands slid under your shirt. “How about you take yours off as well? I need to see more of you.”, a small hum erupted from your throat, and you began peeling your shirt off. “You really wanna see that tattoo, huh?”, he nodded with a small smile. The fabric hiding the big moth was now gone and revealed its true beauty. It was a deaths-head hawkmoth, its wings were detailed and shaded amazingly, he could tell that your tattoo artist was a master of his craft. Joost’s eyes widened for a split second as soon as he saw how many tattoos were littered over your torso. He didn’t expect that many, but oh god they looked good on you. “You have no idea how good you look with all this ink.”, he ran a hand down your arm, feeling its muscles and gently rubbing the skin. “Really?”, you tried smiling innocently, but it came out looking more like a cheeky grin. “Makes me want you so bad.” His voice was barely above a whisper, the weak light of the moon made his blond hair look silvery. You delicately whispered back. “You can have me.”

Now he felt the heat rise inside him. His lips ghosted over yours, meanwhile he was fiddling with the stall of your pants. With a sense of confidence, he bit your lower lip, not enough to hurt you, but enough to show you that he was in charge now.

Once again, he nipped at your neck, but traveled down to your collarbone, your chest, your stomach and finally to the hem of your pants. Your head was tipped back in pleasure and the occasional groan left you. What you couldn’t see was him smiling up at you, enjoying the view. The soft moonlight painted milky stripes along your muscles. Joost planted a kiss on your hip before leaving bites around the waistband of your pants. He had already opened the button and zipper of your garment and now he pulled them off, tossing them aside. With the gentlest hands he caressed your thigh. A gaze to your thigh revealed even more tattoos, an elegant snake was swirled around your leg, entangled with the leaves of an olive tree. The dutch grinned slightly, then began leaving kisses and sweet bites over your thighs, he was burning up now. His hand slid upward on your thigh, though this time he was messing with the fabric of your briefs. He only chuckled lightly, before biting down harder. A soft whine escaped you, while he slowly pulled your boxers off. Then he sat back, waiting for a reaction. “Don’t tease, I’ll make you regret it.”, your threat sounded more playful than anything. He offered you a small, challenging grin as his fingers slid back up to your hips, where he let them rest. “Yeah exactly, what are you gonna do?” You groaned. “Keep going if you wanna find out.”

He leaned down and trailed kisses over your inner thigh, his hands roamed over your body, slowly making their way towards your crotch. Brushing over the tip of your length, he hummed in contentment. Your eyes fluttered shut, you couldn’t help but twitch at the contact. He rubbed his thumb over the slit, licked his lips, then wrapped his fingers around your length. His soft hands felt like heaven to you, his motions steady and gentle. Occasionally +he teased your tip with his thumb, enjoying your expressions. “Bet you rail some guy after all your concerts.”, a teasing smile appeared on your lips. “You’d be correct to think so, yeah.”, he hummed with a sly grin. He stroked you at a slow but firm pace. “Are you trying to rile me up with that?”, he then mused a chuckle. Despite your currently… pathetic state, you mustered to spit out: “I’d never. Just making sure you’ll remember me very time from now on.” He sped up a little. “Oh trust me, I’ won’t be forgetting you anytime soon.” Leaning in, he took the tip into his mouth. “Fu-uck”, you stammered. The warm, wet feeling of his mouth could’ve made you cum right then and there. One of your hands reached down to entangle itself into Joost’s blond strands. The mans breath hitched as he felt your hand in his hair, it sent tingles down his spine. He swirled his tongue around your tip, sucking gently while looking up at you. His hands held your hips firmly in place. “Didn’t know your mouth was good at anything other than singing.” Joost’s eyes crinkled at your comment. With a quiet ‘plop’ sound, he released your member. “I can promise you, it’s good at other things.” He muttered before tending to your length again, this time maintaining eye contact with you. The sight alone almost tipped you over the edge, his icy blue eyes were glossy, and his blond lashes framed them perfectly. Joost’s eyes flickered down, he noticed how you started to twitch lightly. He took you in deeper, focusing on the sensation in his mouth. The way his tongue swirled on the underside of your shaft made your vision go blurry, you felt a feeling tightening and coiling in your stomach. “I’m so close.”, you whispered desperately. Little did you know that he had other plans. Once again, he removed himself from your pulsing member, a string of saliva connecting to his lip. You ran a hand trough your hair, while your chest was sinking and rising with heavy breaths. Joost backed up slightly, removing any remaining clothes, then focusing on your figure again. He gently straddled you, his own length rubbing against yours, not without a sharp hiss from you though. “Hop on, let me treat you right.”, your muscles tensed from anticipation. A low groan escaped the blond, he nodded quickly before sitting up. With utmost care, he positioned himself and slowly sat down as he felt you push inside of him. He gasped at the overwhelming feeling, and you rested your head against the pillows, it was too much and not enough at the same time. Gently, he started slowly rocking his hips against yours, he bit down on your shoulder to muffle his soft moans. Feeling a bit revengeful, you bucked upwards, earning a loud gasp from the other man. A loud moan escaped him, and his body shuddered and tingled, he slightly sped up his rocking. Your warm hands trailed up to his hips, helping him steady his movement. Empty threats were never something you made, so you decided to go all out. In a swift motion you had basically thrown Joost off and positioned yourself over him, prodding at his entrance with your dick. He groaned and gasped at the sudden manhandling; a shiver of excitement ran down his spine. “That’s for teasing me.” He wrapped his legs around your waist, while letting out a breathless moan. Without much care, you pushed into him, setting a relatively fast pace. The dutch groaned at the rough treatment and you felt him dig his nails into your back and leave long scratches along it. “You’re so g-ood.”, his voice broke slightly, he was panting heavily. “I said I’d make you remember me.” Even in this pathetic state, he chuckled.

With his arms slung around your shoulder, he cried out in pleasure, small pearly tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Fuck. I will.”, his eyes were glossy. Once again, he bit down on your neck, leaving yet another dark hickey. Bitten off moans slipped out of him; he was pretty sure both of your hips would be bruised after this night. The room was filled with breathy moans and gasps, along with the constant sound of skin slapping against skin. Joost was completely lost in the moment, he loved how you took control. “See who’s not being so cocky anymore?”, you teased. “Shush.” His head lolled back in pleasure. You snuck a hand around his throat, threatingly gripping it with very little pressure. “You’re not the one giving orders.” A shiver of excitement ran trough Joost’s veins, he ever so slightly arched his back, pressing his body closer to yours. “Now shut up and take it.”, your hips snapped against Joost’s, and his groans became even weaker. The pleasure was building up in his stomach, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could handle it. His vision went blurry, and his body tensed up, his nails dug deep into your skin, leaving bloody scratched all over your back. “Fuuuuuuck”, he moaned against your collarbone. Warm, milky white cum shot out of his length, all over his stomach and chest, you yourself quickly pulled out and dropped the load on top of his. “Messy Boy.”, you whispered.

