#twisted pair cable

[beomiracles]

⌞ 𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀'𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 ⌝

DREAM RECALL your brother's best friend always seemed to have it out for you. But when he sneaks into your room one night, you start wonder if this is another one of his sick games.

wc -> 6.2k

pairings brother's best friend!taehyun x afab!reader warnings older!reader, kind of perv!taehyun, protected sex, vaginal fingering, slight edging?, tiny bit of marking (tiny tiny), taehyun refers to reader as "noona", some dom/sub dynamics, sub!taehyun + dom!reader, but they're both kind of switchy, idk how to tag it, just read heh

#serene adds ✎ @binniesbooks ahh baby I know I'm late but here's your little birthday gift!! happy belated birthday love (..◜ᴗ◝..) I originally didn't plan for it to be this long but I can never stfu when I write so I'm not very surprised heh :3 oouuu but I really like how this one turned out and I hope you will to, kisses from serene <3

The paintings on your wall rattled, the floorboards of your bedroom practically thumping in rhythm to the obnoxiously loud beat coming from your brother’s room. You tried to ignore it, pressing your headphones against your ears as you fought to block out the heavy bass. How long had it been, twenty minutes? It sure felt like three hours. — That’s it, you’d had enough.

Your blaring fists against the wooden door were barely heard, and after your third attempt, you kicked it open, causing it to slam against the wall with such force that Beomgyu finally turned around in his seat. His gaze flits between the squeaking door and your furious figure. “Sup sis?” He flashes you a small grin, leaning back in his gaming chair as he studies you expectantly. 

His ignorance only fueled the fire already searing within you. “Turn that down!” You yell, trying to overpower the thunderous noise of his speaker. Your brother’s grin only widens. “What was that?” He asks, his brows knitting together in a play-pretend frown, undeniably enjoying the rise he was getting out of you. But you weren’t going to let him have it, not today. 

With fast and determined strides you march over to the source of your misery. Pulling the thick cord from its component, you breathe out a small sigh of relief as the speaker falls silent. — “Oh come on, don’t be such a mood killer”, Beomgyu whines as he reaches for the cable in your hands, much to no avail as you step back. 

“Yeah, what’s got your panties in a twist?” Another voice carries out from somewhere to your left. Oh great, he was here too. Your glare is redirected from your pesky brother by his desk and over to his even peskier best friend. — Sprawled on Beomgyu’s bed, Taehyun shoots you a smug smirk as he watches the way your face contorts from anger into pure rage. 

There was little to be enjoyed about your brother’s best friend. And by little you mean nothing, the guy didn’t carry a single positive trait. Sometimes you thought he might’ve just been put onto this earth to serve as a plague to others. — Judging by how he made your life a living hell, you guessed it wasn’t far from it. 

Taehyun would come over more than often, it was almost as if he used yours and Beomgyu’s shared apartment as an extended home. Something about his dad being a shit person and him having nowhere else to go since he dropped out of college, at least that’s what your brother said. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. What you did care about was your studies, your peace and most importantly, quiet. 

You didn’t like Taehyun, you didn’t like the way he made your brother act. Sure Beomgyu was an ass most of the time, but it was manageable. Though whenever his best friend was around it was like your brother became a completely different person, an almost unrecognizable one. — Beomgyu was always the first to jump in front of Taehyun, defending his every word and action, all the while his so-called ‘best friend’ couldn’t be bothered to even lift a finger. 

“He’s got a rough time at home, cut him some slack.” Your brother had practically wailed as you had forbidden his friend from ever stepping foot inside your flat again.”I don’t care Beomgyu, he’s an ass. Can’t you see how he treats me?” You huffed as you ran a hand through your hair. But your brother only shook his head, feverishly grabbing onto your arm as he begged for you to reconsider. And unfortunately you did.  

“Come on, it’s only a bit of music”, Taehyun presses, propping himself up on his elbows as he tilts his head to the side ever so menacingly. You scoff in disbelief, gripping the wire tighter between your fingers. “If it’s only ‘a bit of music’ then I’m sure you’ll suffice without it.” Without waiting for them to get another word out, you turn on your heel as you storm out, not bothering to close the door behind you. 

It wasn’t like your hatred toward your brother’s best friend was unbiased. There were plenty of instances in which Taehyun had effectively fucked things up for you. Just thinking about them made your blood boil all over again. — For one, there was the shower incident. 

It had been a Thursday afternoon, your brother was in class but since yours had been canceled the day prior, you took some time to yourself. The apartment was silent, save for your quiet hums as you rinsed the shampoo from your hair, warm water cascading down your bare skin. — You later found out that Beomgyu, that idiot, had given him a spare key, and that’s how he got in. But unbeknownst to you on that fateful Thursday, Taehyun had let himself inside your home. For whatever reason, you had yet to be made aware of. 

Not only was he an annoying piece of shit human being, he was also a fucking perv. Upon turning the shower off, your hands in your hair as you squeeze the remnants of wetness from it, you pull the curtain to the side only to let out an ear-piercing scream as you come face to face with your brother’s best friend. — Taehyun was leaning against the door frame, arms neatly folded across his chest as his gaze roamed your bare body. 

“What the fuck!” You yell, immediately wrapping the drenched shower curtain around yourself as you shouted for him to get out. But he doesn’t budge, his eyes still fixed on your figure, barely shielded from his view. “Get out you freak!” Your words have little effect as Taehyun merely shifts on the spot, “I’m not a freak”, he counters, his brows drawing together in an offended frown. You scoff, “you act like one.” — He shakes his head, “a freak would like what he saw”, his eyes snap back up to your own, “I don’t.” 

Your mouth falls open in bewilderment as you let out a short breath of air. “Well then that solves it, get out.” The corner of his lip twitches, and he chuckles, shaking his head but he still complies; sauntering down the hallway without the decency to even apologize. 

The second incident happened not long after. 

“Where the fuck is my laptop?” You had turned your room upside down in search of the device, frantically going through drawers and getting on all fours to peek under your bed. But it was nowhere to be found. — “Beomgyu I swear to god if you so much as lay a single hand on my shit– …you!” Stopping dead in your tracks, your gaze falls on Taehyun, perched on the sofa in your living room with your laptop in his hands. 

He gives you a small grin, but it was impossible to not catch the mischief lingering in his eyes, “your brother said I could borrow it.” Your mouth opens and closes several times as you try to comprehend the scene before you. “Can’t you use his? — And did you fucking go in my room?” You practically seethe as you point an accusing finger toward him. But Taehyun only shrugs, his attention shifting back to the screen in front of him, “maybe.” 

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from saying the things on your mind. It was one thing to be allowed in your home, where he had made himself more than comfortable, but it was a whole other thing to go through someone’s stuff without their knowledge, much less their permission. — And you knew for a fact that Beomgyu hadn’t allowed him to take your computer, ass or not, he had at least some sense. 

When snatching the laptop back, you found that he had managed to install not one but three different viruses. It took you about a week to get rid of them all before you could resume your coursework, and after that, you made sure to hide your stuff well. 

Those were only a few of the many occasions in which you had wanted to snap his neck in half. And as you flop back down against the soft mattress of your bed, discarding the cable somewhere on your floor, you let your eyes shut as you prepare for the very long day ahead. 

⋮

You spent the majority of the remaining afternoon cooped up in your room. Immersing yourself in your studies as you sought to block out any indication of Beomgyu and his friend’s presence. It proved very difficult as the pair would yell at one another, the game they played blasting through your small apartment. It seemed like disconnecting just the speaker in Beomgyu’s room served a minor threat to their antics. 

Briefly you considered telling them off once more, but you realized that it would probably only add to the building headache you were already experiencing. Instead you waited them out, Taehyun was bound to leave sooner or later, right? — Wrong. By 8 pm the game was still roaring, loud as ever and you were beginning to lose your last piece of sanity. 

Just as you were about to head out and get a look for yourself, there’s a knock to your door. You don’t know why you had expected it to be his best friend, but you’re relieved when Beomgyu pokes his head through the small opening. “We’re ordering pizza, you want something?” He asks and you hesitate for a moment before nodding, “sure, get me whatever.” Your brother grins before disappearing once more. — Oh well, at the very least the obnoxious sound of their game had died down. 

You think about thirty minutes had passed, thirty minutes of the apartment being basked in a calm silence. It was nice, your mind finally felt clear, but the persistent ache pounding in your head had yet to subside. With lazy feet, you drag yourself from the comforts of your bed, from the safety of your room, before venturing down the hallway, aiming for the kitchen. 

Your light footsteps seemed to echo off the wooden floor, every small noise making your head flare up in pain. Gripping your temple, you reach for a glass to fill, the pour of water sounded like thunder in your ears. As soon as the pizza arrived, you would head back to your room, eat, and then go straight to bed. With that gameplan in mind, you swallow the small pain killer, chugging half of your glass before setting it down on the counter. 

“What’s that?” 

The voice of Taehyun makes you flinch as you spin around on the spot, catching him by the entryway, a harmless smile on his face. But you knew better, you could see right through him, or so you told yourself. “Where’s Beomgyu?” You ask, clearly on edge as you study him with distrust. — Taehyun shrugs, pushing himself off the door frame as he walks over to the small kitchen island. “He went to get the food.” 

