#they´re obnoxiously pink

[meiko333]

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#bratz #bratz dolls #tweevils #bratz tweevils #kirstee #bratz kirstee #kaycee #bratz kaycee #kirstee and kaycee #bratz kirstee and kaycee #stock photos #sparkly #glitter #icons #square icons #icons by me #they´re obnoxiously pink #I love it

[jasonsmirrorball]

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

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Heavenly Kind of State of Mind - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley takes you out to thank you for taking care of him when he broke his nose. He didn't expect dinner to turn into something else.

pairing: baseball!Bradley x reader (Angel)

warnings/content: depictions of broken nose, Bradley being a manwh*re, sexual references, fluff, awkward first date.

word count: 2.3k

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted @sorchathered, @sarahsmi13s, @hangmansgbaby, @djs8891 @primroseluna @silversprings-mp3 @drxgxnslxyer @gardenavenue @seitmai @unhinged-bitch @mattyskies

Bradley wasn’t the dating type.

At least, that’s what he told himself on the drive over to the San Diego pier. 

As Bradley crossed the bridge from quiet, serene Coronado into the bustling downtown core, he tapped his hand against the steering wheel, nervously drumming the beat to a classic rock song. He pulled up into a parking space, looking around the parking lot for your obnoxious little car with its pink interior that he’d been thinking about since you took him to get his nose checked out. The break had healed nicely, unable to tell that two weeks prior, his nose had met with the fist of a grown man. Bradley sighed as he realized you weren’t here yet, adjusting his sunglasses in his rearview mirror. 

He didn’t date. 

It wasn’t his thing. 

The awkward small talk. The painful silences. The uncomfortable stage where you waited to see how the other person wanted to proceed, all for it to fall apart in the end anyway. He knew dates were just a stop gap to heartbreak. He was the expert, in fact. In the years since his marriage fell apart, he’d skipped dating all-together, resolving himself to one night stands and quick hookups as a means of bypassing the inevitable heartache he’d be faced with if he’d gone the dating route. 

After his marriage, he didn’t know what he wanted. He’d wanted kids, he thought, but then again, kids meant his career got less focus. Kids meant he’d have one of two choices — retire and become a picture-perfect dad, working a normal career and being the doting husband and father he knew he’d want to be, or, stay playing baseball, continue his dedication to his career, and always feel guilty for not being home, fielding the upset accusations of his wife, telling him he was doing it as an escape, running from his responsibilities. 

Being alone gave him freedom. It gave him the ability to further his career and focus his attention on whatever the fuck he wanted. And he liked it that way. 

However, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop you from occupy every thought that he had over the past two weeks. Being unable to play didn’t help — doctor’s orders had him benched for two weeks until his nose had healed. 

He’d attended practices, worked out at the gym a few extra times for good measure, and even took a guest spot in the commentator booth for a game over the past fourteen days to keep himself busy, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about you. 

Every time he thought he was comfortably distracted, focused on something else, his brain would circle back around, coming back to you each and every time.

It was exhausting.

He tried so hard to push it off. Too hard, in fact. As he sat in his Bronco, hands still drumming on the steering wheel as he listened to the radio, now blaring The Beach Boys through his car, he hummed along to the familiar tune, hoping that it would provide him a little reprieve from the all-encompassing thoughts of you. 

Just as he closed his eyes, letting his imagination take him to the beach, walking across the warm sand, cool waves lapping at his feet as he stepped towards the ocean, he heard a gentle tapping on his window. Snapping back to reality, his eyelids fluttered, eyes opening wide as he spotted you gently tapping your knuckles against the window. 

He turned the car off, pulling the keys out of the ignition and stuffing them into his pocket as he hopped out of the driver’s seat. Your warm, friendly smile was enough to make him weak in the knees and he could barely keep himself together when he saw you standing there in that sweet, pretty little sundress you were wearing. He just hoped that his light-washed denim jeans didn’t betray him and give away how tight they were getting.

“Thanks for inviting me out,” you smiled as you looked at Bradley, hand raised to gesture at his healing nose, “Looks like you healed up nicely, Bradshaw.” 

“Not having baseballs flying at my face for the last two weeks might have helped. Stayed out of bars too, wasn’t about to risk having another drunken baseball fan taking swings at me.”

“You just didn’t want to lose another bar fight, did you?” you teased, pursing your lips as you looked around at the pier. 

“There’s like four different restaurants here, I figured I’d let you take your pick. Reservations aren’t an issue,” Bradley explained calmly, giving his head a gentle nod as he surveyed the parking lot. 

“Wow, you have that much influence here? Aren’t they used to pro-athletes?”

“That’s not what I meant. I made reservations at all four. Just in case.”

“Wow, never had you pegged as a people pleaser, Bradley. I’m impressed.”

“I’m not,” he replied stubbornly, shaking his head. “I just didn’t want to pick something and find out you were deathly allergic to seafood or something. Killing you with a food allergy didn’t seem like an appropriate way to thank you for helping me the other night.”

“You’re right, unexpectedly poisoning me doesn’t sound like a good thank you. You’re in luck though, no food allergies.”

Bradley let out a sigh and looked around again, looking more vulnerable than ever. He looked uncomfortable, nervous even, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“Steak?” You hummed, raising an eyebrow as you tried to break any tension between you. “I could go for steak.”

“Steak works,” he grumbled, nodding his head. He leaned in towards you, his lips just milimeters from your ear as he whispered softly, trying to be as quiet as possible before being spotted. 

“Photographers are over there, they’re gonna want to snap a few photos of us. Are you ok with that? We can either play it up or downplay it. Up to you. I can always walk in ahead of you if you don’t want the attention.”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he whispered into your ear, the hairs on the back of your neck standing at full attention. Craning your neck to look above his shoulder, you spotted a white Escalade with a short, weasel of a man sitting in the front seat, camera poised and ready to capture a shot. Your eyes flitted back to Bradley as you nodded your head. 

“Give them a show,” you nodded, granting him permission to play up the dinner, “Maybe it’ll help stop people from watching you for a reaction now that your ex’s upcoming nuptials are plastered over every glossy magazine there is. I can’t even read Cosmo without seeing her—” 

Bradley grumbled something at you, interrupting your ramble. He took you by the hand and nodded his head, looking back over his shoulder towards the camera before his gaze landed on you once again. Before a word was spoken between the two of you, Bradley’s large hand was on the small of your back, pulling your body in against his. Lips pressed together, you felt your body melt back into his hand. 

Although you’d never admit it to his face, you’d thought about kissing Bradley Bradshaw’s lips over and over and over again since you met him two weeks ago. You’d thought a lot about Bradley, more than you’d care to admit. You thought about those large hands of his, picturing his rough, calloused palms cupping at your tits, feeling their weight as he gently squeezed at them. You’d pictured his lips on your skin, soft and slow, pressing hot kisses over every inch of exposed flesh, unable to keep his hands and mouth off of your body. 

Bradley Bradshaw had you tangled up in a crush that rivalled the ones you’d held in high school. And weirdly — you found yourself refusing to give it up. Since that night you dropped him off to get his nose examined, bloodied and battered and vulnerable in the passenger seat of your car - you’d been completely head over heels for him, whether you liked it or not. 

As Bradley’s calloused hand held yours, enveloping it in his large fingers, his expression softened, lips forming into a gentle smile. The two of you walked hand in hand towards the restaurant, with Bradley giving his name to the hostess as he approached. He gave another glance towards the photographer behind him, furiously snapping photographs from the seat of his car, headlines practically writing themselves in his eyes as he watched Bradley closely.

Bradley didn’t want to admit it, but you agreeing to give the press a little show was helping his career more than anything - appearing to be on a genuine date would help quell the rumours about his long-storied sexual escapades since his highly publicized divorce. 

When his marriage crumbled, he went through a series of bad decisions. His temper was already the stuff of legends in the game, with stories about locker room fights and fines for unsportsmanlike conduct, but those rumours proved true when his life began to fall apart around him. He’d been caught, on more than one occasion, with a pretty blonde in a compromising position with him. Dancing in bars, drunken stumbles in hotel lobbies, walks of shame the following morning. He’d earned the nickname Bradley “Hit-It-And-Quit-It” Bradshaw for crying out loud, and while it wasn’t something he was proud of, it sure wasn’t something he chose to dispute either. 

As Bradley tucked your chair in, he leaned down to whisper in your ear once again, his hand resting gently on your shoulder as he spoke. 

“Let me know if this gets uncomfortable for you,” he nodded slowly.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, shivers running up and down your spine. 

Bradley took the seat across from you, smiling politely at the waitress as she took your drink orders. Moments later, his hand wrapped around his beer glass, raising it to his lips as he took a long sip, the frothy head brushing against his mustache as the liquid passed his lips. He watched as you looked out at the pier, eyes gazing at the sunset over the horizon, the sky painted shades of pink and orange. 

“It’s nice view sitting here, isn’t it?” Bradley nodded in agreement as he spoke. “It’s my favourite. I haven’t come in a while though.”

An awkward silence washed over you both. 

The kind of silence that reminded Bradley why he hated dating.

An uncomfortable pause later, Bradley cleared his throat, nodding his head towards you as he forced an uneasy smile. You looked back at him, sensing his discomfort and wanting to smooth the tension as best as you could, you said the only thing that came to mind as a safe topic of discussion.

“Are you ready for the game tomorrow?” 

“Hmm? Yeah, yeah,” he nodded casually, sipping his drink. “I’m excited to be back on the roster. Did you hear the excuse they came up with for how I broke my nose? PR said a bar brawl wasn’t a good look, so they said I did it during practice.” He scoffed, laughing softly. 

“Practice? What’s the story they came up with?”

“Mhmm, said I missed a rogue line drive, caught it with my nose instead of my glove.”

You shook your head and laughed, cocking a manicured eyebrow up at Bradley as he spoke. Another awkward pause hung in the air as you took a sip from your wine glass. Your eyes drifted back to Bradley, sensing his nerves.

“Alright, enough of this,” you laughed, shaking your head, “Why do they call you Rooster?”

Bradley’s eyes went wide as he set his drink glass down on the table. His dark brown eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked at you. A strained laugh escaped his parted lips, his dark brown curls moving as he shook his head. 

“It’s not exactly dinner conversation,” he said simply.

“What—you’re joking,” you retorted with an incredulous laugh. “There’s no way.”

“‘Fraid so. Rooster Bradshaw. It’s not because I’m up early for practice every day.”

“It’s because you’ve got a big—”

“Not at dinner,” Bradley warned, shaking his head.

“So, the whole, you know,” you frowned slightly as you thought over how to word your inquiry, your voice dropping down to a whisper, “Bradley-hit-it-and-quit-it-Bradshaw thing, that’s connected to it?”

“Unfortunately,” Bradley grumbled, shaking his head, “It’s not something I’m proud of.”

Another awkward moment passed, the clinging of silverware against a dish was the only sound emitted from the two of you as you sat there. Between bites of steak and sips of wine, the odd question would slip out, basic small talk that no one enjoyed on dates, facts about the two of you that weren’t important to anyone. You had to remind yourself at several points that this was never a date - it was never intended to be. It was a thank-you. A half-hearted gesture of kindness from Bradley in exchange for you not running to the papers about his bar-room brawl and his broken nose. A gesture of thanks for not fuelling the already tainted reputation he had for himself. 

Between the breakdown of Bradley’s marriage, his subesquent outbursts that he was prone to devolve into at any time on and off the field, the heated locker room exchanges that got him traded between teams, and the now infamous, and probably over-dramatized accounts of his sexual conquests, his life was falling apart around him. You keeping his broken nose a secret was the first kind-hearted gesture anyone had made towards him in he didn’t know how long. 