He laid there for a few minutes, panting heavily and feeling utterly spent. You grabbed a random t shirt on the bed and wiped him clean. With a good wash it’ll be as good as new, you thought. Gentle to not disturb him too much, you laid on top of him, resting your head against his chest. He let out a small huff, then wrapped his arms around you. “I’m going to feel this all day tomorrow…”, he mumbled. “Then I did it right.”, you closed your eyes, enjoying his warm breath trickling down your face and neck. Joost hadn’t seen the tattoo on your back before but was admiring it now. It was another snake, wrapping around a big dagger with various decorations on it. He ran a hand over it, feeling the skin he had scratched open around it. “So, you like it een beetje ruw?”, he whispered. “Ja but I can be sweet too.” Joost chuckled. You looked up again, enveloping him in a genuine, gentle kiss. Brushing a stray hair away, you caressed his cheek. The blond hummed lightly, his heart fluttering at the tender kiss. His lips curled up into a sweet smile. “Just for some people though.”, you grinned cheekily.

After having thrown on your briefs, you had retrieved your pants and began rummaging the pockets. “Can we go out to the balcony? I’d like to have a smoke.” Joost raised an eyebrow while his smile revealed his dimples. “Cigs after a good lay, huh?”, he began to fumble around in his bedside drawer, trying to find his own pack. “They’re on me, owe you after that.”, you giggled. Joost opened the slide door and led you outside. The atmosphere was calm, the two of you sat down on the floor. You held out your pack to the man, before taking a cigarette for yourself. He put it between his lips, waiting for you to light it. His eyes watched your face closely. After having his cigarette lit, Joost leaned against the balcony railing, enjoying the fresh breeze. You looked over the city while the smoke mingled as they both exhaled. Joost reached out and tangled his hand with yours. “You’re so pretty.”, you mumbled absently, watching a few blonde hairs follow the flow of the wind, his hair was all messed up, but he looked perfect. The tips of his hair looked almost white in the moonlight. “I’m usually not into blondes.”, you ruffled up his hair. “Hey!”, he cried out, but he quickly reached for your hair in an attempt at revenge. You gladly lowered your head, letting him do whatever he wants. Instead of messing up your whole hair, like you though he would, he gently combed trough it with his fingers. It felt soothing, you leaned into his touch and ended up flopping your upper body down into his lap. He couldn’t help but chuckle, “Comfy?”

A pleased hum escaped you, moments like these should last forever.

#justice for joost #welcome to zyons rubber room #male reader #reader insert #joost klein x reader #joost klein #joost #joost x reader #joost klein x male reader #x male reader #male reader insert #male!reader #male x male #gay

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luveline · 1 day

Note

hi jade! ☺️☺️ ur one of my favorite writers gosh you feed my heart everyday

im currently going through my usual body-wrecking periods 🥲 ur fics are helping

could you write something for bombshell! x spencer where maybe deeper into their relationship she is open with him about her period and he comes over to take care of her when her body is aching or she feels nauseous. im thinking some hair playing or some tummy rubbing.

i hope your weekend is lovely 🫶

thank you ❤️❤️❤️ fem, 1k

Can I come over? Are you home

You summon your first smile of the day, reading Spencer’s text.

Don’t know, you text back, can you handle me?

Usually not, but that hasn’t stopped me so far. I’ll bring dinner?

What kind of dinner my love

Maybe Indian? What do you want? I want tandoori chicken

Indian food is awesome if that’s what you want, I’m just messing with you

You can hear his voice in his next text, I know that. So I can come?

You can always come over but I have to warn you, I’m irritable

What’s wrong???

Spencer texts again before you can answer, I’ll come now and we can order delivery, I’ll be right there

You decide to call him before he can make the wrong conclusions. He answers so quickly you laugh down the line. “Spencer, hi, there’s nothing that wrong.”

“What does that mean?”

“You don’t have to rush over.”

“Well, what’s wrong? Did I do something?”

“Why do you always think that, babe? No, you didn’t do anything. You’re actively making me feel better just talking to me.”

Spencer pauses briefly. “Really?”

“Really. I’m on my period, it’s kicking my ass,” you mumble, dropping your face into the soft top of your couch. “It would make me feel so much better if you were here. I want a hug.”

“I’m coming. I haven’t brushed up on my hug skills for a while–”

“You hugged me yesterday before I went home?”

“How would you rate that? On a scale of one to ten?”

“Ten, definitely.” You sigh and stretch out your legs. “No, just, my stomach is hurting and I feel sort of sick from the cramps. I’m a bit… depressed, maybe, so you don’t have to come over if you don’t want to. I might not be good company.”

“You’re always good company, you loon.”

“You what?”

“Sorry, I’m trying to be playful.”

“I know that, you loon,” you say, grinning. “Okay, you better be putting your shoes on. My patience is running out.”

“I’m by the door!” he says, giggles woven through each word. You can picture his smile, his unbuttoned coat. “You feel sick, should I still get dinner?”

“Yes, please. Tandoori chicken for me too, and–”

“I know what you want.”

“Okay, I’m gonna go shower before you get here and see me all disgusting–”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Spencer!” you laugh.

“I’ll run you a bath when I get there. Can you sit down until then?”

“I can’t believe how you’re speaking to me. You used to blush when I said hi.”

“Because you never just say hi. And it’s not like anyone else saying hi, it’s you.”

Spencer lets that kindness sit with you and says goodbye, promising he’ll be there soon with dinner. You hold your sore stomach and wait, flicking through tv channels, craving something warm to eat and a warmer chest to lay your head. Spencer’s hugs are without doubt a ten out of ten experience, he’s weirdly good at them for someone who maybe hasn’t had as many as he deserves. His hands are active as the rest of him stills, rubbing over your shoulders or your chest with care, his hair soft and ticklish on your cheek or his lips right next to your ear.

You’re dozing when he lets himself in. The rustle of a plastic bag awakens your dormant appetite, and you force yourself to meet him in the hallway.