“You didn’t go with him?” It was odd for the two of them to ever be seen without the other, but your brother’s best friend doesn’t seem to mind as he leans against the smooth marble. “No”, he simply states, his gaze falling on your discarded glass. — “You took something”, he then adds, his eyes flitting up to yours. Still wary of the intent behind his question, you frown. “Yeah, painkillers.”  — “Why?” 

His persistent probing both confused and irritated you. “I don’t think that’s got anything to do with you.” Your voice grows snarky, you know he can tell by the way his lips twitch into a small smirk. “Why the sudden apprehension? I’m just making small talk.” He sounds almost defiant as he shifts against the countertop separating you. Sure, but Taehyun had never made small talk for the two years Beomgyu had known him. In all honesty he hadn’t even bothered to learn your name until his fourth visit here. 

“Cut the bullshit, there’s no point in acting coy now.” You snap, grabbing your glass as you empty the remaining water down the sink before setting it down amongst the other dirty plates, you can feel his gaze on you as you do. With your back turned on him, it’s impossible to read the expression on his face, but the smugness in his voice speaks for itself. “I’m not acting. I wanted to talk to you, noona.” Your jaw clenches at the formality, the way he drags the word out, each syllable sickly sweet on his tongue. — You often forgot the fact that Taehyun was a year younger than both you and your brother; a fact he would use to get his way with Beomgyu, but that wouldn’t work on you, not in the slightest. 

“Why, so you could pester me further?” You wonder, turning back to him with a small grimace. He shakes his head, the smirk on his lips growing with each passing second. “Not at all, noona.” — Biting the inside of his cheek, he hesitates, if only for a moment, “this is the only way I could get you alone. Letting him go without me I mean.” 

You were almost certain that the lines on your forehead would become permanent if the frown on your face didn’t ease up soon. “And why would you want to get me alone?” You huff, trying to hide the sheer curiosity behind your snappy voice. Taehyun leans even further across the small island, inching dangerously close to where you’re currently standing. “Isn’t it obvious?” He cocks an eyebrow, letting his head tip to the side as his eyes roam your bitter expression. 

“I think you’re pretty.” 

Alright, that’s it, if Beomgyu doesn’t walk through the door right now you would surely have his best friend killed. Taking a small step back, you shake your head as you try your best not to laugh at the corniness of the situation. “Your jokes have not gotten any funnier”, you mutter, moving to walk around the countertop and head back to your room. In your haste, you fail to notice the frown etching itself onto his otherwise unwavering face as he turns around to follow your figure. 

It’s not until his fingers wrap around your forearm that you freeze. “Taehyun I’m serious–” Just as you’re about to tell him that you’re not in the mood for any more of his sly comments does he interrupt you. “Do you think I’m joking?” He sounds perplexed, and his eyes fervently search yours. You scoff, yanking your arm from his grasp as you fold them across your chest. “Why do you think I stayed behind? I mean, come on.” 

You want to tell him that no matter what comes out of his mouth could make you change your mind, much less your opinion on him. You want to tell him that he’s an annoying piece of shit asshole that’s made your life a living hell for the past two years now, and that you don’t understand what in the world your brother sees in him. But you don’t get the chance to get as much as a word out before Taehyun slams his lips on yours. 

It was sudden, and it felt forced, the way his hands grabbed either side of your face as he locked you in place, backing you up against the nearest wall in the process. Your first thought was that he kissed like a teenage boy, over the top and rough, his tongue pushing inside your mouth with little to no control as your teeth clashed together. Your second thought was, what the fuck is happening and why the fuck is he kissing me? 

Your hands jerk up to his chest, your eyes wide as you let out a strangled noise of surprise. Seemingly ignorant of your stunned reaction, he continues his assault to your lips, messily pulling your bottom one between his teeth, effectively drawing a small yelp from you. 

Taehyun was strong, a lot stronger than you, and it took a whole of three attempts to push him off. You’re both left panting for air, but while Taehyun looks to be in a clouded state, your face has contorted into a scowl. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You spit, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you eye him with disdain. 

He swallows, opening his mouth to say something but before you can hear it, the front door is unlocked, announcing Beomgyu’s return. Your gaze flits between Taehyun’s almost alarmed expression and to the entryway. Immediately seizing your opportunity, you dart out of the kitchen and down the hallway to greet your brother.  

You get there just in time to see Beomgyu kicking his shoes off, balancing three cardboard boxes in his hands. “Here, I’ll help”, you offer as you grab the pizza from his arms. He mutters out a quiet “thanks” before frowning, “what are you doing out here? I thought you’d locked yourself in your room.” — Rolling your eyes you turn back to walk down the hall again, “went to get some water”, you simply state, not waiting for him to catch up, but he does anyway, trailing behind you as he speaks, “where’s Taehyun?” Internally cringing at the mention of his name you shrug, “beats me.” 

Though Taehyun was exactly where you had left him, except now he was leaning against the wall, his usual and indifferent expression plastered on his face. You head straight past him, slamming the boxes down on the kitchen island as you rummage through the cabinets for a couple of plates. “Hey man, everything okay when I was gone?” Your brother wonders to which he merely receives a small nod from his friend, his friend who had his gaze intently fixed on your figure as you moved about the kitchen. 

“It’s getting kind of late”, you say as you pull a bottle of coke from the fridge, discreetly throwing a glance toward the clock on the oven. You prayed and hoped that at least one of them would catch on. Taehyun looks as if he’s about to say something, his lips slightly parted but your brother beats him to it. “Yeah you’re right, I reckon we’ll be done eating by 9.30.” Beomgyu turns to his friend with a small grin, a grin you knew all too well.

“Why don’t you stay over, Tae?” 

Your mouth falls open at the proposal. The completely uncalled for and unthinkable proposal. “I’m sure Taehyun’s dad will want him home..” — “No it’s fine, he couldn’t care less where I am”, the same lips that had been kissing your own not even ten minutes ago curl into a smirk as Taehyun watches you with gleam in his eyes. “I’d be happy to stay.” 

Swallowing the insults waiting on your tongue, you turn grab some glasses, intent on hiding the scowl on your face. The air was unusually thick, sure your brother was used to you and his best friend getting on each other’s nerves but there was something different lingering by the two of you today. And Beomgyu was not late to pick up on it. — “Did something happen when I was gone?” He wonders as he begins pouring soda for your small party. 

Taehyun remains silent as he rests against the wall, his expression near impossible to read. “No, nothing, why would it?” You snap, going through the boxes to find your pizza. “Alright”, he mutters before pointing to the cardboard box that held your food. — Mumbling out a quiet “thanks” you take it before reaching for one of the glasses. “I’ll be eating in my room.”

As you move around the island and head for the hallway once more, you can feel Taehyun’s eyes on you one final time before he falls back into a relaxed conversation with Beomgyu. — Not until the door to your bedroom is safely shut behind you do you breathe out the tension that had built in your body. Whatever Taehyun was playing at… you wouldn’t allow yourself to get pulled into his schemes. 

⋮

You stay in your room, listening to the sounds of the TV slowly dying out as your brother and his friend got ready for bed. You had made sure to use the bathroom before them, already clad in your pajamas, you sat on your bed as you waited for the apartment to fall silent. — It might have been just past midnight, or maybe it was even nearing 1 am when your head finally hit the pillow. 

But even though the flat was now being basked in an almost eerie silence, you couldn’t quiet the thoughts plaguing your mind as you tossed and turned on the mattress. Images of Taehyun flashed before your eyes, but it wasn’t the usual Taehyun, the pesky one, the snarky and mean one. It was a different Taehyun, a Taehyun you did not recognize. 

You wanted to ask him why he kissed you, you wanted, no needed to hear him say that it was all a joke, a sick prank he was trying to pull. But when your mind so clearly envisions him, part of you thinks it wasn’t. “I think you’re pretty.” What a joke. Two years of pestering you and now he calls you pretty? No that settled it, it had all been a play, just another way for him to tease you. Just like he always did. 

The creak of a floorboard rips you from your overanalysis of the hours prior. Your eyes snap open and you still, holding your breath as you wait for anything to indicate the presence of someone else. “It could’ve been the wind”, you told yourself, or a flicker of your imagination, it was late after all. But the rattle of your door handle is unmistakable. 

You sit up, back pushed against the headboard as you watch the old wood glide open, revealing a shadow on the other side. It’s blurry, shielded by the darkness surrounding it but you can still make out Taehyun’s figure as he slinks inside your room, gently closing the door behind him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Your voice cuts like knives through the silent air, and Taehyun can thank himself lucky that Beomgyu was a heavy sleeper. 

At first he doesn’t say anything, aimlessly shifting by the corner. It’s impossible to make out his expression in the dimness of the night. When he finally speaks his voice is low, not hushed, but low, lacking all sorts of menace it usually held. “I can’t sleep when he’s snoring.” — A petty excuse, there had to be more to it. 

Shifting on the bed, you pull the blanket higher over your chest, suddenly becoming very aware of the thin nightgown you were wearing. “But that’s not why you’re here.” You state, this time in a less aggravated tone. You can hear him let go of a small breath, taking a step forward which illuminates half of his face as moonlight seeps through the cracks of your curtains. “No”, he breathes. 