All Bradley knew was, despite the clumsy awkwardness, the silences and pauses, the uncomfortable pressure he was putting on himself despite reminding himself it wasn’t a date. Bradley was left wondering. 

Maybe he wished it was. 

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw au #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw au #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw au #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x y/n #top gun maverick au fic #baseball au

[bimbobaggins69]

Show me

Older!Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

summary: you accidentally stumble upon your best friend/roommates porn stash, you quickly learn he’s the main star. After seeing him in ways you never have, will your friendship ever be the same?

⚠️warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, pictures for aesthetic purposes only, eddie is in his mid 30s & reader is 25, oral sex (69), throat fucking, dirty talk, slight degradation, unprotected p in v rough sex, hair pulling, squirting, anal fingering (f receiving), anal sex (f receiving), anal cream pie.

A/N: FUCK WHOEVER REPORTED THIS, IMMA KEEP REPOSTING 🖕🏻

Requested by: @lokis-little-fawn 💗

You’re not sure what lead up to this, well you are—but you’re not sure why you let your curiosity get the best of you. It was just a normal Sunday morning, you had the weekend off so you spent your time cleaning up your apartment and finishing up some much needed laundry. Your roommate and best friend eddie had to go into work for a few hours to work on a car that needed repair. You figured you’d be a good roommate by folding his clothes and putting them away for him, since he’s out working hard, but now you’re not so sure that was a good idea

You folded up all of his dark colored clothes which mostly consisted of band tees and black jeans, heading to his room with the red flimsy plastic laundry basket to put them away. You hang out in Eddies room all the time but you’ve never had a reason to look inside his drawers before. You slowly open the oak wood drawer and begin putting his shirts away, then moving onto the bottom where his jeans were held, you squat down trying to easily maneuver the jeans to fit with the others, as you try to close the drawer you realize it’s too full and decide to be an even better roommate and re fold them for him so they’ll fit properly, as you begin taking them all out you see a vhs tape laying at the very bottom—of course your interest was piqued so you reach for it, picking it up and reading the side that had been written on, “NOT PORN” it said and you couldn’t help but giggle, that was such an Eddie thing to do, that’s why you loved him. Yes, love as in deeply, madly, intensely in love.

You met Eddie after he moved to Chicago from Hawkins. He began working at White Castle flipping burgers while you worked the register, you quickly got close due to your schedules always synching up. You would close together and closing was always slow so it left a lot of opportunity for you and Eddie to get to know each other, he’d talk about Hawkins, his friends and the life he left behind so passionately, it was easy for you to gain feelings for him. At some point you both became inseparable so you and Eddie decided why not move in together? You both enjoy each others company and two incomes are better than one, but you quickly realized you and Eddie will always just be friends. You’d have to endure multiple occasions of him fucking girls at all hours of the day, and they were never quiet, no matter how much you hoped they’d be, it was torture but after awhile it just became the new normal. It began to hurt less when you started dating, you’d never bring them back to your place to have sex but it was still nice to focus your attention on someone other than Eddie.

You want to put the tape back and move on to the other house hold chores you have, but you know if you don’t find out what’s on it, it’ll be all you think about, so you continue fixing Eddies jeans, putting the tape off to the side—as you finish and close the drawer, you get up taking the tape with you and heading into the living room to put it in the vhs player. Your heart is beating a mile a minute—you’re not even sure why, it’s probably just some lame low budget porno with really shit acting, “we’ll see” you whisper to yourself as you slowly slide the tape in with shaky hands.

You step back and pick up the remote as the tape goes from static to a shot of someone’s bedroom, the camera is focused on a bed with obnoxious pink flowers on the bedsheets, nothing other than the bed can really be seen in the shot. You fast forward a bit until you see something that catches your eye and immediately press play, as you do you hear and see Eddie balls deep in some girl, the moaning is ringing out through your ears as you sit on the coffee table watching the display in front of you. Your jaw instantly drops and your stomach plummets with jealousy. You continue to watch the tape now more so out of curiosity, if you’re never going to be able to fuck eddie, why not watch him? You’ve always wanted to know what made all those girls scream like they did, and now you know why. He pulls his cock out of the beautiful brunette and she drops to her knees in front of the camera and starts sucking him off. Holy shit his dick is huge, you can’t help but clasp your hand over your mouth with wide eyes. Your best friends cock was the biggest one you’d ever seen, it totally makes sense why the girls would leave your apartment with a certain walk, all of them, limping out as if they were slightly in pain.

You can’t hold back any longer at this point, the whole thing has you worked up—pussy dripping into your panties, so you do the most logical thing you can think about in that moment. You slip off your little cotton shorts and black panties and head to the couch as you sit, you open your legs wide—throwing one over the armrest and the other on the other cushion beside you, your fingers find your bundle of nerves and you begin rubbing. You were so wet, worked up and sensitive it had been awhile since you had sex, you were kind of going through a celibate streak that lasted a little longer than intended, so you had a lot of pent up orgasms that needed release, as you move down from your clit you slip two fingers into your hole, you needed to be stretched out for sure. You were so tight, so you continued fucking yourself with your fingers while taking the other hand and rubbing your clit, the screen displayed a picture of Eddie fucking the brunette from the back while he had a fistful of her hair, slapping her ass and every once in awhile grabbing her throat. The filthiness only egging you on closer to your orgasm, you were so focused on Eddies movements, the way his face contorted, the dirty things he was saying and on your own release that you didn’t hear the door being unlocked and opened.

“What the fuck, where did you find that?” Eddie says as he walks to the vhs to eject the tape, both of your faces a dark crimson red—you were mortified, you wanted to die right then and there, you couldn’t believe you allowed yourself to get that caught up in a porno, of your best friend no less.

“Y/n” eddie says in a stern voice as he turns to look at you, he didn’t even notice you had been touching yourself to it, so intent on making sure you didn’t see the rest of it—you sat there with glassy eyes, knees together but barely covering your soaked pussy, and fingers all pruned like you’ve been swimming, your cheeks were flushed and your breathing ragged—it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what you were doing. Eddie raised an eyebrow looking over your whole body, It’s not that Eddie didn’t want to fuck you, he did, he really really did—but he didn’t want to lose you. You had been his only friend since he had to leave his behind after the big earthquake of 86’, he had no one here in Chicago, just you—and he wouldn’t throw that away for a quick fuck. You’d leave just like they all do, and he couldn’t bare that thought—but with you sitting there half naked, and rosy cheeked he couldn’t help but get hard, his innocent best friend or so he thought, touching herself to a video of him. This was so close to every fantasy he’s ever had about you.

“What’s going on here y/n?” He says with a smug smirk

“I-I um, I was putting your laundry away and found this” you stammered

“So you decided to rub one out to it?” — “did you see something you liked?” He continues teasing

“Uh” you couldn’t even find words, you were humiliated and now he’s making fun of you, your lip begins to wobble and you drop your head in shame

“Okay, y/n it’s okay I’m just fucking with you, baby” he laughs out “don’t cry” he says as he moves closer, now sitting on the coffee table facing you—his gaze roaming your half exposed body, hungrily. Your head lifts as you hear the word baby. He’s never called you that before, sure sweetheart or bunny, a cute nickname he gave you due to a constant nose scrunching habit you have that he finds adorable, but never baby—you never want him to stop calling you that.

“Y/n you okay? Where’d you go?” He says as he snaps his fingers in front of your frozen face

“I’m okay” you whisper

“Listen, it’s not a big deal okay? So I did some porn to make some extra cash” —“I mean it’s not the way I wanted you to see my dick, but it’s okay, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, okay sweet girl?” He says as he rubs your knee—making your breath hitch and all you can do is nod your head as you go over his words

“Wait how, um how did you want me to see your dick?” You say with the most pitiful tone you’ve ever heard come out of your mouth

He smirks as he continues rubbing, hand moving closer to your thigh “you don’t think I’ve had little fantasies and wet dreams about you, y/n?” — “what that sweet little pussy, looks and tastes like” he says voice low with a growl

“You have?” You say as your eyes widen

“Of course I have, have you seen yourself?” He says with some annoyance— Eddies always hated how much you doubt yourself and your beauty, how could he not want you? What man wouldn’t?

He was lucky he even got your friendship, you were far too good for the likes of him, well at least that’s what he thought but you never seen it that way.

“I mean, you just never said anything” you say as you finally look him in the eye, shame no longer present in your face

“Well, I can’t lose you y/n” eddie says as his movement on your thigh comes to a halt

“Lose me? Why would you lose me?” You can’t help but let out a little laugh, if only he knew how in love you are, he’d never question or think about you leaving him

“Everyone does” he says with a shrug of his shoulders

“I’m not everyone Eddie, I’m me” you say as you cup his chin and bring his eyes back to yours

He nodded his head in agreement, you’re right you’re not like everyone—you’re special, always have been. His hand begins moving closer to your inner thigh as he gages your reaction—silently asking if it was okay

You nod your head as you bite your lip, opening your legs back to assume the position they were in before he interrupted—his eyes fall to your still glistening pussy and he can’t help but to fall to his knees

“Fuck baby, look at this little pussy” — “it’s even better than I imagined” he says without taking his eyes off of it

“It’s really tight, too” you say —“haven’t been fucked good in a really long time” you continue with a voice as seductress as a siren pulling in her gullible victim

Eddies eyes snap up to yours, with a look no better described as carnal hunger

“You want me to stretch it for you, baby?” He says back, and fuck you about lost it. His dirty talk is so much better in person and when it’s said directly to you

“Yes, I do want that, so bad” you say

“What did it for you baby?” — he asks with a cocky grin —“huh?” You say face full of confusion

“On the tape, what got you worked up?” He asks curiously

“Oh um, well all of it to be honest, just you. Seeing you like that, really really made me horny” you respond making Eddies dick twitch, he loved hearing you like this — “but especially how rough you were with her, the way you pulled her hair and spanked her” you continue

“You like that kind of stuff, bunny?” — “who woulda thought” he says with a chuckle

“I’ve never done it before, but I want you to show me” you say voice almost as low as whisper

“Ok, I can show you whatever you want me to” — “whatever you’re okay with, I’m okay with” he says

You stand up and take his hand, heading off into your bedroom as you pull him along. You enter and walk to your bed, laying him down and crawling on top to straddle his lap, taking your hair out of its low bun and shaking it, then you begin to pull off your shirt—tits falling out of your little tank top “shit” eddie whispered to himself, you were completely bare for him now, and he knew he could no longer hold back—he had to give you all of him

“You’re fucking gorgeous y/n” — “the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen” he says looking you in the eye, face full of genuine adoration

“And you’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen” you say back as you move closer to his lips, you give them a little teasing lick as you both giggle, before he grabs the back of your head and smashes your lips together, tongues meeting and teeth clashing, it was almost animalistic the way you both needed each other

You begin shifting in his lap, until you feel his hard cock straining in his jeans beneath you. As you roll your hips for some friction, eddies hands find your hips guiding you back and forth, your pussy completely soaking his jeans— “please take your clothes off Eddie, please!” You beg and whine

Music to Eddie’s ears, he can’t believe he has you this worked up, he feels like he’s dreaming a fucking gnarly wet dream, but he’s not—this is real you’re real and on top of him, heat radiating from your pussy as you beg for him—he could die a happy man

He gives your ass one good smack before he gently pushes you off, removing his shirt and unbuttoning his jeans, you stand up to help work them down his hips, once he kicks them completely off—you squat down and shove your thumbs into the waste band of his checkered boxers, slowly pulling them down his legs as you look up at him meeting his eyes— “oh you knew what your were doing, you little minx” eddie thought to himself