He drops the bag like it isn’t forty dollars worth of food and beams at you. “Hi,” he says, fawning at your sloppy pyjamas. “These are cute, they’re way too big for you.”

You manage to hug him first, your arms around him and face screwed up in his chest. “Hi. My stomach hurts so bad, I missed you.”

“How bad?” he says, dropping his volume. “Have you ever considered you might have endometriosis?”

“Spencer, I love you, can you hug me for now and tell me about it later?”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “Where does it hurt, everywhere?”

“It’s in my back.”

Spencer drops his hand lower. “Oh, here?” He rubs your back, and he leans away enough to see you eye to eye. “Let’s have dinner, then at least you’ll have a full stomach.”

“I don’t know if I can manage it, but I’m starving.”

“You don’t have to eat everything.” He visibly looks you over, one feature at a time. His eyes get stuck on yours, your lashes, and his lovely mouth tips down. “Were you sleeping?”

“Got bored waiting for you. I’m not tired,” you promise.

“It’s okay.” He grasps your back and rubs at it with good pressure, the shard of a cramp held back by his touch. “You okay?”

You lift your chin, turn your head just a touch to one side, asking and not asking. He smiles in that not so secret pleasure as he gives you a quick peck. It’s quick and chaste and everything you need, better when he encourages your face into his neck to give you a last good rub on the back. “Do you wanna sit down? I’ll make you a plate and we can eat on the couch.” He dots a kiss against the highest point of your cheek. “I got you motrin. And tylenol, too.”

“I don’t need any painkillers, you’re gonna rub my back.”

Spencer smiles into your cheek. “Mm, I’ll relax your uterus. Rhythmic touches.”

“That’s one way to say it, sweetheart.”

“How would you say it?” he asks, cupping the back of your neck tenderly.

You deflect, not wanting to make fun of him. “I love you.”

He pulls away, grinning, failing to talk. He's smiling so hard. When he goes in for a third round of hugs, you aren’t surprised.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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steddieas-shegoes · 18 hours

Text

not so different

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt ‘graduation’

rated t | 994 words | cw: mention of past character death, mention of alcohol, language | tags: childhood friends, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, good uncle Wayne Munson

🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦

Steve Harrington didn’t cry, not even when he fell off the slide at the playground and his knee bled for 15 minutes and his nanny had to call his mom.

But this was a special instance where he was allowed to be sad. His nanny even said so. He watched all the kids in his kindergarten class taking pictures with their moms and dads, uncles and aunts, grandpas and grandmas, and wondered why he didn’t have anyone here for him.

He found an empty classroom in the big kid hall as soon as the ceremony was done, sat behind the teacher’s desk, and cried into his knees.

“Did your daddy not show up either?” A voice asked from in front of him.

He lifted his head, vision blurry and face wet, to see Eddie.

Eddie had already done kindergarten once, but he had trouble with his phonics, so they kept him behind. He was the first kid to talk to Steve in class, but within a few days, Tommy and Carol and Heather had scared him away from Steve entirely.

“Um, no.”

“What about your mama?”

“She’s with my dad.”

“My mama is with God. Or that’s what a lot of people say. I dunno if she was friends with him or not, though. I think she just got buried in the ground and people are scared to tell me,” Eddie was sitting next to Steve now, his leg knocking against Steve’s.

Eddie didn’t sit still very well, and the teacher always said he had ants in his pants. Steve hoped he didn’t have them in there now; he didn’t want any ants on him.

“Where’s your dad?”

“He’s probably getting ‘rested again. He showed up being silly and my Uncle Wayne had to take him outside,” Eddie shrugged.

“Is he tired?” Steve asked, sniffling and leaning more against Eddie.

“No. Uncle Wayne says sometimes he has too much of the drinks in the bottles I’m not allowed to touch and it makes him act like he don’t got a brain,” Eddie didn’t sound that sad, but Steve still wanted to hug him. “So your daddy isn’t here?”

“No. I think he forgot.”

“Sorry he forgot. My Uncle Wayne never forgets. He even came to the lunch room for my birthday. He brought me a piece of pizza!” Eddie always sounded more excited than anyone else. Most of the kids in the class thought it was stupid, but Steve kind of liked the way his eyes got wide and his smile got so big it took up most of his face. “Maybe he can bring you a piece for your birthday next year.”

“He doesn’t even know me.”

“You can come meet him!”

The classroom door opened just as Eddie started to stand and reach for Steve’s hands to pull him up.

“There ya are, Ed! Been lookin’ everywhere. You want some ice cream?” An older man stood by the door, button up plaid shirt only half-tucked into his jeans.

“Can we bring Steve? He’s my friend.”

Steve’s head turned, shocked that Eddie would say that.

“We gotta ask his parents first, Ed.”

“His parents didn’t come.”

“Oh.” The man looked Steve up and down before seemingly settling on something. He gave a small smile and gestured for him to come closer. “What’s your favorite flavor, then?”

“I dunno. Never had anything except vanilla,” Steve admitted, afraid to look at the man who had to be Eddie’s Uncle Wayne.

“Well, that just won’t do, will it? Let’s go try every flavor at the diner. Benny just added a few new ones. Think there’s even a bubblegum one.”

Eddie clapped his hands and dragged Steve out the door by his arm.

“I bet you’ll like mint chip,” he said as Wayne followed behind them, fond smile on his face.

🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦

Steve Harrington had only cried a few times in his life, but this was the second time it was happening in front of Eddie.

Eddie wasn’t conscious this time, though.

“If you wake up, I’ll take you to the diner and we can have ice cream. They’ve got a new raspberry white chocolate flavor that you’d like. I could use some mint chip right now,” Steve said around the tears.

Wayne had left the hospital an hour ago to freshen up and grab one of his crossword puzzle books. Steve had been crying for most of that hour, holding Eddie’s hand and quietly begging him to wake up.

Two days without hearing his voice or watching his smile light up the room was too long, especially after having it for the last 13 years.

“How’re you gonna walk at graduation if you’re still asleep here, huh?” Steve closed his eyes and wiped at his cheeks.

“You can walk with me.”

Steve’s head shot up at Eddie’s quiet, but surprisingly strong voice.

“Eddie!”

“Hey, Stevie. Heard you’re takin’ me for ice cream,” Eddie’s smile was crooked, the bandage on his cheek covering one of his dimples.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for Eddie being awake, being alive, being okay.

“Yeah, Eds. Every day if you want,” Steve wanted to crawl into the bed with him, hold him close and feel him breathing and listen to his heartbeat, be sure he was there.

“Gonna hold you to that.”