“I…” He hesitates, you catch his hands balling up into fists for a moment before relaxing again. Then he suddenly grows bold, bolder than you’d ever seen him as he takes yet another couple of steps forward. He reaches the end of your bed and you tense up, eyes narrowing down on his frame. “What do you want, Taehyun?” The doubt and suspicion in your voice is clear as day and you see his jaw clench at your accusing tone. 

He runs a hand through his hair, restlessly shrugging his whole body. “Fucking hell, come on noona, don’t make me say it.” You freeze at the small formality, it still felt unreal, hearing it pass his lips so easily. Just what was going on? “If this is another one of your stupid pranks then I–” 

“It’s not.” He sounds determined, almost stern. The mattress dips as he sits down, immediately scooting closer and you find yourself backing up as far as the headboard would allow you to. It’s easier to make out his features now, the way his brows drew together, how he bit onto the inside of his cheek as his eyes remained on the pillow next to you, unable to meet your gaze. 

“Why did you kiss me?” You had longed to ask the question, your mind practically reeling as it awaited his response. He blinks, once, twice, three times, then he swallows. “I thought if I…If I didn’t do it then…then I might never get the chance to again.” His brows furrow even further and he sounds as if he was at war with himself. “Why, do you mean you’ve been waiting to do this?” 

His once dazed gaze snaps over to you and he lets out a small scoff. “Of course I fucking have but you– your brother, he’s always around, I mean it’s impossible to get you alone and I..” He trails off, his fingers intertwining in the soft duvet as he pulls the silk into his hands, gripping it tightly. “My brother is your best friend.” You remind him, eyeing him with wary eyes as a confused frown etches its way to your face. 

“I know.” He runs his free hand through his hair, seemingly a nervous habit of his. “That’s what makes it so much worse.” — “Makes what worse?” You’re beyond puzzled, trying desperately to piece together the means of his otherwise scattered words. He huffs out a sharp breath, then he grabs your wrist with the same force he had used just hours earlier when he pinned you against the wall in the kitchen. In one swift motion he moves the palm of your hand to rest flat against his crotch, the prominent bulge makes your eyes widen as you try and pull your hand away. “This”, he practically seethes, his grip unwavering as he yanks you closer. 

“It’s torture, being in this house when I know that you’re just a room away.” His face is mere inches from yours and you find yourself at loss for words as you stare back at him. “I can’t even hang out with my best friend without my mind being clouded by his fucking sister.” He spits, letting your wrist go as he withdraws his hand, as if ashamed of his feelings. 

“Then why do you come here? If it’s such torture”, you wonder, rubbing your sore joint between your thumb and index finger. Taehyun looks almost as if he’s about to burst into laughter as he shakes his head. “Because it’s the only way I can see you, isn’t it?” — “Hell, even now, I’m forced to sneak into your room in the middle of the night to get you alone.” 

He inhales through his nose, his chest rising as he does, “don’t you understand, noona?” Your mouth parts in a thousand unspoken questions, none of which you ask. Slowly, you piece together just why he was here, why he had burst into your bedroom during the darkest hour of night, why he was so desperately sharing things you never thought you would ever hear him utter out loud 

The hesitation only lasts a second, then you find yourself leaning closer, so close that your lips pressed against his. A small peck, that’s all you give him before straightening your back once more. “I think I understand.” Your soft whisper is like a warm caress to his face and without waiting another second, he pulls you back, pressing his mouth against yours with the same urgency he had hours prior. 

You didn’t know what you had expected him to do, but pinning you down against the mattress of your bed was certainly far from it. His large hands cradle your face, his knees sinking into the bed either side of you as he holds you down. — It was wrong, it really was. He was your brother’s best friend, not to mention the fact that he had made your life a living hell these past two years. Were you really going to let one kiss change all of that? Taehyun’s hand caressing the bare skin of your thigh makes you think, yes. You could deal with the consequences tomorrow. 

He was all over you, kissing down your jaw and neck, his hands dipping beneath your nightgown to roam your chest, squeezing your tits before moving down your sides. It was almost as if he didn’t know where to start, too caught up in the fact that the unimaginable was actually happening. — “How long have you liked me?” You’re unable to hide the teasing edge to your voice, but he doesn’t seem to catch on. “F-Fuck since I first saw you”, he groans, yanking down your panties with one harsh tug as his fingers messily circle your clit. 

Letting out a moan of sheer surprise, you arch into his uncoordinated touch. “Then why did you act like such a bitch?” You question, your hands running through his dark hair before giving it a small tug, feeling him shudder against you. “H-ah, didn’t know what else to do..” He grunts, middle finger probing at your throbbing hole before pushing it in, drawing lewd sounds from you as you grip his soft locks tighter. 

“Why, do you get off on making me pissed or something?” Your comment was meant as a mere sarcastic remark, but Taehyun nods against the skin of your neck. “M’jack off to you so much”, he bluntly admits, adding a second finger to your dripping cunt as he does. You scoff, bewildered at just how deep his small crush was rooted, “that’s disgusting.” He only hums against you, thumb pressing down on your clit as he nibbles on your soft flesh. 

“That time in the shower”, he drawls, his lips moving up your throat, reaching your jaw before reconnecting on top of your own. “Can’t get it out of my head”, he groans into your mouth, his hard on pressing against your thigh in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure he was feeling. “I thought you said you didn't like what you saw.” — He shakes his head, “m’lied”, he mumbles before pushing his tongue inside your mouth. 

“Please, let me have you, I promise I’ll be good from now on, noona.” 

The thought of denying him was sweet, a way to get back for all the shit he’d caused you. But the way your cunt clenched around his fingers made you waver in your decision. Your silence makes him slow down, he pulls back to study you intently, wet lips hovering above yours. — “Fine”, you huff, propping yourself up on your elbows, “do you have a condom?” When he immediately nods as he shuffles through his pockets you wonder just how long he had been thinking about this. 

He reaches for the hem of his pants but you swat his hand away, “give it here.” Gaze flitting from the small package between his fingers and your determined expression, Taehyun complies as he hands you the condom. With practiced habit, you slip a hand down his briefs, fingers wrapping around his leaking cock as you pull it from his sweats. You never thought you’d ever get to see a pretty dick, but it was the only way you could describe it. Flushed and pink, slick with precum as it throbbed in your palm, you clenched at the sight.

He lets out a small noise of pleasure as you give him a few lazy strokes, ripping the plastic packaging open with your teeth in the meantime. “You’ll be good, yeah?” Your question hardly requires an answer but Taehyun eagerly nods, emitting a small yes. The corner of your lip twitches, the sudden change in his demeanor was almost endearing. — He inhales sharply as you slide the condom on, making sure to drag out your movements as you do. 

Upon settling back onto the bed, you shoot his unmoving figure an expectant look. “Well what the fuck are you waiting on?” — Blinking, he immediately springs into action as he moves to hover above you, the tip of his cock pushing against your glistening folds as he lines himself up. “Fuck, you’re so pretty, noona”, he mumbles, gently pushing himself past your tight rim with a small groan. 

“Flattery won’t work on me”, you breathe, fingers reinstalling themselves in his hair as you tug his lips back onto yours. His moans vibrate on your tongue, the tip of his nose nudging your cheek as he presses himself even closer. “I mean it..” — “Shut up.” Your sharp tone makes his cock twitch inside of you and you have to bite back a sly remark. He pulls back, his heavy breath mixing with yours as he picks up a fast and rough pace. The snap of his hips makes the bed squeak beneath you, and you can only hope that Beomgyu was knocked out good in his own room. 

Your hands leave his hair, fingers trailing down his chest before dipping inside the fabric of his shirt. You knew that he was fit, often catching glimpses of his toned arms whenever he’d move about; yet you couldn’t help but marvel at how his broad back felt under the tips of your fingers. — “Noona”, his voice is gruff and his arms either side of you tremble, “m’close.” 

Your nails digging into the skin of his back makes him groan as his pace stutters. “I’m not”, you state, even though you felt your orgasm building in the pits of your stomach, the thought of letting him endure it for just a moment longer was satisfactory in itself. — Your hands move to his shoulders, urging him off as you flip your positions. Hesitantly he complies, leaning back against your soft pillow with a small frown, only for his face to contort into a breathless one as you slid down on his cock once more. 

“Being good from now on doesn’t solve things, does it?” You drawl, moving your hips tantalizingly slow as he writhed beneath you. The new position allowed for him to sink impossibly deeper inside of you, and the stretch of his thick shaft made your jaw slack. “You’ll have to make up for all the past shit you’ve caused me, got it?” He blinks before quickly nodding, large arms finding your waist as he helps you move quicker, rougher, on top of him. 

“I will”, he gasps, hips snapping up to meet yours impatiently. His eyes remained glued on the way your tits bounced with each movement, your perky nipples poking through the thin material of your gown. You felt him grow even harder, the throb of his cock matching that of your cunt, vigorously clenching down on him. He bit his lip, suppressing the sinful sounds on his tongue. “S-Shit noona.” The grip he maintained on your hips was bound to leave marks but you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

One of his hands leaves your waist as he props himself up in an attempt to get closer to you. But he barely makes it halfway before you push him back down. His head hits the mattress with a small thud and he grunts in displeasure as his hand on your hip tugs you closer, making your lips part in a small whine at the wave of pleasure that shot through you. “Fuck, are you tryna wake your brother or something?” He huffs, lips curl into a menacing smirk as his thumb presses against your clit, making you shudder on top of him. 