Once his boxers hit below his thighs his cock sprung out. The video tape didn’t do it justice, it was so much more beautiful in person and so hard, leaky tip an angry red. You couldn’t imagine how that stretch would feel—holy shit he’s gonna split you open

“Better in person?” He asks almost reading your thoughts

You look back up at him—“way better” you say as you lick your lips—“can I suck it?” You ask

“I have a better idea” eddie says, jumping up to lay on the bed—“come here” he motions you to climb on the bed too, but you’re lost not really knowing what he has in mind

“Sit on my face, baby” he says with an excited smile

“W-what?” You say in slight embarrassment, you’ve never done that before

“Sit on my face, I’ll eat you out while you suck my cock” —“is that okay?” He asks with a soft voice

The thought instantly breaking you out of your embarrassment—that sounded so hot, and who better to try new things out with

You climb up on the bed and turn to face Eddies legs, straddling his face and as you do he takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent—making you moan out at the dirtiness of it—“fuck you smell so good” Eddie says, voice muffled between your thighs. You bend over closer to his lower body and take his hard leaking cock in your hand, pumping it as he moans into your pussy, he begins flicking his tongue on your clit—making you moan out in turn. You focus back on him giving his lower stomach a few open mouthed kisses, following the patch of hair to his cock. You lick up all the way to his tip—tasting his pre cum as you take it in your mouth and suck, making Eddie stiffen and moan underneath you, as you continue sucking and taking him deeper, his tongue becomes relentless. Moans and wet squelches filling the space around you—eddie begins bucking his hips up into your throat, fucking your face—your eyes begin to water and you gag a couple times but you’re so turned on you don’t care. He continues his assault on your pussy as he fucks you with his tongue. You can feel your tummy begin to coil, earlier’s lost orgasm hitting you—the feeling so much more intense.

You begin to moan around eddie, making him fuck your throat harder, spit and tears coating his cock—your legs begin to shake and you can’t edge yourself any longer. You take your mouth off of him with a pop and begin moaning—“fuck yes, I’m cumming, please don’t stop!”

Egging Eddie on, making his assault relentless—as he sucks and slurps on your clit. Your whole body shakes as you fall on top of him no longer able to carry your weight, this was the best orgasm you’ve ever had—you could cry and you were, some from Eddie fucking your throat and some from complete blissed out pleasure

As you lay there while Eddie works you through your high, he grabs two handfuls of your ass, slapping and gripping—so hard he was definitely going to leave marks, but you didn’t care you’ve wanted nothing more than to be marked up by him—this was a dream come true

Eddie lifts your hips signaling you to get up

“Sorry” you laugh out

“It would be a great way to go” he says while huffing in a deep breath — you both laugh at his dumb joke as you lay there, Eddie allowing you to fully come down before continuing

“Can you, um can you fuck me in the same position?” You say shyly

“Doggystyle?” He inquires with raised brows and a smirk

“Uh, yeah” you say back unable to look Eddie in his face

“Don’t go shy on me now, princess” he laughs out

“I-I’m not, I just I’ve never done that one before”

“Hey, I like being your first for new things, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about I actually think it’s fucking hot” he growls

“Really?” You say with furrowed brows

“Yes, baby it’s so fucking sexy that I get to corrupt you and turn you into my personal whore” he spits out making your cheeks blush

You can’t help but bite your lip and nod your head, at this point Eddie could call you any name in the book and you’ll agree to it— “come on, ass up baby” he demands

You get into position, head down on the mattress as your ass wiggles in the air—you feel so exposed like this, but you’re too drunk on the idea of Eddie fucking you to care

“Mmm, this is a beautiful view” he says as he brings his palm down on your ass hard. You moan out, a reaction Eddie was not expecting—“oh you like that?” He says with a devilish smile

“Fuck, we’re gonna have so much fun princess” — “you gonna let me use you like this? Be my little fuck toy whenever I need my dick wet?” He growls as he slaps his cock against your ass—“yes, use me Eddie” you wail “shit, say that again, baby!” he demands as his cock begins breaching your pussy. You’re so lost in the feeling of him stretching you open to pay attention to what he just asked—SMACK! Eddie slaps your ass again, you never thought you’d be into being spanked but you were loving it—you moaned out again as you looked back at him with a smile—“I said say it again” he says through gritted teeth as he grabs a fistful of your hair pulling your head back towards him, plunging his cock deeper inside you “fuck, eddie use me”—-“use my pussy, please!” You shout

“That’s right, my little whore” he spits as he bottoms out inside you “fuck this pussy is so tight, goddamn” he whispers

“Fuck Eddie, you feel so good!”

Eddie begins thrusting in and out of you, pounding harder and harder as he hits your g-spot just right. You and eddie are loud—cussing, grunting and moaning could probably be heard down the block. You felt bad for your neighbors but you didn’t care enough to keep it down, it felt like heaven—better than you could’ve ever imagined

As Eddies fucking into you, you feel something wet hit your other hole— Eddie takes his thumb and begins rubbing the spit around—“has anyone ever played with this hole, baby?” He asks while continuing to fuck into you “no, never” you say as you bite your lip while looking back at him with curiosity

“Fuck, look at this little virgin asshole, can I play with it?” —“I promise, I’ll make you feel so good, princess” he begs

Butt stuff always scared you, after having a bad experience with an ex—but this is Eddie, you trust him and he promises to make you feel good, so of course you grant him access

“Yes, please” you say as you nod your head

Eddie spits another big glob right down on your pink hole, rubbing it in again and then pushing is thumb in slowly, inch by inch until his whole thumb was inside to the knuckle

“Holy shit” you mewl

Eddie stops his thrusts with his dick and finger— to check on you “you okay, baby?” He says voice full of genuine concern

“Yeah, yeah don’t stop please” you begin pushing back, fucking into his cock and thumb

He slaps your ass again, holding it with his free hand as he continues pounding into you. He’s stretching both holes out and it feels so good, too good—that familiar burning sensation creeping up, but one you’ve never felt before

“Eddie, hold on hold on!” His thrusts start slowing down—“what’s wrong, did I hurt you? Was that too much?” He begins

“No, no it’s prefect I-I just think I have to pee” you say with flushed cheeks, embarrassment washing over you

“Mmm, yeah?” He says as he starts to speed up again

“Eddie, baby please I-I can’t” you can’t even finish the sentence as the pleasure washes over you—“that’s it baby, just let go, make a mess”—“squirt all over my dick, you little slut” he growls as his free hand snakes around your waist to rub at your clit—he continues working his thumb in and out of your asshole

“Fuck, you like both of your holes filled hm?”—“like to be filled like a good little slut?” — “fuck, I knew you weren’t as innocent as you pretend to be, you’re just a secret little whore. Eddie just had to give it to you baby, that’s all you needed isn’t that right?”—his words tipping you over the edge, you cum as you scream Eddies name, he pulls his cock out and rubs at your clit with more aggression, making you squirt all over his dick as he groans out

“Fuck that was so hot”—“got my dick nice and wet, might just have to put it in your asshole” he says with a smirk

“I want you to, please?”— “please fuck my asshole, eddie”—“I need it” you whine

His eyes widen at your words “you sure baby?”

“Yes, I’m so sure, please!”—“I want you to fill my asshole with your cum” how the fuck could he say no to that?

“Fuuuck, y/n” he can’t even gather words, you’ve rendered eddie speechless

He takes his finger out and spits on your hole and on his dick, getting it nice and wet. He pushes your ass down a little so he has easier access, grabbing his cock and lining it up with your untouched hole. It’s a way bigger stretch than his finger, but he’s going so slow helping you get use to the feeling of being filled. Once he bottoms out he asks if you need a minute, you shake your head no—making Eddie thrust into you, slowly at first until you begin moaning out a “harder Eddie”

He starts fucking into your asshole relentlessly—it feels so good now. Eddies losing his composure above you “holy shit baby, fuck” —“I’m not gonna last much longer, your asshole is way too fucking tight, it’s milking my cock” —“fuck, I’m gonna fill it up, gonna fill this tight asshole up” —“Every. Last. Drop.” He says between thrusts

He grabs a handful of your hair again, lifting you up so your back is flush against his chest—he kisses your neck and shoulder as he continues his thrusts—“fuck I’m cumming” he moans out, you turn and grab the nape of his neck pushing his lips into yours, you kiss him through his orgasm, as he grunts and moans into the kiss

He pulls out with a hiss and kisses you on the nose guiding you to lay down as he grabs his discarded shirt on the floor and cleans the cum that’s beginning to seep from your fucked out hole

You whimper at the act

“You okay? Was I too rough?” He asks, you can’t get over how thoughtful he was when it came to sex, no man has ever made sure you were okay, the way he did. It made you fall even harder—getting to see him in this new light, you knew you’d never be able to go back to just being friends, but that was a topic for another day.

THANK YOU FOR READING

Please comment and reblog ✨

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson x female reader #eddie stranger things #eddie x you #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #older eddie munson

[yjhariani]

Stealth Mission

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley X GN!Reader Word count: 1100± Warning: Profanity Summary: Annoying your husband in any way possible.

A/N: Still fixated on the idea of crossovering CoD and RE because. Maybe I should branch out and make the reader a part of SCP Foundation MTF.

Ever since you married Simon, you made it your objective to annoy him in any loving way possible. One of the ways to do so, you titled Stealth Mission. Not only because it required stealth, it would end up mostly redacted in the history book of your marriage.

The way you saw it was that both your work was so harsh and full of darkness that you two needed at least occasional light in between. So, you started it.

For example; Simon was getting ready to go to the gym. You scouted the area around his duffle bag. Once making sure that Simon was away from the area and that the area was clear (sometimes you bait him by putting his phone somewhere inside the house and calling it so he went to get it), you made your way in towards the duffle bag.

Eyes on and sharp, you went through his bag. You took out his shirt that was black in colour and replaced it with the package; a bright, pastel pink cropped shirt or a bright yellow tank top, maybe a neon green water bottle or red towel with hearts and flowers or cute little cats or puppies on it. 

You tucked it inside the bag, made sure that it was hidden. Once the package was delivered, you RTB (Return to Base—wherever the hell Simon was not).

A few minutes later, Simon left. In a few hours, he returned home to you waiting for him in the living room with your camera opened. He was wearing the package. Usually, you managed to take a couple of snaps before Simon looked at you disapprovingly.

Mission complete.

Another example; you waited until Simon fell asleep. Once he did, you very carefully removed yourself from the bed. You had direct intel that Simon’s phone was located on the nightstand. You located it precisely where he would usually put it.

You made your way to the other side very quietly and very stealthily. You stayed prone on the ground, but not after getting the target—Simon’s phone.

With a little bit of tech forgery, you unlocked the phone (in actuality, he made sure you could unlock his phone with a fingerprint or even your face as well as giving you the passcode). You connected the phone to a pair of earbuds that you had prepared to ensure that there would be no loud noises accidentally echoing.

From there, you downloaded the most obnoxious song—maybe Crazy Frog or Barbie Girl. Afterwards, you set his alarm with said downloaded song before making sure to disconnect the earbuds from the phone. Following that, you returned the phone to where it was before returning yourself stealthily to your side of the bed.

The next morning, you two were woken up by the most ridiculous song ever. You started the day with Simon calling you little shit.

Mission complete.

If you were not feeling too lazy, after making sure Simon could not catch you doing it, you would intentionally make an effort to pull a chair and put a lot of things on the higher shelves, just out of your reach. Every time you called for him to help you get them it would annoy him because you could simply pull a chair or something.

However, sometimes he was feeling generous and picked you up, letting you take whatever you were reaching for with your own hands. Simon rarely put you down immediately and you two ended up at least making out.