“Soon as you can leave, that’ll be our first stop. Promise.”

Eddie closed his eyes, but the smile remained on his face. “You slept?”

“A bit.”

“So no.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “A bit.”

“C’mere.”

“Honey, you’re hurt-“

“Come here.”

Steve got in bed slowly, making sure he kept space between himself and Eddie’s injuries.

“Think I’ll graduate?”

Steve snorted. “They’d be stupid to hold you back after you saved everyone.”

“Yeah. ‘M a hero. Fuck Hawkins High.”

Steve could feel more tears trickle down his cheeks, but these were different.

These were relieved tears, happy tears.

“Yeah, honey. Fuck them.”

“Love you, though.”

“Love you so much.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #graduation #childhood friends #friends to lovers #wayne munson #hurt/comfort

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themultifanshipper · 2 days

Text

Charles was shocked into silence. How could he not have noticed? He had known you for years and yet, he had never been so turned on in his life, just from hearing you speak.

Warnings: gn!reader, french!reader, cum play? GRATUITOUS amounts of french! Like half the dialogue is in french (with translation). This is entirely self-indulgent! Charles is really stupid in this I’m sorry but it’s for the plot, also he started out dominant then I decided halfway through he should be submissive, then switched back again. Barely proofread, it is 4:30am as I am writing this, sue me. There is disgusting stuff involving cum, and I’m kinda considering this crack because I can’t take french seriously.

Bon appétit, this is a wild ride my friends.

You had been working in formula 1 for most of your adult life, going from media teams to personal assistant, to lots of other jobs that finally led you to your dream job: race engineer.

Well, your dream job was really being a team boss, but baby steps, yeah?

Anyway, you had been promoted to race engineer to the one and only Charles Leclerc following the whole Xavi thing. But before that he’d known you as his assistant for a bit when his own assistant was on maternity leave, and before that you had been the media trainer for a few teams, including Sauber when he was there. He’d literally known you since his debut, and the two of you had grown very close over the years, and saw each other every week. So the fact that he could have missed something like this was embarrassing.

You were at the end of a race, going on about the tyres overheating to Charles over the radio when the car in front of him locked up and slid, forcing him to swerve and hit the wall with a sickening crunch.

You gasped as you saw the car make contact. “Oh Putain, ça va Charles ?” (Oh fuck, you ok Charles?) You spoke into your headset but there was no answer, and Charles didn’t seem to be moving so you tried again “Charles, tu m’entends? Est-ce que ça va?!” (Charles can you hear me? Are you ok?)

He finally replied in a shaky voice, and you were finally able to breathe and call the staff that would go get Charles and his car off the track.

Unbeknownst to you, Charles was having a mental crisis. You spoke French?

Since fucking when?

His ears were ringing as he tried to think back your years friendship for any signs. He came up empty. He was positive he’d never heard you speak French before. And he was positive he should not be hard, climbing out of his car after a crash.

When he got back to the garage, you were waiting for him, ready to ask him how he was but before you could say anything he grabbed your arm and dragged you into the nearest room slash maintenance cupboard he could find.

“What the hell are you doing Charles?”

He locked the door and when he turned back around his eyes were dark and stormy “Since when do you speak french?” he asked.

You just blinked at him.

“What?”

He backed you up against the wall, hands either side of your waist.

“Since when” he spoke patronizingly slowly “Do. You. Speak. French.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion.

“Charles, I am French. I have a French name. I was born and raised in France! What the fuck do you mean ‘since when do I speak french’???!”

His eyes widened as he realized how oblivious he’d been.

“My dad is friends with Pierre’s parents! I started my career at Renault! I brought you wine from my family’s vineyard! Charles how- how could you not have known?” You laughed at him as he just stood there flabbergasted at his own stupidity.

“Sérieusement? Comment?” (seriously, how?)

His brain seemed to reboot and he put his arms around you “Je suis désolé, je suis vraiment débile” (I’m sorry, I’m so stupid) he giggled into your hair.

The proximity was odd but not unwelcome, as you put your arms around him and laughed with him, inhaling his pleasant scent.

“Tu as mis du parfum? Tu sens bon. ” (Have you got cologne on? You smell good)

He groaned. “Keep talking, please” and he squeezed you tighter against him.

You laughed. “Tu sais bien que je parle toujours en français avec Pierre et Este ?” (You know I always speak french with Pierre and Este, right?)

He whimpered into your neck and that’s when you felt it.

You froze in his arms “Charles are you getting hard?”

He put his forehead against yours and looked into your eyes, both of you going cross-eyed. “I’m sorry you just sound so sexy in french” he sniffled.

This was definitely something you could get behind.

“Ouais? Tu veux que je te parle en français pendant les courses alors? (Yeah, you want me to speak to you in french during the races?)

He chewed on his lip and nodded as your hand made its way to the front of his suit to cup him over the fabric.

“T’es sûr? On voudrait pas que tu salisse la voiture, tu devras expliquer aux ingénieurs pourquoi le siège est trempé” (you sure ? We wouldn’t want you to make a mess, you’d have to explain to the engineers why the seat is wet)

He whined and his knees almost buckled, so you turned him around against the wall and unzipped his suit, dragging it down to pool around his ankles, then making quick work of the second layer, leaving him in his very damp underwear. You pulled that down as well as you got a hand around his cock and started a slow pace, teasing the tip with your thumb every now and then. He bucked his hips and whined at the dry friction.

“What’s the matter? Un peu sec?” (a bit dry?) You said teasingly.

“Laisse moi t’aider avec ça” (let me help you with that)

You got down on your knees and his eyelids fluttered as you got your lips around his tip. When you took half of him in your mouth and reached a hand up to cup his balls at the same time, he moaned and thumped his head back onto the wall.

You pulled off “Garde les yeux sur moi, Charles” (keep your eyes on me, Charles)

He did so , with much difficulty, but his eyes snapped to yours and you continued, taking him all the way to the base and massaging his balls gently. His hips bucked up a bit making you gag slightly.

“désolé, je vais pas durer longtemps” (sorry, I’m not gonna last long)

So you picked up the pace and doubled down on your efforts, as his hands flew to your hair.

It took about a minute and a half for him to come, groaning your name while he filled your mouth. He felt like his soul had been sucked out through his dick. You didn’t swallow it all though, wanting to share the load, as it were.

You got up and pulled him in for a kiss, which he gladly accepted, and it was the most disgusting, satisfying kiss you’d ever had, all teeth and spit and cum, some of it dribbling down your necks and chests.