“Why, I bet you’d love that wouldn’t you?” You scoff, hands moving down his chest as your nails scrape across his skin. He doesn’t answer, his jaw clenching as he jerks up inside of you, the movement followed by a string of hushed profanities. Rolling your eyes, you lean down to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, the action has him stilling completely and he groans as he spills inside the condom, the twitch of his cock making you wince as you urged your own orgasm on. 

Your fingers close around his chin, pulling his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss. “You’ll be good for your noona from now on, right?” He nods, immediately letting you push your tongue inside his hot mouth. “I will, I will”, he breathes, gasping as he feels your cunt clench around his already overstimulated cock; your high searing through you like never before. You never think you’d come this hard in your entire life, and to think that it was all because of your brother’s best friend. — Your thighs ached, arms burned, but your heart was beating uncontrollably fast as you finally pulled away from the kiss, leaning back to admire Taehyun’s fucked out expression. 

Fuck if only your brother knew what his best friend was up to at night. Seemingly reading your mind, Taehyun clears his throat, his now soft cock remaining inside of you as his hands caress your thigh. “You won’t tell Beomgyu about this?” — A small grin pulls at your lips and you shake your head. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him that his best friend prefers his sister.”

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[randofics]

Being able to reach where the bots can't

The men on base couldn't pull something out of Optimus's engine block. It was deep inside, wedged in the cables and framework. Without thinking, you offered to try removing it. They stepped aside, and you slipped underneath Optimus's bumper. The men watched incredulously as your body disappeared inside the engine space. You wriggled between the frame and the giant engine with a small light clenched in your teeth.

Your body pressed into the warm metal around you as you searched. When you spotted the offending piece of debris. You ever so gently twisted and coaxed it out of where it had been wedged. You felt him shake around you when it popped free. Dropping it to the concrete below with a clang, you wriggled your way out. Your clothes and hands had stripes of smudged grease and other remnants of vehicle fluids all over.

You popped your back after you slid out from under him and patted his hood. "Good to go, Optimus."

He'd never admit it, but having you pressed against the inside of his engine space felt... well, it made him feel things, to say the least. He thanked you, of course. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, but the thoughts running through his processor would've made him blush if he were able to.

-------

Crosshairs could feel that something was off as he moved. Almost like when humans get a stitch or muscle cramp. You noticed him moving to try and free whatever may be stuck or out of place. "Hey, Cross you, alright?" He looked up as he was feeling under his chest panels. "Something feels off, but I can't tell what or where it is."

"Can you transform? Maybe I can find it." He did as asked, transforming. "Where can you feel it in this form?"

"My engine space as far as I can tell." He pops his hood, and with a small flashlight, you look over parts of his engine block that are visible but can't see anything out of place. You lean over the side, looking between the frame and block. Something blue catches your eye, and you bend over, slipping your hand into the small gap. You feel Something wet and remove your arm to look at your fingers. Drops of blue enerjon color your skin and you hiss. "Looks like something cut one of your cables. Not all the way through, but you are leaking some enerjon. I can help stop the bleeding with some electrical tape if you want?"

"Please do. It can take a while for cables to seal on their own." You grabbed the electrical tape and practically climbed into his engine to reach the cable deep inside. Your chest and face were pressed into his engine so you could reach. As gently as you could, you wrapped up the leaking cable. Pushing up into a sitting position on your knees, you breathed a sigh of relief. "Just come get me when it feels like it's sealed up."

You closed his hood and walked back to do whatever you'd been doing beforehand. He watched your hips sway as you left. The feeling of your hands on his cables and block lingered long after you left, and he couldn't help the shiver that ran down his back strut.

-------

Bumblebee could've sworn he felt something in his undercarriage as he was driving with you to run an errand. When he ran over a bump, it stuck him like a thorn. He spoke his concerns over the radio, and you offered to take a look when you got back to base.

Later, you had him drive up onto a pair of car ramps. With his undercarriage exposed, you slid underneath him to search for anything that could be problematic. Nothing in his front half stuck out to you, so you slid further back, and almost at his rear axel, you spotted something shiny and out of place. It was lodged in the crack around his gas tank. "Bee, I found it! I'll try to pull it free, but you can't move, ok?" A beep and wirr was all you got in response, so you took it as an ok.

Lightly, you touch the underside of his tank, and he shakes at the contact. Your other hand grips the edge of the metal object and gives it a light tug. It shifts a bit but doesn't pop free. With more force, you tug and wiggle the piece, and it pops free. Bee jumps an inch but stays on the ramps, and you slide out from under him. A deep male voice from an old show speaks over his radio. "Thank you, love, you're a life saver!"

You give him a pat on the hood and examine the metal in your hand. "Looks like a piece of tin roofing. Good thing it didn't cut any cables or your tires."

The feeling of your hands on his undercarriage stayed for a while after you left. He wondered what it would be like to have you wash him by hand rather than going through the wash station at the base.

-------

Ratchet lost an important piece of the machine he was working on in a crack just small enough that his didgets couldn't slip through. He would've had Arcee help him, but she was still out on patrol. He looked over to you, sleeping on the couch. You were the only human on base at the moment, and he really needed that piece. Reluctantly, he walked over to the raised platform and called your name a few times.

You stirred and turned over to sleepily look at him. "Mmh, I'm up. What is it?" You stretch and yawn while still laying down. "I apologize for waking you, but I need your assistance with something." Standing you rub your eyes to clear them. He takes you in his servos and places you on the floor before the gap in the wall. Looking up at him questioningly, he finally tells you what's going on.

With him shining a light into the gap, you slip through all the way till your wide hips stop you from going further. The piece is thankfully within reach, and you just have to angle yourself to grab it. Your rear stuck out in full view, and he tried looking away, but his gaze kept slipping back to you as you reached for the object.

When you stood up holding the object in hand, he picked you up and placed you on the platform again. He thanked you but couldn't look you in the eye. You smiled up at him, none the wiser of the thoughts running through his processor.

[zhejiangleihaoelectric]

[luveline]

hi love! i absolutely adore ur writing and u should be so so proud of it. anyway i was just thinking about coworker james when readers car wont start in the parking lot and he like takes a look at it and is under the hood and reader is just like "oh...😍" cause the muscles are OUT and shes down bad

ty lovely 💌 fem

“Oh,” you say, “of course.” 

You drop your face into your steering wheel and sigh. An annoyed burst of sound, not cute or feminine or fun, a grunt of defeat. This sucks. Work sucks, life sucks, your car not starting is the least of your worries and yet somehow the most prevalent. 

How am I gonna get home? you think to yourself, defeated.

“Hey!” someone calls. Jogging, the last person you want to see in the world right now stopping at your door. James frowns at you. “It’s not starting?” 

You pop your door, careful not to pop him at the same time. “How’d you know?” 

“I heard the engine turn over.”

“It’s making a clicking sound,” you say, twisting the key so he can hear it. 

“It’s dead, probably. Your battery.”

James has an odd way of talking occasionally, as though you’ve started a conversation and he’s adding onto it. Remus says it's ADHD. You like it no matter what it is and despite yourself —it’s getting harder to pretend you don’t like him. Like, you hate him, he’s annoying beyond explanation, but your more positive feelings for him are heavy and ever present. So, so heavy.

“I’ll pull my car up and we can give it a jumpstart,” he says. “Easy fix.” 

“You don’t have to go?” 

“What?” 

“You have rugby today.” 

“Oh, no, it's the off season now.” He smiles and you don’t get why. “Let me go get the car.” 

James jogs back to his car and brings it next to yours. Everybody who isn’t Human Resources or security has left already, leaving the car park practically empty, ample room for him to park beside you. He gets back out. 

“I don’t have, uh, cables,” you say.

James gives you a smile that is as patronising as it is attractive. “Don’t worry about it, beautiful. I have everything you need.” 

He feels along the edge of your hood, pops the seal, pushes it up into the air, and hooks the prop rod into place. He’s clearly done it before, and the whole while you’re watching his arm. His rolled sleeves draw attention to the tightness at his bicep, and the moving ligament and muscle of his tricep as he leans into the engine to look things over. “I’m no mechanic, but I do know everything, and I thought maybe things were a bit hot but your engine’s stone cold.” 

“So it’s definitely the battery?” 

“Probably.” He scratches his jaw, peering curiously into the guts of it all. “When was the last time somebody looked in here?” he asks, squinting at you, unaware that he’s the finest thing you’ve ever seen. 

Your breath gets caught. 

“Have you ever had it looked at?” he asks, concerned. 

“I… maybe I did. I think so.” 

“You’re supposed to have it looked at every year? For MOT?” 

“I know, I thought you meant before that.” He’s distracting.

James looks you over. “It’s fine,” he says emphatically, “even if I can’t fix your battery, I can still drive you home. You’re panicking for no reason.” 

“Right.” Panicking! Yes, this is panic.