Another mission complete?

One time, you did the same thing throughout the whole week you two were home. You kept asking Simon if he had seen something that was in plain sight.

“Simon, did you see my phone?” you asked whilst holding your phone.

“In your hand, love,” Simon said.

Sometime later, you asked him, “Simon, have you seen that mug I just bought for you?” as you handed him said mug with tea that you brewed for him.

“You’re taking the piss?” Simon replied.

The next day, you just finished showering with only a towel on you and walked to where Simon was, asking, “Simon, I can’t find my towel.”

“Don’t make me rip it off you,” Simon warned.

At some point, you were doing laundry. You held the laundry basket in one hand and shouted Simon’s name.

“Everything alright, darling?” Simon asked.

“I brought the hamper here earlier, I don’t remember where I put it,” you answered.

A little frustrated, Simon was about to say something a little mean, but decided not to. Instead, he put up a finger.

“No,” he said. “I’m not doing this.”

The last one at the end of the week happened while he was lounging in the living room. You walked over, looking under the table, under the pillow, in between the seats.

Simon, at this point, knew what you were doing. He was about to ignore you, but he did not find it in his heart to do so.

“What are you looking for this time?” Simon sighed.

“I’m looking for my husband,” you stated.

There was a second passing of Simon furrowing his eyebrows before he stood up.

Uh-oh.

“Get over here,” Simon requested.

“Why?” you asked, holding back a laugh.

“Just get over here,” Simon replied and started walking towards you.

You stepped aside, around the table.

After another pause where the two of you were mapping the living room and tried to guess each other’s net move, Simon started literally chasing you around the living room. It got weird pretty quickly.

You rolled on the ground to avoid him and Simon started calculating his movement.

Hollowing your hand in front of your mouth, you said, “This is Y/N to HQ, requesting immediate backup.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” you heard Simon muttered as he continued to chase you around the living room.

“Eyes on armed tango in the up right,” you continued. “Fucking beefy, fucking scary, and fucking handsome.”

“Y/N, stop this!” Simon insisted, but you started to see him smiling a little bit.

Grinning, you tried to make your way out of the living room, getting chased by Simon before getting tackled by him onto the sofa.

“Contact! I’m hit!” you announced. “Going dark!”

“Going dark?” Simon repeated, half chuckling.

“I don’t know why I said that,” you chuckled.

Simon only looked at you for a moment, a thin smile bloomed on his face.

“Remind me why we’re married again?” Simon said.

“Oh, we got our wages raised if we’re married and I got a house,” you said.

“Right,” Simon nodded.

“I also seem to remember that you said that I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” you teased.

“I’m changing my mind just this second,” Simon said.

“And you still love me anyway. How’s that making sense?” you replied.

Instead of answering that, Simon started kissing you.

Mission complete.

If you were not feeling too lazy, after making sure Simon could not catch you doing it, you would intentionally make an effort to pull a chair and put a lot of things on the higher shelves, just out of your reach. Every time you called for him to help you get them it would annoy him because you could simply pull a chair or something.

However, sometimes he was feeling generous and picked you up, letting you take whatever you were reaching for with your own hands. Simon rarely put you down immediately and you two ended up at least making out.

Again, these missions would end up being redacted in the history book of your marriage and the only people who would know about these missions were the people involved; you and him.

However, next time, though, you might have to buy some Nerf guns.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #mind dump

[tanniefm]

christmas & chill | jjk (m)

sequel to all to you

summary - it’s the most happiest time of the year with your needy boy.

pairing - jungkook x reader (f)

genre - established relationship, pwp, fluff

word count - 3.7k

song inspo - the entirety of ariana grande’s ep christmas & chill ofc!

warnings - reader and koo are hopelessly in love sigh, lots of cum, unprotected sex (pls don’t be dumb like them i beg), koo kinda switches lowkey sorry, overstimulation, hint of dacryphilia, koo’s a lil crybaby, extremely needy koo, praise, riding, backshots yayyyy, oral (f receiving), squirting, cum eating, pet names (ur his angel <3), reader is chubby coded (is that a thing? i’m making it a thing), reader suffers from FPS (fat pussy syndrome) whilst jungkook suffers from FDBS (fat dick and balls syndrome) 😞

a/n - a lil gift from me to u ♡ thank u all for all the love. i wanted to post something for christmas as a 2 year anniversary to my first ever fic i posted on here. hope u enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. see u next year!!

♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪♪°•°∞°•°♪°•

The semester is over, finals are a thing of the past, and your lovely new boyfriend is coming over in 15 minutes. Merry fucking Christmas to you! 

Due to finals being obnoxiously cutthroat this year, you’ve barely been able to spend any time with Jungkook. He offered to help you study multiple times, but you felt it would be more responsible to study on your own without any…distractions. You learned from last time that studying with him ends with materials being forgotten and clothes being strewn about. So for two weeks, you put a sex ban on the both of you so that way when you were able to reconnect, it’d be 10x better. Jungkook reluctantly agreed but had a huge pout on his face that you oh so lovingly kissed away. Ever since you two made it official, it’s like all you ever think about is being grossly lovey-dovey with him. In your defense, he makes it a little hard not to. He’s the sweetest boy in the world, of course you wanna shower him with kisses and endless praise and let him pump as much cum into you as his heart desires! The look on his face does you in every single time, just thinking about it is making you squeeze your plush thighs together. 

You shake your head to re-focus on the task of getting ready. Your roommate has the same plans as you do with her own significant other so she notified you she’d be gone for the weekend with a sly smile. Fortunately for her, this means she won’t have to hear the headboard banging rhythmically into the wall at 3 am anymore - well, at least for the weekend. You’ve decided to pamper yourself a little before he arrives. Showered, shaved, moisturized, spritz some sweet-smelling perfume, and even put on a little bit of makeup just to make yourself feel extra cute. You put on some fuzzy pink shorts that make your legs and ass look good, and a tank top with Hello Kitty positioned right in the middle of your boobs. You look and feel so fucking good right now. ‘Jungkook’s gonna bust in his pants again,’ you sigh blissfully to yourself. However, tonight you want him to fill you up completely. It’s what you deserve after such a stressful month of non-stop studying and crying over due dates. You give yourself a little smile in the mirror before you walk to the living room to turn on the tv for background noise. Watching movies is the last thing on your mind at the moment.

Your head springs up when you hear melodic taps on the door. Anytime Jungkook knocks, it has to be to the tune of whatever song he was listening to earlier, it’s a habit you’ve always found to be endearing. You skip to the door happily, excited to see your favorite boy.

“Hey angel, I got us- mph,” you interrupt his sentence with a deep kiss. Fuck, you missed him so much. Although you’d never admit it to his face, as he tends to get a bit cocky (which never lasts once you’re on top of him), this sex ban has been torture for you. You made the foolish decision of adding that neither of you was allowed to touch yourselves while you cracked down on studying. So to say you were pent-up was a gross understatement. You parted from him for air and saw how dazed he looked. Pink cheeks and shaky breaths. Just like always.

You smirk and look down at the bags he has in his hands. “You got food? Aww, you’re too sweet, come in! It’s freezing,” you say innocently. You grab the bags of takeout from him and usher him inside. He’d like to blame his rosy face on the cold wind, but you and him both know you just caught him off guard. And turned him on a little. These past couple of weeks have been what Jungkook would imagine hell is like. And then to add the extra challenge of not masturbating? November is over! What happened to Destroy Dick December?? Nevertheless, he’s ecstatic to see you again. He has so much to give you. He knows you can take it, he just wonders if he can. Other than his incessant horniness though, he’s just as excited to curl up with you under your warm weighted sheets and hold and kiss and love you endlessly. He walks inside to see you’ve transformed the living room into a cozy holiday getaway. Fairy lights decorated the tables and doorway, soft music flowed throughout the room, chilled wine set out on the table, and you, looking as gorgeous as ever. God, he’s so in love with you. He wants every holiday season to be spent with you by his side. He plops himself down on the couch and stares at your pretty figure retreating to the kitchen to collect plates and utensils. He notices that you’re wearing the short fuzzy shorts that he likes. The ones where he can clearly see the soft thighs he always imagines rutting himself between. Maybe if he’s good tonight you’ll let him. His dick slowly hardens at the prospect. 

You come back with eating materials in hand and sit next to him closely on the couch. “What’s all this for?” he asks distractedly. He notices you’ve also put on the perfume he can’t get enough of. It’s subtle enough to not mess with his sensitive nose but sweet enough to keep him wanting more. He wants all of you. Right now. “I thought I’d make the atmosphere nice and warm for us since it’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to be alone together,” you say smiling brightly. You dig into your food ignoring your very erect boyfriend. “You aren’t hungry baby?” you ask with a slight pout. He shakes his head slowly and scans your body up and down, seeing that you’ve foregone a bra. Your nipples poke through the little tank top you’ve thrown on and he desperately wants to lean down and put them in his mouth.

You snicker at how obvious he’s being. You knew he’d get like this as soon as he saw you. You’re surprised he didn’t crumble and fall to his knees the moment you kissed him. There had been many nights throughout these past few weeks where he’d text you alluding to wanting to see you, touch you, taste you, anything. All of which you would shut down and sternly tell him to not touch himself. “The only one that’s making you cum this month is me, do you understand?” you had firmly told him one night. He whimpered and whinily agreed. He’s such a good boy, your good boy.

Now with you right in front of him, looking the way that you do, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. You laugh and swallow the last bite of your food and turn to him. “Ok ok, I get it,” you say as you lean in to kiss him. He immediately wants to deepen it but you push him back before he has the chance. “Don’t you want to make a little toast first?” you don’t think he could get any poutier. “If I drink this wine can we have sex after?” you giddily nod and pour your glasses. “To us,” you clink your glasses together and watch as he hastily downs his whole cup. This is definitely gonna be a long night.

Without even considering letting you finish, he dives in for another long kiss. You smile into it and place your glass on the table to focus your full attention on him. Tongues dancing for dominance that he beautifully succumbs to. You climb on top of him slowly and straddle his firm thighs. You’ll never get over how such a strong man will willingly submit to your every whim. He’s so perfect. 

He runs his hands up and down your sides and feels how soft you are. He knows you’ve been insecure about your body in the past, but he’s always loved it. Even before you agreed to be his girlfriend, he’d savor any ounce of physical contact with you if it meant he got to feel your tiny squishy self against his lean muscular form. Your thighs squeeze around his hips and you push your heat against his straining bulge. He moans wantonly. This is what he’s been craving. Your warmth on top of him. The only thing that could make this better is you letting him inside of you to feel it completely. He bucks his hips into yours to hint at what he wants. But you know, you’ve known since before he walked into your place. If he had things his way, he would’ve picked you up and taken you on the front door. But he enjoys the teasing and the waiting. He enjoys the thrill of not knowing what’ll happen next. He enjoys anything you’ll allow him. 

Your kisses descend upon his jaw and neck as his cold hands fiddle with the hem of your tank top. He gives you a pleading look, silently asking if he can take it off, which causes you to nod as an affirmative. He quickly takes it off and leans back to do the same to his own shirt. Seeing his bare chest will forever be a treat for you. You're sure he could say the same if his ogling of your boobs is anything to go by. “You’re so pretty,” he sighs. His pupils dilate as he softly squeezes them in his hands. “Wanna suck on them,” he mumbles. You giggle and tell him to go ahead which he does swiftly. There’s something lethargic about watching him suck and play with your nipples. Even when not in a sexual context, he likes to have you in his mouth absentmindedly. You’re starting to think it’s become a comfort thing for him. He looks so at peace. His cold fingers contrast his warm tongue and it only adds to your pleasure. You rock against him harder which causes him to part from your nipples to whine. 