You stayed like that for a while, basking in each other’s embrace (and each other’s mouths) before you suddenly remembered where you were.

“Charles! Don’t you have a press conference to go to?!”

“Je m’en fous, je reste là” (I don’t care, I’m staying here)

He lifted you up and carried you to the other side of the room where there was a conveniently empty shelf, where he set you down before tugging your pants down and spreading your legs to slot himself between them. He was already half hard again as he pumped himself with one hand and used the other to swipe up the cum on his and your chests, then brought his fingers to your entrance, rubbing gently before sliding a finger inside you. It didn’t take much for him to prep you and he used the excess leftover cum to lube himself up and slide into you. You keened as he pressed up into your most sensitive spots. But he just stayed there, grinding slowly into you, driving you mad.

“Please, Charles!” You begged, pronouncing his name the English way.

He cocked his head and grinned at you, and you sighed in desperation.

“S’il te plait… Charles”

His jaw went slack as he used all the energy he had left to pound into you, right in that special spot that made you see stars, over and over until you were a whining mess underneath him.

You came with a shout, back arching off the shelf and he held on to you as he followed soon after.

Charles Leclerc got a heavy fine for not showing up at the post-race conference, or the debrief, or any of his mandatory duties. Fortunately, he had enough money to pay the fine, and take you to dinner that very same night.

If you're still here, you should get a medal. I'm so sorry.

#my thots #charles thots #f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc #cl16 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #gn reader

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sometimesanalice · 3 days

Text

California Dreaming

Summary: At sometime past 4am, the last thing you would have ever expected was to receive a call from Bradley Bradshaw. But time is a funny thing it feels like it might be running out.

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 5.6K

Warnings: angst and a bit In-N-Out slander

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on its own!)

You’re pulled from the light sleep you’d just barely managed to slip into by the sound of your phone ringing.

Although you weren’t too sure if your mind was playing tricks on you again. And in that liminal space between awake and asleep, you didn’t trust yourself to know the different anymore. Sleep and you haven’t been on the best of terms over the couple of months, and you had the dark circles under your eyes to prove it.

Your boss had told you about the chatter he’d heard about a position opening up soon at the West Coast office. It was an opportunity that would be perfect for you, minus the fact it would involve uprooting your entire life and moving across the country. You still hadn’t given him an answer yet whether he should put you forward for it or not. But you’d taken to sleeping with your ringer on just in case you were needed for anything, not wanting to close the door completely. And you’d woken up in a panic more than once thinking you’d slept through an emergency call, only to see absolutely zero new notifications.

Just when think it might have been another stress induced fluke, it goes off again.

Bleary eyed, you scramble to reach it. Wanting to silence it to not wake up your boyfriend from his more-peaceful-than-yours slumber. Only half-consciously noting it’s sometime past 4 AM.

However, it’s the name splashed across the screen that makes your heart stop.

𝗕𝗥𝗔𝗗𝗟𝗘𝗬 𝗕𝗥𝗔𝗗𝗦𝗛𝗔𝗪

You sit straight up, the crisp white sheets your boyfriend preferred pooling around your waist.

“Bradley?” You don’t even remember hitting the green button before the phone was up to your ear. “Bradley? Are you ok?” The words come out a sleepy slur all jumbled together by your sluggish tongue.

He’d texted you when he landed back on US soil; a silly selfie with crinkled bag of McDonalds in his hand and the American flag in the background. It had made you grin like an idiot when your phone had lit up with it.

You knew that he had been called back to Top Gun, but that was as much as he’d been able to tell you.

With the time difference, it makes it the hour too early for you, but also too late for him. He should be asleep right now. But you know Bradley, he wouldn’t be calling right now unless it was about something important.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I know it’s late there,” Bradley apologizes. “Or early, I guess.”

Tired. He sounds so tired.

You didn’t doubt he was still probably fighting the jetlag that came with being in San Diego after living in Japan for the last year and a half. But it was the weariness in his tone that had you concerned.

“But you’re ok?” you press. You needed to hear it.

“I…” he pauses, then sighs. “Yeah, kid. Everything’s fine.”

You blow out a relieved breath, rubbing at your heavy eyes.

“Good. That’s good,” you nod, reassuringly. Not that he can see you.

He is safe. He is ok. That’s all that matters to you.

Jack groans your name. “Seriously?” The word drips of exasperation and annoyance.

You wince. Less at its sharpness, but more at the feeling like you can’t seem do anything right lately.

You and your boyfriend have been together a little over two years now. You have a comfortable life together in Boston, nice even. But you shook the snowglobe of your relationship when you’d first mentioned the possibility of a promotion and moving, and it still felt like you were waiting for the remainders of all those stirred up flakes to settle back down.

“Give me a minute, Bradley,” you whisper into the phone, “Don’t hang up.” Your voice is so quiet you’re not even sure he heard you.

You turn towards your boyfriend, an apology on the tip of your tongue, but he’s already rolled over away from you.

A literal cold shoulder.

Your eyes trace over the exposed skin of his back. It’s dark, but you could point out where every freckle is on him with bullseye precision. Sometimes you weren’t sure if he knew you as well.

Like when he’d bring you red roses, a flower you’ve never felt one way or another about. You’d tell yourself it’s the thought that counts, that it’s the gesture that matters. But for as many times as you’ve bought your favorite flowers yourself and displayed them on the coffee table in your shared living room, Jack has never once brought them home for you.

It made you wonder sometimes if he even truly wanted you, if he cared enough to pay attention. Or if he was just content in the fact that you’d be there.

And then you’d feel guilty for even thinking that in the first place.

But you didn’t just break up with someone over flowers.

Or the way he always seemed to make plans for you with his friends without ever asking you first. Or the way he was never more attentive to you until the two of you were in front of a group.

There’s a sliver of moonlight peeking through the edges of the blinds of your bedroom. A set of curtains would have solved the issue, but you’d never been able to get Jack on board. It was something you there thankful for now as you tiptoed out of the room with just enough light to make sure you wouldn’t trip over anything.

You ease the door gently closed behind you, feeling some of the tension melt from your body.

“Ok, I’m back,” you tell your best friend.

“I take it we woke up Jack?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, padding towards the black leather couch in the living room. You fight back the hiss that wants to be released when your bare thighs touch the ice-cold material. The October chill had a way of sneaking in everywhere. “He’s got a big pitch presentation on Friday,” you say, feeling like you need to explain, “So he’s just a bit on edge right now.”