“Listen, can you get the jump leads from my boot? I have to open the hood.” He gestures for you to go. You do as he’s asked, wobbly, and struggle when you get there to actually open it. You slides your fingers under his car's emblem and flinch as it flies up past your face. 

His boot is surprisingly well organised. There’s a duffel bag to one side half-zipped that showcases a flash of red and white uniform, a pair of formal shoes, a dark jacket folded and hidden behind the bag. You want to be nosey and you don’t want him to think you’re stupid. You rush to grab the cables and almost clip yourself on the boot as you duck from under the boot and round the car. 

James smiles when he sees you. No indication that you’re an imposition, it’s sort of like you’re two friends. 

He pushes his sleeves farther up and digs in. It’s awful, what business does he have looking so sharply put together? You hadn’t thought you were preferential to muscle until right this moment watching James move around your engine like an expert. 

“What are your plans tonight?” 

Your palms are hot behind your back. “I was thinking I’d watch a new movie.” 

“That sounds fun.” He ducks away from the engine. “I don’t watch many movies.”

“What do you do with all your time?” 

“Argue with Sirius about who’s turn it is to wash the dishes.” 

You startle. “You and Sirius live together?” 

James laughs and pulls the leads to his own engine. “You didn’t know that?” 

“You come in different cars.” 

“I come in much earlier than he does. And after work he and Remus always have things to do. It’s weird, isn’t it, how couples are always busy? I feel like I never do anything.” James grins at you. “This is interesting, at least. My Friday night isn’t a total waste.” 

James gets into his car and you into yours. With some fiddling, pleading, and a strange noise, he manages to push life back into your car. His smile when it works is his worst one to date, elated and shockingly handsome. 

That Monday, against your better judgement, you bring him a little carrot cake in a tin. A thank you card felt like too much. 

To his credit, he doesn’t brag to anyone that he saved you. He says thank you for the cake with another real smile, and for some reason, despite the mild weather, he rolls his sleeves up at his desk. Almost like he noticed you…

Well, he couldn’t have. Right?

[luvrodite]

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

[playbucky]

Location.

Y/N has managed to track down Becca’s location for Billy, but the plan doesn’t always go according to plan, especially when you go against Supes. Characters - Reader, Billy, Becca, Frenchie, MM, Kimiko, Hughie, Annie and Homelander. Word Count - 2.3k Warnings - Violence.

Stepping out of your car, you shut the door and held the clipboard closer to your chest. Looking around before heading to the house, cautiously. There hadn’t been any alarms, and no Supe had arrived yet, but you knew you were being watched. Reaching the door, you knocked on it, waiting a few seconds before the locks were slid across and the door was pulled open. ‘Hi.’ The woman said, you had seen her plenty of times through the footage but never in person. ‘Hi, I’m wondering if I can talk to you about a security system for your house?’ You told her, you noticed her relax slightly. ‘No need, my house is fitted already.’ She said, you nodded and gave her a small smile. ‘That’s okay. Is it Rebecca or Becca I should put down?’ You asked, panic filled her eyes as you looked up from the clipboard. ‘How, do -,’ She stuttered. ‘We have a common friend.’ Her gaze jumped to the sky, you shook your head before you turned the clipboard around. The picture of them was on display. ‘If I can’t interest you, I’ll be leaving.’ You told her, turning the board back to your chest before you took a step backwards. ‘In fact, I’ve had a few break-ins in the garage. Could you have a look just now?’ Becca asked, you nodded. ‘I can take a look and set an appointment.’ You agreed, she stepped out the door and walked to the garage, opening the door, she stepped in.

‘Mum?’ ‘Ryan.’ She breathed, you looked at the young boy and froze. He was identical to Homelander. ‘Who’s she?’ He asked, eyes focused on you as you smiled at him. ‘Names Sammy, you must be the man of the house?’ You quizzed. He hesitantly nodded. ‘Do you have to be called Sam to work there?’ Ryan asked, you looked confused for a second before you tapped your logo. ‘No, I’m actually the owner. Got some annoying employees, though.’ You told him, his eyes narrowed at you, and Becca watched. ‘Why are they annoying?’ He questioned, you looked around the garage, aware of the camera in the post across from the house. ‘Well, one of them, when he gets angry, only speaks French.’ You said, ‘A lot of swear words that shouldn’t be said in customers houses.’ You looked back at the pair. ‘Another who is so smart that they’re dumb,’ Becca chuckled a little, ‘and another whose British accent is hard to understand.’ You added, Becca looked at you hopeful, you nodded and walked over to the collection of cables. ‘Why do you work with them if they’re so annoying?’ Ryan asked, your brows furrowed before you twisted back to him. ‘Cause they’re good at their job, we work well together and finish the jobs.’ You replied this seemed to satisfy him. ‘It seems like you can have a few additions to your existing set-up,’ you told Becca, relief flooded her face, ‘Someone will be in contact with you soon.’

‘Here.’ You dropped the envelope on Billy’s lap, he looked at then to you as he lifted it up.’ ‘What is it?’ He asked, the beer bottle raised to his lips. ‘The thing you started this for.’ ‘Why?’ ‘So you can quit your moaning and decide whether you’re in or out.’ You told him, the others watched you. ‘I’ve always been in.’ He commented, you shook your head. ‘No, you’ve been in to find Becca, we’re in it to show the world the real Supes.’ You replied, he fell silent and looked at the envelope. ‘If you visit, stick to the right side of the garage and place the drive into the socket inside.’ You commented before walking away. Billy was torn between looking at you and the envelope he played with.

‘When’d he leave?’ You asked, rubbing your hands over your face, clearing your eyes off sleep. ‘He hasn’t.’ MM commented, you rolled your eyes. ‘Bullshit, Frenchie is singing and dancing.’ You pointed out to the dancing French man, who was smiling, Kimiko watching him. ‘Twenty minutes ago.’ Hughie added, he passed a mug of coffee over to you. ‘Well, it looks like it’s just us now.’ You commented. ‘Why did you do it?’ Hughie asked, you looked at him. ‘Because it’s what he’s wanted for a while, plus with the news of compound V, we’re closer than we’ve ever been.’ You told him, unaware of the look MM and Frenchie gave each other. ‘So, what’s our plan of action?’ You asked the group.

‘What are you doing back?’ You quizzed him, a smirk took over his face. ‘Well, hello to you too.’ Billy said, you narrowed your eyes at him. ‘Butcher.’ You said, he held his hands up, you tilted your head. ‘She doesn’t want to leave.’ He answered, your shoulders dropped as your face twisted into confusion. ‘What did you do to her? She was wanting out.’ You whacked his chest, he rubbed the stinging area. ‘Merde.’ ‘Frenchie?’ You and Billy asked, he looked at you before moving away from his station. ‘We have visitors.’ He motioned to the cameras, MM handed a gun to you as you looked at Billy. ‘We’re discussing this later.’ You pointed a finger at him, he smirked as his eyes glsitened. The door was blown off its hinges, everyone ducked down as the smoke filled the room. You crouched behind the tables, slowly mving as Kimiko charged at the first man through the door, his eyes were dug out before he dropped down. You sent some shot towards the men that followed in, firing back as MM and Frenchie reacted. Kimiko appeared at your side, ‘When they get in, shut the door and dont let anyone out.’ You told her, she smiled at you and nodded. Billy was now fighting a man, both of them sending punches. Hughie had been cornered, trying his hardest to fight the large men, you made your way behind the boys as you reached him, you pulled the trigger and one dropped to the floor. Blood spattered over Hughie, he gasped and dropped when you went to fire again but the gun was empty. You swore before you chucked it and punched the man below his ribs, hitting his kidney he jerekd to the side. He turned, his full attention on your now, you smiled at him. He pulled the knife from his thigh, twirling he tried to intimidate you. He charged at you, the knife swung and missed you, you grabbed his free arm and pulled it behind him, the bone snapped and he yelled loudly. He pulled his arm free and twisted, the knife cut your top before you freed it from his hand and buried it in the side of his neck. ‘Eyes.’ A voice called, the group shut their eyes, brightness reached them thrugh their closed eyes before they opened, the men were all lying on the ground, squirming in pain or dead. ‘Everyone okay?’ You asked as you helped Hughie stand up before he froze, and his eyes widened. ‘Hughie, you good?’ ‘Y/N.’ He just about whispered, you looked down to see where he was focused on. ‘Shit.’ You cursed, the length of your stomach was stained red, and the blood continued to pour out the deep wound as you touched it. ‘Butcher.’ Hughie called, you tried to move away from him but he held tightly onto your biceps, your blood continued to drip onto the floor. ‘I’m good.’ You said, ‘Y/N?’ Everyone said, your legs wobbled, and an arm wrapped around your waist, a warmth pressed to your side as he lowered you to the ground, ‘Come on, sweetheart, gotta stay with me.’ Billy said, his warm hands cupped either side of your face. ‘This is gonna hurt.’ Annie said, you held eye contact with Billy but nodded. A wave of coolness hit you when she raised your ruined top, then her hand was on the wound before a bright light filled the destroyed room. The pain continued to grow, your head tipped back, eyes shut, and jaw clenched as you fought against a scream. Your hand grabbed onto Billy’s bicep as you tried to move away from the searing pain, but MM held your other side down. The scream broke free, everyone dipped their heads at the pain, you fell silent, and your entire body slouched. ‘Y/N?’ Billy said, placing a hand on your neck, relief filled him when the faint pulse jumped against his fingers. ‘We need to get her to a hospital, I don’t know how long it’ll hold or the damage inside.’ Annie said.