“Please- please can I be inside of you? I need it, I’m so full angel please,” he rushes out. “You wanna fill me up baby?” you respond gently, cupping his face with your hands. His doe eyes framed by your fresh set of acrylics is such a pretty sight to see. He nods and whispers another please. He looks so good when he begs. You wish you could take a mental screenshot of this moment.

You get up to discard your shorts and lacy pink panties while he impatiently just tugs his pants and boxers down to his knees. You’ve decided he’s had enough teasing for the night and quickly guide his throbbing length inside your embarrassingly wet pussy. He lets out a sob as you bottom out on him completely. You give yourself a brief second to adjust and let him recuperate from everything that happened in the last 60 seconds or so. You give him a small peck and ask if he’s ready, to which he replies with a soft yes and squeezes your hips for emphasis. With that, you slowly lift your hips and plop back down with a quickness. He’s so fucking big; not only is he long, but he’s slightly thick too. He’s always leaving your poor pussy sore but he fills you so fucking well you can’t find it in you to care. You set a fast pace as you’re overcome with your own need to feel good. You can’t wait for him to cum inside you. The moment you told him you were on birth control and that you were ok with him finishing inside he almost lost his mind. You’ve come accustomed and even excited to feel his love filling you in the most physical way. 

His hands grip your hips firmly as he throws his head back and takes the pleasure he’s receiving. You’re squeezing around him tightly and bouncing up and down on him so swiftly, he feels like he’s basking in the glows of heaven. “Ahh ____ you’re gonna milk it out of me fuck,” he moans loudly. His voice tends to heighten in pitch whenever he’s close and his eyes start to water as if he’s on the verge of bursting into tears. This however, only encourages you to get him there quickly. You wanna see tears streak down his face as he releases two weeks’ worth of cum inside of you. You bet he has so much. It might even overflow. With this thought, you move even faster, telling him to keep his eyes on you. “Don’t close your eyes baby, I wanna see those pretty eyes when you cum inside me ok?” you tell him. He tries his hardest to keep his eyes open, but the tears in his eyes cloud his vision. He blinks profusely in an attempt to clear them. He wants you to be the only thing he sees. He’s gonna cum any second now. It feels too good, you’re overwhelming his senses and he can’t hold it anymore. “____! I- fuck I’m cumming I’m cumming I”m sorry I can’t hold it,” his revere breaks as you feel spurts of warm cum release deep in your heat. You gasp and furrow your brows as you halt your movement. Pleasure racks through both of your bodies as you both cum together. You rock your hips back and forth to ride it out but it only causes him to whine loudly in overstimulation. He wants to go again. He still has more to give you.

“Keep going please I still have more,” he says breathily. Unfortunately for him, you are far too tired to keep riding him. Your legs are sore and you’ve frankly overexerted yourself. ‘Maybe I should take up on his offers on going to the gym,’ you think offhandedly. You place your head next to his ear and pant, “Fuck me baby, c’mon. Do whatever you want.” It’s almost as if a flip switches in his brain as he’s given permission to fuck you in any way he pleases. At this, he grips his hips and lifts you up slightly to pound his cock into you. His balls slap against your soft pussy as he sets a quick pace. You feel like a little doll with the way he fucks into you. You can’t help but notice that even when he’s fucking you like this, manhandling you into any position he wants, he’s still whining and looking at you with complete and utter adoration. He pulls you in to give you a sloppy kiss as he cums for the second time that night. He moans into your mouth as you feel the tears that seem to continuously fall from his eyes on your cheeks. He pulls away to give you both a chance to breathe. 

His forehead rests against yours as he gasps for breath. You feel his cock twitch inside of you. “Kookie..are you still-” you stop yourself as he buries his head into your chest and cries. “M’ sorry I just- I missed you so much. I’ve been wanting this so bad angel. I just wanna fuck you over and over again. I’ve been saving it all for you. Just like you told me to,” he sobs into you. Your poor baby, he’s been suffering more than you thought he has. You wonder how he would’ve coped had you not have added the dumb “no touching yourself” to your little challenge. Probably by stroking himself to the thought of you every night. You clench at the thought. He lifts his head with widened eyes. You didn’t cum! And he did! How selfish could he be? He gently lifts you off of him and lays you back on the couch. He gives you a big, loving kiss and makes his way downwards. “Wait! Not on the couch, this shit is hard to clean,” you hurriedly say. He smiles bashfully and picks you up to carry you to your room.

It’s like you weigh nothing to him, a sentiment that makes you blush and giggle into his neck. He smiles and pecks your head before he flops you down on your soft sheets (that’ll definitely need to be washed thoroughly once he’s done with you). He gets down on his knees and looks up at you. You are nothing but a goddess in his eyes. The love of his life. He’ll do anything for you. You stare back at him and card your nails through his hair, gazing at him tenderly. This is exactly how it should be. Him on his knees staring up at you in awe, and you, pushing his head straight to your cum-filled pussy. You’d laugh if he didn’t instantly wrap his lips around your swollen clit. 

He runs his tongue up and down your cunt, cleaning it the best he can whilst simultaneously trying to get you to climax on his tongue. He fucks his tongue into you as he brings his chilly fingers to your clit. You yelp and moan loudly. “Fuck yes, just like that baby. That’s so good,” you praise. His bright eyes look up at you as he rubs your slick bud in circular motions, his tongue never stopping its pace inside. He parts from between your thighs briefly to whisper to you “Please cum for me angel. Wanna make you feel good,” and goes back to eating you with intent. That does it for you, you see a burst of white behind your eyelids as you cum messily on his face. This has got to be the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had, as you can’t stop shaking and trembling. He kisses your shaky thighs and caresses them softly to bring you back down.

He kisses his way back up to your face to check if you’re ok. “You alright?” he asks delicately. He pecks all over your face as he sees you slowly but surely come back to him. When your eyes flutter open, you’re shocked to see that his face is drenched. “Did I…,” he smiles brightly and nods. “I made you squirt angel,” he says with a grin. He’s lucky he’s cute, otherwise you’d be extremely annoyed with his cockiness. He looks so proud of himself though, so you’ll let it slide this one time. While you’d love to just pass out and deal with the mess later, you can’t help but notice the incessant hardness poking your stomach. “One more?” you question. He pouts once more and nods with pleading eyes. “Just one more, I promise,” he says. You relent and turn over on your stomach, maybe if he goes easy on you, you can even rest a little while he reaches his peak. But this is Jungkook, of course that’s not going to happen.

He grips your hips and hikes your ass up to get you into just the position he wants. He’s kind enough to put a pillow underneath you so as to not strain your back as much. The tip of his cock has been leaking ever since he got on his knees to eat your pretty pussy that he loves, and the throbbing was starting to become painful. He runs his dick through your folds to slicken himself up and whimpers when the tip catches onto your slit. With a soft kiss to your back, he thrust himself inside. Since he’s eaten you and stretched you so thoroughly, there’s no need for you to adjust, so he starts jackhammering into your cunt right away. He still feels so full, he loves the sound of his fat balls pounding away your plush little pussy. When he feels this good, he can’t seem to keep quiet.

“Mmmm this is so good, so fucking good. I’m so sorry baby, I can’t stop. I wanna fill you over and over. Look so pretty with my cum stuffed inside of you,” and here come the waterworks. He’s so sensitive, fucking you like this almost hurts. But he can’t stop, not until he’s completely empty. His thrusts are nothing short of quick and concise. He loves when you let him use you like this. Nothing but sounds of your wetness, his balls pattering against your bud, and the sounds of your combined moans run throughout the small apartment. You’re definitely gonna get another noise complaint.

“Baby, you can slow down it’s ok, don’t overwork yourself,” you plead. His tears almost make you want to stop him altogether and give him a chance to calm down. Jungkook, on the other hand, has no intentions on stopping. “No! I can’t, I need to keep going! Please don’t make me stop I wanna cum again please please please,” he sobs. He’s so close, he can feel it swirling in his stomach. He just needs a little more and then he can finally milk all the cum he’s been saving for you out of him. You, incidentally, are close to cumming too. In fact, you’re learning that this feeling you’re experiencing is that you’re about to squirt again. “Koo- oh my god, I- baby I’m gonna-” you stumble. “Me too, me too, fuck. Let go angel, make a mess on me again,” he rushes out as his thrusts increase. He spits on his fingers and runs them along your hard little bud. You try to muffle your scream into your pillows as you release all over his chest and your sheets. Seeing and feeling you squirt all over him causes him to reach his climax as well. He pumps every last bit of cum that he has inside your battered pussy as he thanks you profusely. Just as you expected, it overflows and drips back down your thighs. Jungkook collapses as softly as he can on top of you as you both breathe heavily. His cock finally softens and he reluctantly pulls it out as gently as he can. 

As he heavily plops himself down next to you, he sees that you’ve knocked out, already snoring lightly. He chuckles and pulls you into his chest. “Thank you angel. I love you, so so much,” he whispers. This is exactly what he wanted for Christmas. You safe in his arms and full of his cum.

#sub!jungkook #sub!jungkook x dom!reader #jungkook x reader smut #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts smut #switch!jungkook

[mossypidder]

So I was wanting to dye my hair pink midwinter so it’d fade my spring, I’ve been meaning to make another skull mask, it was supposed to snow the third week of January and somehow Technoblade always seemed to end up in the snow. Therefore. Things happened. I was only intending to take photos of it, but then I heard this song and my brain just went MMMM THIS SCENE AND THIS SCENE AND THIS SCENE AND- so I made a short. Or at least it was intended to be a short, but for some reason, YouTube won’t upload good audio, which is annoying, because tumblr doesn’t like high res imaging. Regardless, I’m really, really happy with this. Also here’s the slightly shortened youtube version if anyone’s interested.

Here’s the concept art for the costume beside what it actually turned out as. Material list below cut.

Mask: foam core which is a staple, but I tried duck masking tape instead of regular scotch tape in hopes the paint wouldn’t peal off it’s held up so much better thus far. Tusks and teeth are cosclay. Then acrylic paint and I don’t remember what the clear coat is called.

Crown: also foam core, but I did use scotch tape for it. Not as happy with it because there are a lot of creases, but I was too lazy to try and find a different medium. Painted with an oil based gold paint which actually covered very well and I barely used any of it.

Actual Mouth Tusks: also cosclay with acrylic paint for the white and the same oil based gold for the tusk cap thing.

Cloak: red fleece that I weathered with acrylic paint (and painted myself and the kitchen floor in the process), and long pile fleece for the hood lining. The buttons are cosclay that I, again, painted with the same gold. And the chains I just bought in bulk off amazon cuz I’ll probably use it again.

Corset Belt: some random faux leather I had leftover from a former project, and the laces are just ribbon.

Sword: a past friend made it for me forever ago, and it’s just been lying around.

Shirt: a random find from Goodwill that I about shrieked at when I found.

Pants: I can’t remember where I got them, I’ve had them for a while, they’re just high waisted corduroy.

I really wanted glasses, but I couldn’t find the ones was planning to use. Which is obnoxious. Because Techno deserves to see. But it’s not supposed to snow again for a while, so unfortunately, no glasses.

Also, this is the first time I’ve wished I had long hair since I cut it off almost three years ago because aesthetically it would have been really nice, but I’m less hung up on that than I am the glasses lol

#cosplay #ava art #me #sewing #foamcore #technoblade #minecraft cosplay #technoblade cosplay #techno cosplay #techno #techno fanart #technoblade fanart #short film #I guess? #technoblade never dies #one of us #technoblade tribute #I mean I suppose that’s what it is #c!techno #also yes #this was the red fabric Nugget was playing with lol #young artist #small artist #artists on tumblr #digital art #regular style #mcyt #mcyt fanart #mcyt cosplay #mossypidder motion

[duramaters]

All Mine // B.H.