Bradley makes a noncommittal sound, something close but not quite like a disapproving rumble. You distract yourself from reading into it too much by turning on the lamp on the side table to its lowest setting. A dim glow illuminating the living room.

“Tell me, how’s California?” It’s a pivot. You know you’re trying to smooth things over; you’ve been doing a lot of that lately.

“Sunny.”

You snort and roll your eyes.

“It seems you left good jokes back in Japan,” you tease. You pull your knees up to your chest and reach for your favorite soft knit blanket, tucking it around you. “Be honest, how many things did you forget to pack this time?”

Bradley groans your name. This time you smile.

“I had to take scissors to my favorite pair of Levi’s, because I didn’t bring any shorts for the beach.”

Picturing the pained look on his face as he desecrated his favorite jeans nearly sends you into a fit a giggles. But out of respect for the fallen and your best friend’s feelings you press your lips together, the corners pulling up on their own.

You can’t resist lightly teasing him though, “Beach jeans? That sounds like a choice.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Bradley says, solemnly. The drama queen.

“Is there someone who saw you in them that I could bribe for some new blackmail material?” you ask. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten my hands on anything truly juicy.”

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, kid, but I looked damn good in them.”

This time you don’t hold back the laugh, only muffling it with a hand over your mouth when you realize that your boyfriend could probably hear you through the closed door.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Give me some time and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’ll make some space in my Bradshaw Blackmail folder in the meantime.” Bradley’s warm chuckle in your ear makes the room feel less cold. “So what else have you been up to?”

“We haven’t had a ton of down time, but I did hit up an In-N-Out with Natasha the other night.” That was a name you were familiar with. You’ve never met Bradley’s fellow aviator and friend, but you were happy he had someone with him there that he was close to. “It was the same one I took you to when you came to visit after I finished Top Gun the first time.”

It was a fluke of fate that you’d been sent to the West Coast office for some training around the time that Bradley was on leave before being sent back to his squadron. The overlap was only for a few days, but the two of you had made the most of it.

“Who knew you were such a sentimentalist?” You lean your head back against the couch.

“It’s the closest one to base,” he justifies, “Although, you’ll be happy to know their milkshakes are still trash.”

You grin. “Hey, I never said they were trash. That was all you, Bradshaw.”

You’ve only been there the once, but it had been fun getting to experience it with him for your first time. He’d ordered more than enough food for two people, making sure to get some of the more classic not-so-secret menu items for you to try. And the Neapolitan shake had been fine, but the ones from the ice cream shop in your hometown where Bradley had had his first job were much better.

“Your face said otherwise,” he bats back.

You hum noncommittally, not wanting to concede. It was more fun for you this way, even if he was right. Not to mention no one knows how to read your face better than Bradley does.

When you don’t argue, he continues, “There’s even a rumor going around that they might want to keep some of us around longer. Like they’d form a new squadron that would be stationed here.”

You perk up, “In San Diego? You could be there permanently?” Between his deployments and moving around from base to base, you don’t think he’s been in one place for more than two years since he went to UVA. “That would be amazing.”

“Yeah, it really would,” Bradley agrees, he sounds hopeful, “But I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

‘Hope for the best, but expect the worst’ was the motto he seemed to live by. He’d had the rug pulled out from underneath him more times than anyone else you knew.

The two of you are quiet for a moment.

You don’t want to push him into talking about whatever the reason is that he’s called so early in the morning. But no matter how many jokes you trade with him, it’s still in the forefront of your mind. And try as you might, you can’t shake that feeling of unsettledness that was resting heavily on your chest.

Outside your living room window, the streetlights are bright against the dark sky.

You’ve told him more times than you could count that he could call you any time, but Bradley being Bradley has always made it a point to call during hours that were convenient for you, even if that meant he was still up at some ungodly hour.

But that was so him, always putting everyone else ahead of himself.

With the confidentiality that goes hand in hand with his job, you know he can’t talk about the specifics. It was something you were used to after nearly a decade of Naval service behind him.

You nibble on your lower lip, weighing your words.

“How’s it been with…” You trail off, but you know he knows who you’re referring to. You run a hand up and down your calf, trying to warm up quicker.

Mav? Pete? He’d been Captain Mitchell the last time you’d seen him back when you were in high school, you weren’t sure what his rank was now.

Mav has always been the number one topic on Bradley Bradshaw’s No Fly List. The few times you’ve dared to bring it up in the past had been shut down quicker than you think he could probably fly his jet.

Bradley told you last week in a text that had simply read He’s here. You didn’t even have to ask who he was. It had been just as much of a shock to you as you imagined it probably was for him seeing the man who had derailed his dreams when everything else in his world had already fallen apart.

It was a story you’d always thought there had been more to, but between the two of them you’d always be Team Bradley. That’s how it was supposed to be for best friends.

You can feel Bradley mulling over his answer. “It’s been… motivating.”

The way he says it you can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. And maybe he doesn’t even know himself.

You sit up straighter on the couch. “Oh?” you say, casually. Neutrally. Not wanting to let your inflection to color Bradley’s response.

Their reunion has been a long time coming, you just wished you could be there for him with this the way he’s always been there for you. Not just on the phone, but there by his side.

Bradley sighs again, it’s heavier this time. Like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s probably roughly running his hand down his face, the way he always does when he’s really, truly frustrated. Like he’s trying to free those too big feelings from trapped beneath his skin.

“I’m flying with him for the first time in my career. I want him to see why I’m here. I want to show him.” The anger, the hurt rings though loud and clear. But so does the determination. “These patches I’ve been called back are the best of the best that there is. And I’m one of them, kid. And I got here on my own, without him.”

You wait to see if he is going to continue or not, wanting to give him the space to talk through his feelings, but he’s gone quiet again.

“You’ve worked so hard for this, Bradley.”

“It was all I ever wanted,” he says, his voice rough, “To be like them.”

Like Mav. Like Ice. Like his dad.

You’d been there for the fallout. He’d been crushed when he didn’t get to go to the Academy, the self-destruction that followed had been hard to watch. You’d seen the way he had to pick up the pieces of his life. The way the boy had quickly had to become a man. Every choice Bradley has made since then has been with one purpose in mind.

He’d set out to be a Naval aviator and he’d achieved it.

“You should be so proud of yourself,” you say, softly. “I know I am.”

You imagine Mav is proud too, but you don’t say that part out loud.

After all, he practically helped raise Bradley- in his own way. Always calling whenever he could. Sending presents. Spending his leave time with the Bradshaws. They’d been a family.