‘You’re awake.’ A voice said, your gaze snapped to him before you sighed, looking away. ‘How can I help you Homelander?’ You asked, voice still rough. ‘You aren’t scared of me?’ Homelander asked, arching an eyebrow the steady beeps came from the machine. ‘Why should I be? You won’t hurt me.’ ‘And you’re confident, I can see what Billy likes in you.’ He commented, amusement shining in his eyes as you scoffed. ‘Something funny?’ Homelander quizzed, you twisted your head and looked at him, and his unusual blue eyes focused on you. ‘The fact that you believe he likes me.’ ‘He doesn’t?’ He asked, head tilted as you looked away, a bird flew past the window. ‘I mean, he’s still hung up on his wife, the ones you’re holding hostage.’ You said, the beeping quickened as you moved, and Homelander had the nerve to look over you with worry. ‘You’re in pain.’ He commented, you chuckled, and you settled into a comfortable position. ‘Course I’m in pain, your follower stabbed me.’ You hissed, he reached a hand out that you swatted away. ‘Don’t touch me.’ You snarled, his hand landed on your neck and squeezed, you bared your teeth as you held eye contact, ‘As I said, you don’t scare me, blondie, I’ve done worse to get off.’ You told him, he faltered slightly at the comment before his fingers twitched. ‘If you’re going to kill me, do it. Stop pussy footing around.’ You challenged him, his head tilted and watched as you didn’t back down. ‘No,’ he let go and stood up, ‘I actually like you.’ He pulled the thin blanket further up your body. ‘Too bad. Once I’m out of here, I’m hunting you down.’ You warned him, and he chuckled and nodded. ‘I look forward to it.’ Homelander replied, you stared at each other before he turned and walked away, the cap flowing behind him.

The door quietly opened. The heavy footsteps told you that it wasn’t Homelander again, you opened your eyes and blinked a few times as you watched Billy approach the bed. ‘You can stop sneaking in.’ You commented, and he straightened. ‘How are you feeling?’ ‘Shit.’ You replied, he nodded and pulled the plastic chair over with his foot before he lowered it ‘Doc, says you can get out in a day or two.’ Billy said, you nodded. ‘Why did you find her?’ He asked as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a day or two, by the dark moons under his eyes. ‘Because you wanted her, always have.’ You replied, and he shook his head. ‘Why’d she not come with you, Billy?’ You asked, a finger extended, ‘The truth, don’t try and bullshit me.’ You warned, he looked at you. ‘I didn’t even talk to her.’ He admitted, you opened your mouth, ‘I parked at the end of the road and watched them, sat for two or three hours, but I didn’t even have the balls to talk to her.’ He looked at you, running his fingers through his beard. ‘Why?’ ‘I guess I was in it for Becca in the first place, but then I’ve seen how corrupted they are and I don’t want to bring them into it any more than they are.’ He explained, you nodded as you moved, and a hiss escaped your lips as you tried to move. ‘What’s hurting?’ He asked, your face scrunched in pain. ‘The burn.’ You commented. ‘The burn?’ You slouched back before you pulled the gown up for him to see, the blanket covered your waist down. Billy stood up and looked at the burn that ran across your entire stomach, the skin was raised and pink compared to your skin and the darker line down the centre where the doctors had opened you to operate. His brows furrowed, subconsciously he reached out and tried to touch it, but stopped when you grabbed his hand. ‘Don’t.’ You almost pleaded, he nodded and brought his free hand up, his hand cupped your jaw as his thumb rubbed over your cheek. ‘I’m sorry.’ He apologised, your brows dipped. ‘What for? You didn’t stab me.’ You reminded him. ‘I was followed and then asked Annie to do that.’ He glanced at the burn again, you pulled your gown back down so he looked back at you. ‘You came home and asked Annie to save me, I’m not angry at you.’ You said, he shook his head and tried to pull away, you tightened your grip on his hand. ‘Don’t retreat into your mind, it does you no good.’ You warned him, he freed his hand from you, stepping back, coldness hugged your cheek. He fixed his jacket and smiled. You shook your head and tried to sit up but he walked away, reaching the door he froze at your yelp as you sat up. ‘Billy Butcher, you better listen to me.’ You said, he lifted his hand, ‘Don’t you destroy yourself, don’t do it because of me.’ You called, he pushed the door and disappeared through it, you breathed heavily as the door shut. ‘You’re a cunt Butcher.’ You shouted, knowing he could still hear you.

Tags - @demencia-c137 @shirley-girly @witchygagirl

[macabr3-barbi3]

Entanglement (Sub Vox x Reader)

A request from the lovely @jurijyuu for a tentacle malfunction Sub Vox 💕📺

Tags: Restraints; Light Bondage; Sub Vox; Teasing; Begging; Dom/sub Undertones; Tentacles? Sort of? are Vox's cable/wire things tentacles? the world may never know

💙❤️💙❤️💙

Who could have guessed that trying to do something nice for his doll could have resulted in something like this?

Vox had been waiting for you to finish up with Velvette for the shoot that was happening this evening. He knew after hours of the fucked up poses that Vel forced you into to get the perfect shot you would be sore- she had had you hanging by your knees from the fucking chandelier on one occasion, insisting that the slight sway to the fixture would result it a cool shot from your camera (it did; that wasn’t the point). Her favorite photographer, Velvette was always fucking stealing your free time away from him. It was good for business, but bad for his plan of simply keeping you naked in his room at all times for easy access.

He had been laying in the bed, lazily stroking himself just in case you showed up, when the idea struck him to run you a hot bath and light some candles around the room. It shouldn't have been too much longer before you arrived so the candles wouldn’t burn out, and you always enjoyed it when he ‘set the mood,’ whatever that meant. He could probably sell you on fucking before your bath, too- even more deep aches and sweet bruises for the hot water to soothe.

He was too lazy to get up though, so he had snaked out a few of his cables from the back of his head, long and prehensile, a few pairs of them diving into the various drawers in the room searching for the candles and matches and two slithering across the floor towards the bathroom. Had he thought to check the floor for water from his shower a few hours prior before sending two very much electrical tentacles into the room he might have had better luck.

Currently though, his luck was shit. The water found its way into his wires and shorted them out, electrical current traveling all the way through to the base and fucking up the other cables as well; they whipped and snapped across the room in wide arcs and twisting wriggles, and his attempts to grab them from the air and cease the destruction to his room only resulted in his wrists getting tangled up in the mess.

So here Vox had been for the last fifteen minutes or so, restrained by his wrists in the bed and still achingly, frustratingly hard. His cables didn’t so much as twitch when he tries to send some power to them to reverse the entanglement, or when he tugged his arms a bit. His cock does though, and isn’t that something interesting that he doesn’t want to think about right now.

And then like an angel, there’s the sound of the door opening and you coming home. “Baby,” he shouts from the bedroom, and he hears the telltale thump of your camera bag on the kitchen counter. “I could use your help in here!”

“What did you do now? If you cracked your screen off the stand again-” Your voice trails off when you enter the room and see him- he’s sure he looks fucking ridiculous, spread out like he is, and he feels the spread of pink pixels over his screen in a blush.

“I was trying to do something nice for you,” he says, “and got some water in my wires. Everything went haywire, and, well, now I’m here. Be a doll and help me get loose?”

The way you’re watching him is a little disconcerting- not bad by any means, he loved having your eyes on him, just a little unusual. You slide your jacket off your shoulders and toss it on the armchair, sliding your hair out of its bun that you wear to keep your hair out of your eyes while you work. When you go for the button on your jeans he clears his throat.

“I appreciate the strip tease, sweetheart, but there’s more pressing matters at hand here.” He lifts his wrists in demonstration, the wires brushing his skin in a way that makes him suck in a harsh breath, dick twitching in his boxers. “Come on, help me.”

You work your jeans and panties down your legs, his eyes trailing the whole way before settling on the space between your legs. Then your shirt comes off, perfect tits on display as you do a rotation, let him take in the visual of your body in front of him before running your hands down your skin and back up- one hand plucks at a nipple while the other dips down between your legs.

Vox’s mouth is hanging open, pixelated lines of drool coming off his mouth as he watches you, cock throbbing out of his reach. He tugs at his makeshift restraints, a little breathless when it sends a bolt of arousal through his body- seriously, what the fuck? “I am in no mood to be teased right now,” he tells you, but the words are a little reedy and almost whimpered. He clears his throat and tries again- “Seriously, help me.”