Synopsis: Your friendship with Billy is forever changed when you see him playing basketball with Steve Harrington.

Word Count: 1k

Your friendship with Billy Hargrove had developed slowly but surely. Initially you were totally put off by his obnoxious bad boy attitude but after finding him smoking in the school parking lot one afternoon when you should have both been in lessons, you had started to realise that not only was Billy a total charmer, he also had the potential to be a genuinely decent human being. It was a shame that he hid that side of himself from the rest of the world but you felt lucky to catch glimpses of his secret self. It became a regular thing that you would slip out of lessons to meet Billy at his Camaro to share a cigarette under the haze of the Indiana sun and it wasn’t long before you found yourself growing inexplicably fond of the curly haired rogue.

You slipped into the gymnasium and settled yourself on the highest seat on the bleachers, content to watch the boys at their basketball practice while you waited for Billy so you could go for a smoke. They were already well into a game by the time you had taken your seat and your eyes bugged when you realised it was a shirts vs skins game. And Billy was not on the side of the shirts.  He was all over poor Steve Harrington and you had to avert your gaze to the ceiling to avoid starting at Billy’s very short shorts. You’d rarely seen the man in anything other than his double denim and seeing him completely shirtless and sweaty was resulting in all sorts of new sensations. The coach called for a water break and Billy bounded up the bleachers, sitting heavily beside you in all his sweat soaked glory, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Your gaze was fixed at a point on the basketball court because you knew that if you turned to face Billy you’d be hypnotised by his dark eyelashes and plump lips and who knew what you’d say.

“What’s got you all googly eyed, princess?” Billy leaned into your shoulder, perhaps attempting to see the court from your perspective but enveloping you in a cloud of his scent as his movement stirred the air. Unfortunately Steve Harrington was right in your line of sight as Billy’s hair brushed across your cheek. “Oh ho ho, Harrington? Really!?” He sneered at you and you kept your mouth shut, trying to ignore the burning blush forcing its way up your neck and onto your cheeks. You could feel Billy staring at you, trying to work out what it was about Steve that had you all flustered. The seconds felt like hours with his beautiful eyes boring into your pink tinged skin until all of a sudden he jerked your face towards him with a solid grip on your chin.

“Tell me.” There was a fire in his voice that almost sounded like anger, but you knew Billy well enough to know that he wasn’t angry at you. It was probably just disgust at the thought that you were attracted to Steve Harrington of all people. You shook your head limply in his grip, casting your eyes downwards and trying to avoid staring at the white blonde hairs sprouting from his heavenly sun-kissed thighs.

“No, Billy, it’s not Harrington.” You muttered lowly, hoping that he wouldn’t ask you to repeat yourself. You feared that if you looked him in the eyes he’d see straight through you, but you did it anyway because you needed to remove his thighs from your field of vision, they were too damn distracting. As you looked up at him you could pinpoint the exact moment he realised that your wide eyed stare and fierce blush were because of him. Shit. A wolfish grin lit up his features and he slid even closer to you on the bench.