“Sometimes-” Bradley cuts himself off, trying to collect his thoughts. You can almost feel the tormented whirlwind of them through the phone. “Sometimes,” he starts again, “There are moments, when I see him fly- it’s crazy shit that no one but him can do- and I forget. Just for a second. But then I remember and it’s like I’m eighteen and feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut all over again.”

Your stomach twists in the same way it always does when you’re reminded of that rough period in time when the two of you were just teens. And now that you’re older, your ache even more for the boy whose whole world was so turned upside down by the one person he thought would never let him down.

“When we’re flying together, I’m reminded how it could have been. How it should have been,” he corrects himself, roughly. “I thought I was fucking over it. It’s been fifteen years, kid. And I’m pissed at myself because he should be nothing to me, I shouldn’t care what he thinks.” His voice is a hoarse rasp. “Why can’t I get over it?”

It’s times like this where you can feel every mile between the two of you. Every inch of space in your long-distance friendship. And it chafes at you that all you can be is an ear for him to vent to rather than a shoulder for him to lean on.

“There’s no version of this where it wasn’t going to be tough. And I don’t think you trying to brush off who he was to you, like none of that mattered, is going to make this any easier for you,” you tell him. “Not with the history the two of you have. And you can’t punish yourself for having feelings about it.”

“I told him no one would mourn him if he burned in.” He all but blurts it out.

Your suck in sharp breath and you shake your head in disbelief, “Bradley, you didn’t.” There’s no hiding the shock in your voice.

You know there’s an unspoken code of conduct between aviators from the things you’ve picked up from the way he’s talked about his career and fellow Naval officers over the years. That when everyone’s lives are so dependent on each other to look out for one another, there were certain things you didn’t joke about. Things you didn’t throw around, not even in the heat of a moment.

“Shit, shit,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You don’t know what to say to him. It’s silent in your darkened living room. The only sound is of his affected breathing over the phone.

You can’t keep dancing around things with him anymore tonight. He cracked open the door, but now you’re the one pushing through it.

“Bradley, what happened?”

His voice is strained when he speaks again, “We had a couple accidents during training a few days ago- no one was hurt.” He is quick to clarify, and you know it’s for your benefit. “It was a bird strike and they had to eject, but they were cleared to fly the next morning.” It hits too close to home all the same. You don’t worry about anyone the way you worry about Bradley. “Mav found me in the Ready Room later that night, and it was just the two of us alone for the first time since everything happened. He was talking to me like I was the kid he’d helped raise, instead of the one he’d fucked over. And then all that anger came rushing back. So I did what I always seem to do, I went for all the things that I knew would hurt him the most.”

You squeeze your eyes tight in sympathy. You’ve been on the receiving end of Bradley’s sharp tongue before. You’ve never held it against him, but you’ve also never forgotten the way his words sliced straight through you.

“I knew it was fucked up as I said it, but in that moment it felt good to hurt him the way he hurt me,” Bradley says, quietly. Every word feels chewed on, like they’d be covered in indents of his teeth. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look in his eyes, kid. I really fucked up. It’s been eating at me ever since.” He pauses and clears his throat. “I hate that part of myself. I hate that I said that to him, regardless of the shit we’ve been through.” His voice is pinched, tight. “My mom would be so disappointed in me.”

The guilt in his voice is unmistakable and it's a confession you can tell that takes a lot out of him. No one holds on to regrets- or grudges- like he does. Even if the one he’s holding it against is himself. You know this is going to be something he’ll carry around with him for a long time to come.

But it is the way he stumbles over the mention of Carole that cracks your heart open.

You had grown up adoring her. She’d been lightning in a bottle. Her smile was always the brightest in the room, and her laughter always made people stop to look wanting to be in on the joke too. There was no one quite like her.

And after she died, you’d mourned that loss too. You still carried the evidence of that love with the scar issue on your heart. But for Bradley, that was a wound that no amount of time would ever fully heal for him. Forever a reminder of who wasn’t there.

He’d already lost so much. First, his dad. Then his mom. And now with his uncle.

Bradley had told you about Ice and his passing. You knew they had come to an understanding in the after of everything. It was a relationship held together by a monthly phone call or two, and a dinner invite whenever Bradley was in town. He’d called you during one of his breaks on the morning he found out, troubled because he didn’t know he’d even been sick.

Just more time missed with someone who had meant something to him.

You didn’t want him to regret saying those harsh words without the chance to make amends. You didn’t want him to miss out on any more time with people who wanted to be there for him. You didn’t want him to shoulder around that pain and resentment anymore. A decade and a half of it was more than enough to carry that around. You didn’t want him to forever push away the one person who probably cared for him just as much as you did.

“So apologize,” you gently urge him. “Talk to Mav and apologize. For him and for you.”

He sighs, heavily, “It’s not that simple.”

Gone is the quiet girl in her dark living room. You want him to hear you. “It really is though, Bradley. Tell him. Pull him aside after class or get there early. Or take him to that bar on the beach you told me about and buy him a beer. Don’t let this be a thing you can’t take back. You can still apologize.”

“I-I don’t think I can. There’s not enough time for that now.” His words are stilted.

You feel your eyebrows pinch in confusion, “Aren’t you guys there for a couple more weeks?” He doesn’t answer you right away and you feel a chill drift across you, even under your blanket. “Does that mean you’re shipping out soon?”

“It’s why I called.” There’s something more serious in his tone, you’re talking to the Naval officer now. “We got the orders, we ship out tomorrow. Or later today, technically.”

There’s a swooping sensation in your stomach and it feels like the floor has fallen out beneath your feet.

“Goddamn it, Bradshaw. Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Your voice wavers.

“I know, I probably should have.” At least he has the good sense to admit it. “I just wanted to talk to you, like normal. Although we didn’t get very far before I derailed the conversation,” he says, self-deprecatingly. “Do you think you can give me a few more minutes of normal, kid?”

You know there’s not much you can ask, and even less than he can tell you. You’re surprised you even allowed to know this much.

But you don’t need a dossier of confidential government information to tell you that whatever he’s being sent to do is dangerous, because you’d be able to read even the most redacted version of Bradley Bradshaw. You’d known something was off from the very moment you’d seen his name lighting up your phone.

You don’t want him to feel your anxiousness, you don’t want to add to whatever else he’s currently going through. Bradley called you because he wants to let his mind relax. So if he wants normal, you can give him normal. You can give him as much as he wants, as much as he needs.

“I’m sorry for making fun of your beach shorts.”