You come closer to the bed, climb onto it and settle yourself between his legs. “Come on, Voxxy,” you murmur, and the low, dangerous tone to your voice goes straight to his straining erection despite the use of that fucking nickname that he hated. “Tied up all pretty for me and not even going to say ‘please?’ That’s not how you get what you want.” Your hands run up his calves, up his thighs, and your thumbs brush into the dip of his pelvic bone. Your touch sends electricity crackling through him, static sparking between his antennae. “That’s what you always say anyway- you wouldn’t want to be a hypocrite, would you?” You drag the waistband of his boxers down, and he’s half-mortified when his hips automatically cant up to make it easier for you, his dick slapping heavy onto his abdomen when it springs free.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He can feel the manic grin on his face- confused by the turn of events, by his sweet, perfect doll not simply doing what you were told and, what? Trying to get him to beg? As if- even if it was hot as fuck (and it was, Christ). “Baby, I- ohhhh, fuck-” 

Your head ducked down to lick a stripe up his cock, tongue curling around the head- his hips buck up, try to sink into the wet cavern of your mouth but you pull back with a soft smile. “Say please.”

“Fuck you.” Vox says this affectionately- he was the one in control in the bedroom, this was cute and all, but he wouldn’t plead with you for it.

“Not with that attitude, you won’t be,” you snap back with a wicked grin on your face. And you’re gone again, bent over to lick and suck at the hard length of him with your ass in the air, just the way that he likes.

Again, when he tries to thrust into your mouth you pull off, and he tugs uselessly at his restraints, head falling back against the pillows when you bring a hand up to cup his balls, thumb running gently over the sensitive skin. “Haah- you’re going to fucking kill me.” He’s a little embarrassed by that whiny moan that had escaped him, but you’re not even looking at his face, head resting on his thigh to gaze lovingly at his fucking dick while you stroke and kiss and generally tease him.

Vox thinks he might be losing his mind, just a little. But fuck does he want it, want to lose himself in the wet heat of your mouth, sink deep into your slick cunt and watch you bounce in his lap. He could still do that with his hands restrained, right? He wouldn’t be able to grip your hips the way he wanted to, or get his fingers on your clit and revel in the way that always made you clench tighter around him- but he could make do if you wouldn’t release him.

And there’s the thought that does him in- that maybe you wouldn’t let him go, would keep him tied to the bed with his own goddamn wires to tease him endlessly, unable to do anything about it himself, evidently unable to convince you to do anything for him. He was at your mercy here, the thought making him dizzy with arousal and an unprompted whine falling from his lips when he notices you working your fingers between your legs while you finally let the head of his cock slip past your lips, suction on the tip that makes him see stars.

“P-please,” he breathes out, and you release him with a pop, such excitement lighting up your eyes that he wishes he had given in sooner- you were so beautiful when you were pleased and excited, what would you look like when he gave in to you like this?

You move up the bed, legs on either side of his, and slide your drenched folds against the length of him. Leaning down so your face is next to his, you press a deep kiss to his mouth, slipping your tongue alongside his before you pull back and whisper, “again.” Your hands press into Vox’s chest as you slot him against you, rub the head of his prick against your clit and groan in ecstasy.

His hips jerk at the sensation. “Please, baby,” he says darkly, “let me fuck you.”

“Hmm, not quite what I’m looking for.” You lift off of him, slide back and out of reach again. “Try again?”

“What? Come on, I can’t-” He pulls at his restraints again, and the way your eyes go half-lidded at the sight gets the message through. “You wanna keep me trussed up, is that it?��

“Is it so wrong for the photographer to want to keep a pretty picture on display?” Your fingers twitch between your pretty thighs, grinding tiny circles into your clit while you wait for him to give you what you want. “I wish I hadn’t left my camera in the kitchen; I would love a shot like this. I’d have to get some different lighting…” Your hips stop moving for a moment as you look around the room. “Maybe candlelight would work? I think that would cast a nice glow on your skin, so pretty- fuck, should I go get my camera?”

“No!” The word breaks past the dam of his lips when you use one of his own tricks against him- the threat of ending the pleasure when you’re so fucked out and cock drunk, on the brink of cumming. “No no no, doll, don’t leave- fuck, please, alright? Please touch me, fuck me, ride my cock. I’m fucking begging, I need it-”

A shudder rolls through your body, and finally, finally you sink down on him, a slow, delicious slide that has his fingers clenching uselessly where they’re held, wishing he could hold you, dig his claws in like he usually did.

“I didn’t say stop,” you moan, watching him through narrowed eyes. “Come on, Voxxy, tell me what you want.”

“I want you to stop fucking t͖͖̠̬͛ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧa͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅi̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥg̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟ me-” Your hips slow and Vox bites his tongue, rephrasing- and this time, to his chagrin, the stream of words doesn’t fucking stop. “Please, baby, don’t stop- f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔, so fucking good, I w-want- I wanna cum, please, keep going, you f-feel so f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥg̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟ g̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞d̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓-” An honest to God whimper comes out of him, so invested in both of you cumming that he can’t even find the sense in him to be embarrassed by what was happening. His screen is glitching out, his vision broken when he goes full static every couple of seconds, but the glimpses he’s getting in between of you with your head thrown back are going to fuel his jerk-off sessions when he can’t spend the night with you for the rest of his afterlife. You felt fucking perfect around him, your swollen pussy walls squeezing him just right as you rode him.

“Say please,” you command, fingers working between your legs, the back of your hand brushing against his abdomen and causing the muscles to flutter under you. “Ask me to make you cum- ask for permission and I’ll let you cum in me-”

And didn’t that just sound like the perfect end to the evening? He doesn’t even question it, couldn’t stop his traitorous tongue if he tried. “Please, doll, oh my fucking- please please p͔͔͚͉̬̋ͩ̾͗l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧa͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧ, p͔͔͚͉̬̋ͩ̾͗l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧa͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧ, let me do it, cum with me-” He feels the tension in his entire body, from his suspended arms to the tips of his goddamn toes- he might actually fully fucking short out, he thinks deliriously, processors overloading in his brain at the sights and sounds and the feel of you sucking him into your greedy body. “- p͔͔͚͉̬̋ͩ̾͗l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧa͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧ let me, baby- oh f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔, I’m gonna-”

You hit the peak of your orgasms together, your body jerking in his lap like you’ve been electrocuted while your cunt wrings him like a fucking towel, tensing and rippling around his cock as he spills into the slickness, long pulses of cum as far inside of you as he can get and its not enough- he can never be close enough to you to feel complete so he settles for filling you with everything he has to give.

Vox doesn’t black out, but its a near thing- the explosion of sudden voltage to his circuits actually jump-starts the core of his cable tentacles and they spring to life, his wrists finally coming free and falling to the bed so he’s spread out like some fucked up crucifixion. They’re numb, he realizes, but before he can get to doing anything about that you shift, reaching for them and massaging feeling back into his limbs. There’s some light bruising, but nothing crazy, not any worse than you had whenever the pair of you occasionally delved into bondage. 

The heavy breathing of you both evens out, and you bring his hands to your mouth to press light kisses to them. When you’re satisfied you release him, and his arms wrap around your back. You press a gentle kiss to his screen and rest your head on his chest. 

“You know,” you mutter into his skin, “technically I didn’t give you permission to cum. That’s gotta count for… something. I’m not sure what.”

He snorts into your hair. “Doesn’t count for shit. You cheated, waiting until I was right on the brink to say that shit.”

You hum, and snuggle closer. “You liked it though? Maybe a repeat in the future?”

His instinct was to say no, but he couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed it- you were a dangerous force in control, something he would maybe have to mention to Velvette so she would let you direct your own goddamn shoots. “We’ll talk about it,” he settles on, still a tad embarrassed by his reaction to the whole thing. “I do think you should have to draw the bath now, though- for both of us, since I think you rode me so hard my thighs have bruises.”

“Oh fuck off,” you laugh into his chest, but you still roll off of him and disappear into the bathroom- the sound of running water fills the room while Vox tries to remember how to make his legs work.

“I better not see that camera in here, either!” He shouts, and your responding giggle brings a smile to his face.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56081230

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I’m falling out of obsession love with konig..will you do me the favor and respark my love for him i need an obsessed in love man to match 😓

Word count: 1.9 k

Summary: He comes to see you after a mission.

CW: Mild smut, angst, fluff, emotions. +18 only

A/N: This is part of the Just Friends universe, but pov is 2nd person (you instead of she/her). I'm not sure if this is what you asked for anon...but it's what you're going to get 🥹 

Rain drums your window. You've left it open a crack, and should get up and close it, but you don't have the strength. You can't sleep, you can't get up: it's the wolf's hour and the mood is heavy like the rain clouds that have circled the base for hours now.

It's the first time you hear him breaking in. Well, technically speaking, he's not breaking in anymore, now that he has a key. But it always feels like he comes to see you when you least expect it.

The five-day mission has turned into a four-day and half a night mission, then.

You feign sleep and listen how he takes off his boots. He's illegally quiet without them for such a big man. His shirt meets the floor, then he opens his belt – you know he's about to come and ravish you, and for the first time since forever you are not up for it.

The bed lets out a terrible creak of a wail as he crawls next to you. You fear it's only a question of time before the old metal and wood give in under you two. It's basically a miracle the sturdy bunk hasn't yet broken into pieces from your love.

His length touches you first as he settles behind you. It's hot and hard, lean and sleek, like the rest of the man that soon surrounds you like a copper cable with a pulse. His hand is warm as it slips under the covers and under your shirt. Or actually, his shirt.

"I'm home," he half whispers the obvious. Calls your room his home… Or perhaps it's just you. You're his home now.