“It’s me? Oh babe.” You thought he was going to eat you alive the way his eyes were alight with mirth and hunger. “Meet me at the car in ten.” He smirked at you, shooting an audacious wink in your direction before re-joining his teammates. Your heart was stuttering so violently in your chest you thought you were about to pass out and you could still feel his lingering heat where his fingers had gripped your chin.

~~~

Ten minutes had passed and just as you were beginning to lose your nerve, Billy emerged from the gymnasium doors and sauntered his way across the parking lot. You knew his slow strut was for your benefit alone and you felt the hot blush, that had only just died down, already recolouring your cheeks. At least he had shown your poor weakened heart enough consideration to put on a shirt. You didn’t know if you could handle seeing anymore of his golden skin right now. He nodded his head towards the Camaro, blond curls swaying across his shoulders, and you opened the passenger door wordlessly, hoping that the slight trembling of your legs wasn’t too obvious. Billy ducked into the drivers seat with a greedy smirk spreading across his lips. You stared down at your legs, twisting your hands together in your lap. You had never been nervous with Billy before, how had seeing him shirtless had such a massive effect on you? It was because he knew about the effect he had on you, you reasoned. It gave him power, and it was that that made you nervous. Billy’s thumb skimmed your cheek before falling down to grasp your chin, lightly tugging your face towards him in a much gentler move than the one he had performed on the bleachers. You watched his tongue dart out of his godly mouth and moisten his lips and you felt yourself inching towards his body like he was a magnet and you would burn if you didn’t touch him.

“You’re mine.” He whispered as his lips met yours in a devastatingly delicious kiss. You felt his lips pull up into a smug grin as you whimpered into his mouth. “All mine.”

#billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #x reader #billy hargrove x you #x you #stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #fanfiction #dacre montgomery #i'm not too happy with this but y'all thirsty for billy and i wanted to get something out there #pls let me know what u think #g writes

[waltwhitmansbeard]

ugh now i can't stop thinking about it so

what cars would the mighty nein drive?

jester: she's just what a 60s vw bug would be like as a person. bubble gum pink with giant yellow flowers. an antenna topper of a cupcake and a "the traveler is my co-pilot" bumper sticker in the font from the beginning of legally blonde.

fjord: a wood-paneled station wagon. just an absolute boat of a vehicle that all of the kids (re: the rest of the nein) can pile into. insists you can't have the aux but everyone routinely ignore him. no seatbelts, we die like mollymauk.

caleb: you know those tiny german cars that seem like they were built for children to drive? one of those, maroon but you can't tell if that's the paint or the rust, at least one missing rim, can't sit in the back seat bc it is piled all the way up to the ceiling with books and papers caleb swears he's going to read someday. the glove compartment is a hazardous zone. floor littered with coffee cups.

beau: no car, this lesbian daddy drives a crotch-rocket, bright red and obnoxiously loud. she parks it wherever she wants and throws the tickets away. no helmet, no speed limit, we die like mollymauk.

yasha: no car, prefers to walk everywhere she can. if she has to go somewhere long distance, she'll crunch herself into a cab or cling onto beau for dear life. she'd prefer to get a ride from fjord, tho.

caduceus: there is one (1) car for the entire clay family, a secondhand sedan they traded for on craigslist, but it's too small to actually fit everyone in it, and there's always arguments about who needs it most, so mostly cad bikes everywhere (also a craiglist find, the chain is rusted but it works well enough)

veth: soccer mom van. she pretends to hate it, insists she "cooler" than the vehicle suggests, but actually she finds it incredibly handy. everyone hates sliding around in fjord's station wagon so when she's on the group trip, everyone fights to get in her car. also her stereo is better. the back is littered with bumper stickers that veth just finds. none of them pertain to her particularly. if she comes across a bumper sticker, it goes on the car.

kingsley: also a motorcycle, but somehow louder and gayer than beau's.

essek: absolutely REFUSES to get in caleb's car, says "that's not how i'm going to die," this is a miata twink for sure, sleek black and fast as hell. hates bumper stickers but jester snuck on one that says "my child is an honor roll student at the solstryce academy" but "honor roll student" is crossed out with "professor" written over it and "child" was replaced with "boytoy"

(vox machina version here)

#me #critical role #mighty nein #cr cars

[frick-it-sugar-spice]

Huskerdusk druunk fic~

Cws: drinking, typical hazbin hotel content, talking about Angel Dust's job as a sexworkr gettin treated like shit

“Spent the last twelve hours suckin' dick baby~! I ain't about to spend an hour more,” Angel Dust was flushed pink with alcohol, “If anyone is suckin, you can.”

Angel lifted up the can of some obnoxiously pink mixed drink to drink more. Husk huffed into his own glass of alcohol. At least it was better than that two dollar a can shit even if it was bottom shelf in hell.

Angel arched his back in a stretch, giddy with drunken giggles, and re-crossed his legs over Husker's lap.

“Fuck me, I had to be a stone all day- you'd think that my representan- reco…. Repre. You'd think my ability to moan for hours would mean I don't get stuck without gettin’ off- but here we are!”

Husker rolled his eyes and ran a hand up and down the lower half of Angel's leg. This was probably the third night running he'd been bitching about work like this- he had either done something right and this was a misguided attempt at a reprieve, or he had done something so vilely wrong that he was being punished for. Ringing ears notwithstanding, Husk was beyond proud Angel stayed away from his usual vices of nose candy and unsafe hookups.

“An’ then, of course, the asshole leaves me so high and dry I can't get myself off! Baby cakes, are you even listening?”

“Oh, I am hearing you,” Husker crooned, “I hear a lot of bitching and just waiting for you to wear yourself out.”

“Lung capacity, baby~! I could go aaaaalllllllll night~”

“I am sure you could,” Husk patted Angel's leg once more for good measure before pushing himself up and continuing, “you're also sloshed. Three sheets to the wind. Drunker than a skunk, and I ain't about to let you make regrettable choices.”

“Fuck, I really thought this was headin' to gettin’ head,” Angel scratched at the back of his neck.

“Not on my watch, not with you drunk.”

“My knight in shinin’ armor~”

Angel had leaned forward only to get pushed back by Husk's hand in his face.

"I'd say it's about time for you to put down that nightmare in a can and catch some zee's," Husker teased, "and we can see how you're feeling about head come morning."

#hazbin hotel #angel dust hazbin hotel #angel dust #huskerdust #husker #husker hazbin hotel #angel dust x husk #hazbin #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fic #txt

[fullofgutsndopamine]

“Look,” hasan huffs, his longs between his ear and shoulder, “i don’t fuckin know either.” he watches the water boiling that’s threatening to over boil and spill onto the oven any second, “but my girl all but asked for it, so-“

the person on the other line snorts, which makes hasan roll his eyes. they speak first:

“my girl,” the voice mocks, “i thought you hated valentine’s day-“

“fuck valentine’s day.” hasan confirms with a nod, even though they can’t see him.

“right,” the other voice, Mike, confirms, “So if it’s fuck Valentine’s then why in the world are we celebrating it, much less cooking. you’re a horrible fucking cook, actually-“

“thanks for the confidence, dude,” Hasan huffs, just as water pours over the side of the pan and bubbles onto the stove. “fuck, i’ll call you back.”

he doesn’t give him time to answer before chucking the phone on the counter, running over to turn the flame down.

“no,no, no, no. fuck, dude.”

he grabs the spoon, stirs around what’s left in the pot before groaning.

this was suppose to be perfect. this has to be perfect.

look, hasan doesn’t like valentine’s day. in fact, he borders on hating it, but when he met her, when she talked about how romantic the holiday was, the small gestures were so nice-well, she had a way to make people fall in love. hasan knows this first hand.

hasan knows she’s due to his door any minute. she was so fucking excited to text him-hasan hasn’t noticed he chewed his nails so low, was so anxious about getting it right for once.

he checks the flowers on the counter, with the obnoxious bow he re did again and again until his fingers ached and throbbed-thirty minutes ago, they seemed perfect-the most ideal flowers he could find. now, as shadows cast in the small apartment he imagines the leaves are more wilted, the browning spots

he grabs his phone, seconds away from cancelling, asking for a second chance (ignoring the part of him that aches at the idea of not seeing her, much less disappointing her, but he has to get it right, needs to)

the knock is quiet, but loud enough to set Kaya off, loud barks echo through his house.

“fuck!”

he wipes his hands at the apron around his waist, stained from the failed meal he tried to create-her favorite, something he had never heard before but mentioned on a date that he scribbled on a stained cocktail napkin and shoved deep into his jeans- he takes a second, checks his hair in the mirror by the door, messed form his hands running though it, opens the door before he can overthink it.

“Hey!” she smiles, standing straight when she sees him, “happy valentine’s day!”

she also looks nervous, a small bag in her hands that she has a death grip on. she invites herself further into the house before she can regret it, pulls him by his shirt for their lips to collide, crash into one another.

he giggles: “what’s that about?”

his face is bright pink and he fumbles with his glasses like he does when he’s nervous. she shrugs like it’s nothing, like she wasn’t thinking about it the entire drive over here:

“missed you, is all. it’s the best holiday after all.”

his hand is tangled into hers as he leads to the kitchen.

“listen,” he sighs, “i fucked dinner up-“

she immediately goes to the scene of the crime, grabbing the spoon and half empty packets of food, immediately going to work.

“it’s suppose to be valentine’s day,” he groans, “you aren’t suppose to do the work.”

she rolls his eyes: “valentine’s day doesn’t mean i can’t cook-and no, it doesn’t make you sexist for making me cook, before you say it.”

“grab some cheese,” she hums, turning the flame back on the stove and stirring the water, “you didn’t ruin it, i promise.”

hasan obeys, grabs the ingredients, comes back and carefully, slowly, the apron goes around your head, can feel as his hands grab the back of it and ties it for you.

“co chef.” you insist, “this is perfect.”

“this isn’t how i imagined valentine’s day.” he sighs, tries to hide how disappointed he is.

“really?” she says carefully, “this is just how i imagined it. this is perfect.”

“you’re just saying that.”

instead, his hand snake around her waist, his head fits right in the crook of her neck, peppering kisses there.

“happy valentine’s day.” it comes out quietly, unsure, from him.

she reads his mind:

“it’s perfect.” she smiles instead. “happy valentine’s day.”

#caroline writes #hasanabi #hasanabi x reader #hasanabi x y/n #hasanabi x you #hasan #hasan piker x you #hasan piker x y/n #hasan piker fanfic #hasan piker fanfiction #hasan piker imagine #hasan x reader #hasan piker x reader #hasan piker

[scaryspears]

The What If timelines

I really wish MK1 expanded on the what if scenarios and timelines. We know of their existence, but we don't know them intimately like we've seen with Liu Kang's timeline, or even momentarily with Shang Tsung back in mk11.

I really wanna see more Good Shang Tsung, Quan Chi, Kano-Sonya and Janet Cage. Hell, even Ninja Meme Johnny. We never hear most of the other versions speak, we only see glimpses of them or just have them on screen for like a minute.

The fact that there's a version of Johnny that showed up in the final battle dressed as Ninja Mime means that he is literally a ninja mime, and I kinda wanna see a story behind that. Maybe being talkative annoyed everyone so much that it made him feel bad and study the art of silent kung fu or something.

I want to see some Janet Cage in a story mode, I get a vibe from her that she feels more inclined to prove herself. Is she the only genderbent version in her universe or is everyone genderbent? Is she trans? She's an action star, but she didn't want to be the sexualised female heroin or sidekick, so acts cocky and obnoxious to prove that she's more than a sex symbol, her ego as some kind of defence mechanism against the sexism in Hollyweird. But that kind of takes away the point of Janet's character (because she's Johnny).

I would really like to see Shang Tsung interact with good Shang Tsung, see how many versions of himself he can hate. Is good Shang Tsung's Liu Kang evil too?

Why does Shang Tsung have clones of Kitana if he has an evil Kitana working for him? Why would evil titan versions of the heroes help Shang Tsung? Wouldn't it be a hassle to try over throweach other because of greed and stuff?

Why are evil versions to begin with? What is their backstory? Cross-over characters... I have so many questions (genderbent ninjas, character with another's aesthetic for example: Lizard Queen).

We have evil versions of the characters, but no evil Johnny (except John Khaner). Missed opportunity to have an evil Johnny, could've made it a Jill Roberts situation where there's a timeline of evil Johnny that only cares about the fame because of some deep rooted issue. In fact, I've already mentioned John Kahner, I want to know how he became Kahn.

Back to the Mileena clones of Titan Shang Tsung, re-watching the fight I saw that they were all colour coded (red, blue, yellow, pink), so they have a rank or Shang Tsung cares about differenciating them so that they're not so much mindless killers that just do his bidding. Do they have other names? Do they all secretly want Shang Tsung's approval? Do they conspire against one another? Is he their father figure now that Shao Kahn isn't in the picture? Do they have a sister bond with each other? Is Kitana their mean older sister?

Now that our timeline has Mileena and Kitana as actual sisters, is there a timeline where Mileena and Skarlet are sisters? A timeline where Shao Kahn is a good, loving father and husband? I have so many questions.

#mk1 #janet cage #good shang tsung #neurodivergent johnny cage #mortal kombat #liu kang #johnny cage #shang tsung #evil johnny cage #mileena #kitana #skarlet and mileena

[silverstonesainz-archive]

HI GOOD MORNING BESTIE!!!

Starting off w a daniel prompt because I’m in love with your writing but especially the way you write daniel.

•“you’re so cute.” “what did you just say?” “i said you look like a boot.”

it’s giving Danny in Austin🤨🤨🤨

for my bestie boo <3

boot barn (dr3) ─── one pair of cream colored boots later

“what do you mean i can’t come to austin?”

daniel doesn’t see the disbelief on your face. your brows are knit together, pout adorning your pink lips. he misses the sight, too busy re-packing his luggage after rummaging through it for his work gear.

“do you own boots?” “no.”

“belt with a big obnoxious buckle?” “no.”

“do you even own a cowboy hat?” “no.” 

he clicks his tongue, hands still in the thick of his luggage as he turns to look at you with a perplexed stare. “then you can’t come.” 

you scowl at him, and daniel laughs, returning his attention back to whatever it is he’s looking for. “you don’t own texas, you can’t stop me.”

“yeah well i hold your pass so good luck.“ 

“fuck you.”

he was joking of course. he wanted you there, it was his favorite race of the season. it wouldn’t be the same if he favorite person wasn’t there with him. he stands up, satisfied with the progress he’s made. granted, half his clothes were still strewn around the open suitcase, but it would do for now. you flop onto the bed, a hmph escaping you. daniel snorts softly, coming over to ruffle your hair, but you grab hold of his wrist before he can. 

“will you take me to boot barn tomorrow then, so i can buy a pair?” 

his stomach drops slightly, seeing the way you look up at him. it’s almost as if he’s pulled a chair out from under you. “you know i was kidding right?”

you nod, sitting up, and your tiny fingers still wrapped around his wrist, “yeah yeah. but if i’m walking onto the paddock with you, i’m gonna have to match up to all…. all this you got going on.” you flick your chin over to his day one ensemble hanging in the open closet. a full cowboy outfit: denim on denim, with black boots and a brown cowboy hat to pull the whole look together. 

“i can draw mutton chops on ya if you’d like.” he pulls his hand from your hold, taking your face between his thumb and four fingers, giving your cheeks a playful squeeze. 

you roll your eyes, swatting his hand away. “in your dreams, ricciardo.”

he does bring you to boot barn the next day, hoodie up and drawstring tightened slightly. you call him insane, complaining that it wasn’t cold enough to be that bundled up. but he just didn’t want to be seen, he wanted to shop in peace. 