Bradley huffs a soft laugh, “No, you’re not.”

“You know,” you muse, fighting to keep your tone light and airy, “I haven't played hooky in a while and I have some miles to use before the end of the year.”

“You want to come out here?” The suggestion works just like you hoped it would, he sounds less troubled than before.

“I could use some Vitamin D and a milkshake. Do you know a good place to make it worth my while?”

“I might. It depends on your opinion is about Neapolitan shakes though.” Your nose scrunches up on its own. “Are you making that face, kid?”

“No,” you reply too quickly.

“Liar.”

You smile to yourself. “I’ll even let you pick me up from the airport and you can finally show me that Bronco of yours in person. It only seems fair that I get to see what all the hubbub is about after I’ve spent hours letting you talk my ear off about it: V8 engine this and four-speed manual transmission that.” You do your best Bradley impersonation and earn an amused scoff from him.

He’d bought it right before he’d been sent to Japan. Ice and his wife had been looking after it for him while he was away. Bradley had even documented his reunion with it after landing back on US soil by sending you a video of it with him humming the Peaches & Herb song in the background.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Bradley says. You think he might be smiling too.

It’s all to easy for you to slip into a normal conversation with him. He asks about your mom and stepdad. You don’t mention the possible promotion, but instead tell him about the passive aggressive microwave fish debacle that plagued the entire floor for days.

The two of you talk about nothing in a way that feels like everything. And every chuckle you pull out of him feels like a victory. Your tired eyes flutter shut on their own, with them closed you can almost pretend he’s sitting right next to you, until a yawn slips out of you without your permission.

“It’s getting late, I should let you go.”

You want to keep talking to him, but you can imagine the circles that have already formed under his eyes over the last few days. “You should get your sleep. Rest up, because we have big milkshake plans…and you’re not allowed to stand me up. Got it, Bradshaw?”

“I hear you,” he promises. “Try to stay out of trouble until I get back, kid.”

“No promises.” You feel your lower lip wobble.

“Atta girl.”

You laugh. It sounds a little watery to your own ears, but you hope he doesn’t hear it. You’re grateful he didn’t choose to FaceTime you. It’s probably for the best he can’t see your face, you’ve never been a very good poker player.

“Be safe, Bradley.”

You’ve already decided that you’ll let him be the one to hang up first. You didn’t have it in you to hit the red button before he did.

He blurts out your name. “Wait.”

“I’m still here,” you answer, quickly.

You hear him sigh in relief. “I-You know you’re my favorite, right?”

“I know.” Your throat gets thick and your eyes prickle. “And you’re mine.”

“Yeah?”

Your friendship with him as always mattered the most to you. It wasn’t even a question.

“Of course. I didn’t make very intricate embroidery floss friendship bracelets at summer camp when I was thirteen for just anyone, you know.” You’d spent hours making him one in his favorite colors. He’d worn it until it fell off and then asked for another. “You’re my favorite too,” you repeat, wanting him to hear it again.

“Ok. Ok, good,” Bradley says. He lets out a slow breath. “See you soon for milkshakes, kid.”

“See you soon.” It comes out a reedy whisper.

You stay on the line until he hangs up.

And only when the screen goes black do you allow yourself to give into the emotions that had been surging up inside of you.

With the corner of your blanket, you wipe at the tears that are making hot tracks down your cheeks. There’s a hollowness that has settled in your chest that you don’t think will go away until he tells you when to book your ticket to come and see him.

It doesn’t matter that you remind yourself that he is one of the best at he does. Or that you know he’ll be with other people who are just as good as he is. In all the years he’s been in the Navy, you’ve never once heard him sound that unsure before, and it’s rattled you.

It’s not that you didn’t know there was risk every time he sat in the cockpit of his fighter jet, even if it was just to train. But this was the first time it’s ever felt like he was preparing you for the possibility that you might never see or hear from him again.

You didn’t want to imagine a world with Bradley Bradshaw in it.

He’s never once broken a promise with you, and he wasn’t allowed to start now.

You don’t know how long you sit there in the dark with only your feelings and the sound of the clock on the wall for company.

Your eyes drift towards the closed bedroom door, where you’re sure Jack is sleeping unbothered on a soft mattress between stark white sheets.

It hits you then that he hadn’t come to check on you.

It’s still just as dark outside. Only the little lamp next to the couch offers any light, as you look around your living room.

You’d liked all the exposed brick when you’d first moved in, had imagined all the ways you could soften the apartment with things to make it more cozy for you and your boyfriend. More like the two of you.

But the books on the bookcase had been carefully chosen to fit a neutral color palette, while all your favorites had been moved to the smaller one in the office. Their colorful covers hidden away. The spot where you thought some kind of landscape painting could have gone, had a photograph of a sepia-toned city hanging there instead. It was still art, but it was the kind of thing that had been made to disappear into the background.

You keep waiting to see a piece of yourself reflected in the room, some mark of you that had been left behind in the home you live in, but other than the black and white striped rug that had been too good of a deal to pass up on at a store with a no return policy, none could be found. You didn’t see any of yourself there at all.

You thought that you’d been making compromises, but it’s dawning on you that all along really what you’ve been doing is making concessions. A one-sided partnership. When all you ever wanted was to share a life with someone.

Earlier you found yourself making excuses to Bradley, but now it felt like something you weren’t sure you wanted to look past.

You are tired.

And not because it’s sometime around 5 AM now. You’re already well past the start of a new day.

You’re tired of being the one to trying to make something work.

You’re tired of being the one who always makes a genuine effort.

You’re tired of red roses.

Maybe people did end relationships over flowers. Or the art on the walls.

Grabbing your phone, you open your email ignoring all the messages that are already waiting for you, and start typing out a message. When you’re done, you read it over a couple of time before sending it off to your boss. The whoosh that follows as it bounces off the exposed brick in the quiet living room feels like progress.

You didn’t want to miss out on any more time either.

Not with the people who mattered the most to you. The people you mattered the most to.

Leaning over the arm of the couch you turn off the lamp and stretch out to get comfortable on the cushions underneath you. You tuck a throw pillow under your head and drape the blanket over you.

From this angle, you can almost pretend the city lights look like stars.

Your alarm is already set, and if you’re lucky you can doze a bit longer before it will go off all too soon.

But it’ll ok if sleep doesn’t find you.

You’re already California dreaming.

Who gave me permission to do this to myself?! Oh my heart. Don't mind me, I'm just in my angsty era. Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!

You can read my other stories here!

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