or just a moment with you in peace. 

he doesn’t say much for the first couple of moments, allowing you to look over your choices. he sits on a chair by the wall of boots you’re looking at, hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie. it takes a couple of minutes before you pull down your first pair, and by the end of the hour you were stuck between four. his hoodie is pulled down and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, eyes following your every move as you walk in pair number two for the third time, eyes never leaving the mirror. he like’s number two on you, the cream boot more up your alley than the darker options.

“well?” 

he walks over to you, only stopping a couple of inches behind you. he looks at your reflection, the way your eyes flicker from the boot and up. you look at him in the mirror, perking your lips up. 

“yeah, these are probably my favorite one.” 

you smile, nodding. he tries to buy them for you, but you just about pushed him across the store and threw your card at the cashier before he could. you lead the way all the way to the car, a skip in your step as you swing the bag with your new boots back and forth. “can we go get ice cream?”

“what are you, five?” he teases, opening the car door for you. 

“five at heart, yes.” you climb into the car, sitting in the seat and grinning over at him.

daniel rolls his eyes. “you’re so cute.” 

he didn’t mean to say it out loud, but he did. eyes are wide at the sudden complement, neither of you aware at how the other’s heart races. a beat of silence. then another, before you finally say something. 

“what did you just say?”

he should’ve just come clean, right? what’s the harm in being honest? 

he chose to shut the car door on you instead. 

neither of you move, both too stunned that daniel just shut the door in your face. he hastily opens it a second later, “sorry, fuck.”

“did you call me cute?”

“no… i said you look like a boot.” he wanted to slap himself silly, his mind calling him a million and one names for the worst save known to man. 

you eye him skeptically, shaking your head. “yeah… okay.” you pull the door shut and daniel lets out a breath. 

he jogs over to the driver’s side, mind reeling and feeling slightly embarrassed. the air in the car is a little unsettling on the drive to the ice cream parlor. both your minds swirl over the three words. three innocent words that seemed to hold a lot of depth to the both of you. you fidget in your seat as daniel slows to a stop at a red light.

“so you think i’m cute?” he whines, but you continue anyway. “do you? because… i think you are.”

it was like second grade all over again. 

daniel turns to look at you. your elbows rest on the middle console, leaning over it with wide eyes as you await his response. he smiles shyly, reaching over to hold your cheek between his four fingers and thumb and giving your face a gentle squeeze.

“yes,” he breathes, “i think you’re the cutest.”

#tea & toast w dani #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #dr3 drabble

[pinkiepiebones]

oh noooo (Renfield Spoilers)

Okay so purely for research for my fic Why Oh Ell Oh I may have re-cor-dead the scene where Dracula "confronts" Renfield in his apartment and as I'm reviewing it now I caught something that broke my heart

Renfield's apartment. It's obnoxiously bright, full of plants, has a lot of windows. The antithesis of the aesthetics of Dracula. Renfield alos has an abundance of lamps. Tall lamps, small lamps. He has two little bedside drawers with matching avocodo green lamps on either one. As he backs into the corner by his bright pink closet doors I noticed that the light in the closet is on. I remember being so afraid of monsters in my closet when I was little I put a little angel statue in front of the door. Never occurred to me to keep the light on.

Renfield keeps the light on in his closet to keep monsters away. He keeps all the lights in his apartment on and his curtains open to keep the light in and the monsters away.

Anyway Renfield needs a million hugs and the set designers need all the awards

#renfield #renfield 2023

[hyugaruma]

H&L: Drunk Texting HCs

☆

re: in which they’re drunk texting you…

“woman” used

☆

Masaki

• Alright, so he’s about what you’d expect him to be… If you’re thinking cheery and flirtatious, you’re right. Almost obnoxiously so. If you don’t respond quick enough, he’ll be blowing your phone up with every little thought that he has. “Do yuo remmember when we first met? Did yup think I was cool?” “Doyou think birds get sad?” “Wish food was opne…hungry.”

• His texting isn’t atrocious, but there’s definitely some word-deciphering to be done here and there. Seems to consistently type “you” wrong.

• Sends a blurry selfie or two. You save them, obviously, because his adorable smile is to die for. Yeah, go ahead and make that his contact picture too. Oh, but he expects a selfie in return, obviously. “Let me see yup beaotiful, send yuor beautful face.”

Hyuga

• This guy doesn’t text. He just doesn’t. What’s an emoji? He has no idea. However, on the occasion when drinking, if you aren’t around, he may whip his phone out and start texting you. Though, it’s mostly just him telling you to come to wherever he is. “Come over” “It’s 1 in the morning…” “Fine I’m coming to you” And don’t doubt him, because he will. Because he’d much rather actually be with you than just texting you.

• If he can’t see you, he’ll probably opt to calling you at some point as his vision grows blurry and texting becomes increasingly more difficult. Will accidentally call someone else though, because he can’t figure that damn phone out. Old man Hyuga. “Hah? Who’s this? Why’re you with my woman? …Ah, sorry Ukyo, wrong number.”

• Will most definitely pass out at some point, but not without saying goodnight first. He’s a gentleman, after all. Rolls eyes. “Night see you tomorrow” “Wait, Nori, did we have plans tomorrow? Nori?” Aaaand he’s out.

Hirai

• One word: needy. Something akin to a puppy, but maybe even worse than that. At least puppies eventually wear themselves out, but Hirai seems to be on an endless timer when drunk. Remind him that you love him, he’s begging you. Call him cute, that’d make him really happy. “You still love me, right? You seemed like you were mad at me the other day and I just wanted to say that—“ cue very long paragraph with a bunch of nonsense. Sigh.

• Lots of heart emojis. Like, almost at the end of every text. Always pink hearts too, like the one he has next to your contact name. “Just watching some show, what’re you up to ♡”

• Really just wants to remind you how much you mean to him, how cute you are, how much he needs you… Please don’t leave him on read, even if he gets a tad annoying. He gets his feelings hurt really easily when drunk, especially if it’s by his beloved. Also, he’s a bit embarrassed by it all the next day… Don’t use it against him, he really can’t bare it.

Dan

• Incoherent. That’s it. Like, you have to wonder if he’s typing with his eyes closed. “Covet said smthhg I can remembrance” “Covet” “COBRA DAMSIT” “Want smoe chzzy Roman” …Yeah, good luck figuring that all out.

• At some point he’s practically typing while asleep, but is still so adamant about texting you that his fingers seem to have a mind of their own. You can ignore his illegible texts, he really won’t blame you. In fact, it’s probably for the better. That way he can eventually forget about his phone and actually go to sleep.

• If out in public, will probably end up losing his phone somewhere throughout the night. It wouldn’t be the first time. He also dropped it in a toilet once. Yeah, maybe he needs to stop drunk texting you…

Brown

• If one thing is consistent about his phone drunk self and his real life drunk self, it’s how flirty is. Like, borderline inappropriate. If the two of you weren’t already dating, you definitely would have blocked him. He really can’t help himself though, he just thinks you’re so sexy. What’s a man to do? “Send some pics, doll” “Pics of what?” “Everything” Unfortunately, (or maybe fortunately?) you can probably expect him to send a few pictures himself… I’ll leave that up to your imagination.

• Pretty sporadic and inconsistent texts, especially if he’s out drinking instead of at home. Sometimes it’ll be seconds between replies, and sometimes hours. There’s really no telling, so don’t bother trying to have some sort of consistent conversation with him. “Miss you, doll” “I just saw you earlier this afternoon” [2 hours later] “Sorry, was trying to find your point” “-_-“

• This man has no shame. He will not feel any regrets for anything he says or does the following sober morning. In fact, expect this sort of drunk behavior pretty often. No matter what choice of scenery he’s chosen to drink in, he’ll always end up texting you. Well, at least you know his focus is always on you.

#high&low #drabble #fanfic #fanfiction #headcanons #high & low #high&low fanfic #high&low the worst #high&low writing #high&low headcanons #high&low imagines #high&low scenarios #high and low #norihisa hyuga #hyuga norihisa #high&low brown #high&low Hirai #Hirai #high&low Dan #dtc #masaki amamiya #amamiya brothers #amamiya masaki #j drama #jdrama #scenarios #imagines

[sparkypantaloons]

School Gates

Jason wants to look just like his favourite hero for his first day of school. None other than... Aquaman?

~

“Jason, darling, are you sure—”

“I can do it.” The five year old cuts Bruce off almost immediately, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as his little fingers tangle in the school tie.

Bruce sighs, but hopes for the best. They’ve been practising tying Jason’s school tie all summer, in preparation for today.

"Go round the roundabout before you go through the tunnel!" Dick's eyes are wide, voice high as he darts forward to correct Jason. The younger boy steps away from him, scowling.

"I can do it!" Jason insists, twisting away from Dick. He screws up his face in concentration, eyes locked on his reflection.

"I told you—" Dick tries again

"I CAN DO IT." Jason says,loudly.

"No shouting." Bruce says from where he's been fumbling in his closet. He's trying to find something he can wear on the school run that isn't part tuxedo, part Batman.

"Jason." Dick says, in a carefully controlled not shout, advancing on the smaller boy.

"No, Dickie." Jason warns, trying to block Dick's approach. “I'm doing it—"

"Just let me—“ Dick grunts, reaching for the tie. “—help you—”

Jason tries to fend him off. "I don't need help." He growls, clutching the tie tight in one hand and trying to bat away Dick's attempts for control with the other.

"You're doing it wrong." Dick growls back, using his height advantage to try and back Jason into a corner.

Jason isn't having it, and yanks on Dick's tie as a distraction. It unravels from around the seven year olds neck.

Dick's eyes go wide, "You—"

And then they're wrestling, rolling around on the floor, grunting and shouting as they fight to gain control of the ties. Dick is taller, it's true, but at only five Jason has a lower centre of gravity, and tackles his brother round the legs. Dick crashes to the floor with a shout and a loud thump!

"Hey!" Bruce shouts, emerging from his closet in a pink Barbie hoodie he's pretty sure is Vicki's from years ago and a pair of board shorts. "Both of you!" He claps loudly. "Enough!"

"He started it!" Jason grunts from where he's now squashed beneath Dick, the seven year old furiously trying to keep his younger brother pinned beneath him.

"I did not!" Dick shoots back, but he climbs off of Jason.

Once they're both standing again Bruce groans. Their once meticulously ironed shirts are now all creased. Their previously combed hair, wild once more.

"Alfred doesn't iron your shirts for fun you know." Bruce mumbles, dragging a comb through Jason's curls whilst Dick re-ties his tie.

“Alfred says he shouldn’t ironing them at all.” Dick says nonchalantly, with a pointed look at Bruce. As though the older man’s inability to use an iron is a mortal offence.

"I want a pony tail." Jason declares, totally ignoring Bruce's grumbles about loyalty and priorities. His little head pulls backwards and forwards with the comb. “Like the merman.”

"Jason—" Bruce begins.

"Bruce." Jason says very seriously. "I want a seapony."

Bruce heaves a tired sigh. On the one hand, Jason calling Arthur a merman is utterly delightful, purely for how much it aggrieves their already grumpy, resident Atlantean. On the other hand, it pains Bruce beyond measure that Jason was so enamoured with the obnoxious hero, that he now wants the same top knot Arthur was sporting the one time Jason had met him. All of that, of course, totally disregarding the fact that Jason’s hair is not even remotely long enough for a top knot, and that the best Bruce can manage with his youngest’s curls is more of a palm-tree looking disaster on the top of his head.

“Why do you like Aquaman so much anyway?” Dick asks, licking his hand and smoothing his own hair into place. Gross, Bruce thinks. He thought he’d broken Dick of that habit.

“He can talk to sharks.” Jason says simply. “I bet he can beat the whole Justice League in a fight.”

“Excuse me?” Bruce splutters. “Aquaman can’t beat any of us in a fi—”

“He can SPEAK to SHARKS.” Jason says loudly, but there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye and the corner of his mouth curl up in a smile. “A shark could just eat a bat and go CHOMP.” He turns under Bruce’s hands, wraps himself around the man’s leg, begins pretending to eat him.

“CHOMP!” Dick adds, because he clearly thinks this a great idea, and then he’s on Bruce’s other leg too, the pair of them in terrible Australian accents, chomping and yelling that ‘bats aren’t friends, they’re food’.

“Why did I have children?” Bruce groans, though it’s only half hearted. Exhausted as he is, he’d take Batman being second best to Aquaman, as long as he’s always number one to these two little monsters.

~

It takes him at least another half an hour to get the boys ready for school and looking at least half way civilised. By the time they’re nearing the school gates, Jason is practically buzzing with excitement. He’s wanted to go to school, since Dick started.

“Okay, bye!” He says loudly, trying to slip out of Bruce’s hand, as soon as the gates are in sight.

“Err not so fast, chum.” Bruce says, clinging tightly as Jason starts to try and writhe out of his grip. “Don’t I get a hug good-bye?”

Jason lets out an enormous huff, but waits patiently as Bruce squats down to his level.

“Be good.” Bruce says, because Jason is good but he’s also totally bonkers. “And remember Dickie is there too if you need him—”

“I won’t.” Jason says confidently.

“Rude.” Dick pouts.

“—and listen to what your teachers tell you, and make sure you eat all your fruit and carrot sticks, and—”

“B, it’s okay.” Dick says, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “We’ll be finished really soon.” He turns to Jason knowingly, “B’s sad because he’s gonna have to spend all day without one of us for the first time ever.”

Bruce clears his throat, begins re-tying Jason’s laces. He was not expecting a seven year old to have dropped that kind of knowledge on him.

Jason’s eyes widen and he pats Bruce on the head. “You can play with my Legos if you get bored.”

Bruce laughs at that. “Thanks bud.” He ruffles Jason’s hair. “Have fun, go learn something.”

“Bye, B.” Dick says, pecking Bruce on the cheek before skipping off towards the gate.

Jason watches him go, then leans into Bruce’s ear. “Bye boodad.” He whispers, because he’d never let Dick catch him still calling Bruce that. Then he skips off too, without a backwards glance.

Bruce watches them go, heart aching bittersweet, feeling just a little bit lost.

~

“If you think you’re going to spend everyday the boys are at school just sulking Master Wayne, you have another thing coming.” Alfred says down the phone, as Bruce makes the walk to school for pick-up. He’s still wearing the Barbie hoodie and board shorts.

Bruce huffs. “I haven’t been sulking.” He replies moodily. “I was brooding, it’s very different.”

He can practically hear Alfred roll his eyes. “Indubitably.”

“Do you know Jason’s favourite member of the Justice League is Arthur?” Bruce says, voice edging into a moan. “Arthur.” He says again. “The only way that’d be worse were if it were Hal.”

“Or Oliver.” Alfred replies, laughing at the Bruce’s horrified silence. “Why don’t you introduce him to Diana. I’m sure she’d sway his affections.”

Bruce grumbles something about wanting to be Jason’s favourite, before promising to call back with what the boys want for dinner.

Moments later there’s a squeal from the gates and Jason and Dick are charging him. Jason practically climbing Bruce’s legs to sit on his hip.

“Hi!” He says breathless.

“Hi chum!” Bruce grins, squeezing the five year old tight, before ruffling Dick’s hair. “What’d you learn today?”

“I did a painting!” Jason says excitedly, pulling it out of his little satchel. “Look!”

It takes Bruce a moment to figure out who the painting is of. There are three strangely formed stick figures, two with black hair and one with white hair. Then a third figure with big black wings and finally what is, inescapably, a merman. Bruce’s smile suddenly becomes very fixed.

“It’s lovely.” He says, ignoring how Dick is sniggering by his side. Then he fishes his phone out of his pocket, and shoots off a quick text.

Diana, free for dinner at mine tonight? —B

Chapter One can be found here.

#batfam #spbfic #batfam fic #jason todd #batfamily #bruce wayne #batdad #dick grayson #batfic #batfamily fanfic