The hand drifts to your hip, and it's possessive: he always starts there. You win nothing by pretending to be the sleeping beauty, so your hand comes to rest on top of his.

"Did you have fun..?"

It's a bit of a sick question. But it is what it is. And what's more, he doesn't even answer it.

"I need a fresh pair, Engel," he says with an odd honey to his voice.  "The last one is completely ruined."

You know he's talking about another pair of panties, a comfort object and a lucky charm he takes with him now that he's back in the field again.

The rain taps the window, and the darkness of the room is only pierced by distant hues of blue. The base is never dark, never fully asleep. His hand drags the shirt up, then stops on your ribs.

"You have my shirt on."

It's not a scolding, not at all. It's only a happy, shocked surprise.

"You… You left it here," you turn a little to look at him. You can see his lashes from the darkness of the hood as they drop: he's looking at you with tenderness, although the demanding flesh against the small of your back is far from tender. 

"Mm. You have my shirt and I got your panties... A good deal, eh?"

His hand wanders further under the shirt, cups a handful of your breast. You can feel the cords of muscle bunching against you: abs that contract, thighs that press and lift yours, his cock that gives a taut pull between you two.

Your nipple is caught between hard fingertips, as he twists it like a volume control. Your abs crunch too, out of the sudden sensation that bleeds.

"Hey…"

"I can't concentrate on missions because of you," his voice drops another note or two. And now you are being scolded. But so, so tenderly still…

"Mh, König… Not–not tonight," you whisper, wondering if this man can even take a thing such as a simple no. He lets go of your nipple, but not your breast. 

Not you. Never you.

"You have worries?"

You. You're my only worry.

Your mouth closes, draws into a line. You can't tell him.

“No… No.”

"Let me have you, angel. I've waited so long." His breath is growing heavier, the lean pulse against your back, thicker. 

"I'll make you feel good," he tries to bargain when you're not responding. In a way, you want him too, but for the first time during your... acquintance, you would like him to just hold you. Without the need to throw yourselves off a cliff first.

"Not tonight." You move, then turn in his gentle, throbbing hold, and he almost draws his hand away. "Please, König…?"

"Ok," he says, but looks like he doesn't quite know what to do. Just...hug you? Go to sleep while holding you? It's a change in protocol, but he's willing to do it for you. For that knowledge alone, your hand slithers down, finds his length and wraps around it.

"I can help you? If you want?" 

The rain is thin now, as it bats the glass. He lets you go and gradually leans back, falls to the mattress and allows you to give him a good, long stroke.

"My saving angel," is the only thing he says as he falls as slack as he can – a state which can barely be called relaxed – under your palm.

He's a needy man, and deprived since the last time you saw him. Which is why you know it doesn't take long. You barely see him in the electrically illuminated darkness, but you can feel how the choked sighs ripple across his body. You feel everything: the tight trembles, the density of the air around him. You hear the moist click as he swallows, the panting that rises. The occasional groans that sound like he's crying although he's not.

It's the only way he knows how to feel good, and someday, it just might make you cry. Even the sky cries for him, it seems, because a sudden gust of wind sends an entire sheet of rain against your window.

He's exceptionally quiet, probably because you didn't let him inside you this time. But then you remember he's usually this quiet only when he's emotional.

He's missed you...

That's what this is about – the ever demanding furnace of flesh. He wants to drown in you, burn until there's nothing left. It's been days, and he might've found some privacy to fantasize about you while ruining your lace, but it's no substitute for the real thing.

His hand flies on top of yours after you find that perfect angle, the one he likes. A harsh moan coats the night air, and shoots fireworks inside your stomach. He moves your hand up and down his cock like you can't do it right, but the connection, in truth, speaks of intimacy. The touch is affectionate. It says: 'we'…

Us.

Together.

He hisses, as if he's in pain. But he's just close, and you up the pace: his own hand is now only a loose, gentle cage around yours. He's so long, it seems like it takes forever to travel from the tip to the base, and you're trying to be quick and strong on top of it all. Just milk him well so he can sleep. 

So that perhaps you can sleep.

He looks at what you're doing to him, then looks at you, and it's the vulnerability in that stare that makes you understand he feels equal to that rain. You're his only summer sun. 

Then those lashes flutter, and his eyes turn to glass just before he comes. He spills all over himself with a long groan and a soul-ripping jerk, a giant coming undone under your palm and on your poor bunk bed that has seen so much already. The load is so generous you wonder whether he has even had the time to jerk himself off during the mission. If your innocent lace has barely been touched…

The last spurts are sadder, a few gushes that float to coat your hand, and he finally stills into some form of peace. He breathes in the night, relaxed and empty. You feel like you just worked on an emotional volcano, but he gathers himself quickly, raises to a half sit and tears his shirt off and over your head. Using it to clean himself and your hand, he throws it somewhere on the floor and pulls you on top of him.

Your breasts meet the solid chest, your thighs barely have enough time to go about his hips as he closes you in one of those bear hugs. The half-hard tip of him still throbs against your folds, and only then do you notice you're wet.

"I missed you," he sighs through the mask as you're held tight against his slowly settling pulse. He holds you exceptionally firm, squeezes you against him like you're his favorite toy. He tightens the hold around your middle until you are forced to let out a whimper. Only then does he loosen the hug and give out a gentle chuckle.

"Immer so gut… You feel so good. Always."

His confession is such a normal and yet, such a fragile thing to say, that you feel tears burning in your eyes.

"I missed you too," you say while trying to hide your tears from him.

"If you have worries, you can talk to me," he then says and starts to caress your back. The window is open, and the cool night air rolls in but in his embrace, you don't feel cold. You squeeze your legs and arms around him, feeling like a leech who never wants to let go. Finally, he's holding you, just the way you wanted to…

"It's nothing," you say, when in truth this man has you worried day and night. He's like a fridge you stock full day after day, only to find it empty every morning. And the things he gives you, the things he stuffs you full with… It's like having a cat who likes to fall asleep with you, a tame, purring beast who brings you fat rodents. If you don't praise him for them, he starts to hide them around the house until you wake up one morning to a terrible smell.

"You're the first who's ever hugged me," he mutters somewhere next to your ear. The golden fire inside your stomach turns into pity, horror and pain. 

"Are–are you serious…?" You whisper in the darkness of his mask that's spilled all over your pillow. You know he has had women before you, but apparently, they have never attached to him like this. Like tiny little leeches to a bear.

"Didn't your mother hug you when you were little?"

He thinks on his answer for a second or two, maybe three. The fact that he has to think about it should tell you enough.

"No."

Then, "I can't remember…"

Your lip tugs, your lashes bat away the fire that burns. He's breathing calmly under you again, satiated by a simple handjob and a hug. Although it feels like he's the one hugging you while you're being held captive there on top of him… It feels like he doesn't even quite know what a hug is.

"She had her own troubles," he mutters, sounding like he's about to fall asleep. Even on the brink of oblivion, he defends the woman who didn't know how to hug her own child, because he can survive without touch. No matter what, he will survive. 

His breathing starts to even, and your tears begin to fall. You think of moving from on top of him, to give him space and comfort to get some sleep. But it seems it's not an option, the way he holds you like a plush toy he will never let anyone take from him.

"I think I'm going to sleep now," he rasps, somewhere between awake and sleep. The rain has stopped, and you wonder whether it has only moved somewhere else, if it's now raining inside you. His hold of you tightens just before he slips to sleep.

"Don't let go, Engel…"

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // Chapter 1 (reader version)

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Reader (You) Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.8k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. For years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because you feel like something halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t wash the smell of hospital out of clothes, not really. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise. 

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive? 

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After your annual interrogation with Sheriff Stilinski, you meet his son who turns out to be very handy with jumper cables and incoherent babbling.

A/N: Does this look familiar? It should lmao. I gave into the peer pressure. All the messages and requests were too powerful. Here is a reader version of my ofc season 1 fic. Obviously some things have been removed to get rid of specific names/descriptions, so you want to read the full thing you can read the og version and check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)! For the sake of not clogging tags, I'll probably just do my reader version on tumblr and the full oc lore version on ao3 from now on. xx

Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

Before your mother’s death, you would have picked fire. Every single time. 

You never liked the cold; never really had to get used to it growing up in central California—but the crux of your argument, the twisted logic behind it all, was that most burn victims died from suffocation before they felt the flames. A small mercy, really, in the face of unspeakable tragedy. 

In the end, however, statistics were just numbers, your mother didn't die from smoke inhalation, and there was no mercy in burying a parent before you were old enough to have children of your own. Nothing ever ended poetically off the page. Death was just death, and it was always ugly. Someone should really tell that to Robert Frost, you mused, biting at a raw hangnail.

The medical examiner said the actual cause of death was pulmonary edema; at least, that was his best guess based on the state of the body. He didn’t say that she felt everything, her skin peeling back into her flesh, her flesh liquefying into fuel, her joints flexing into contorted pleas until the fire incinerated her last nerve ending. He didn’t have to; you connected those dots all on your own. You’d been twelve at the time, not an imbecile. 

“I’m sorry to drag you through this all again.”

You flitted your eyes away from the flickering lightbulb above Sheriff Stilinski’s head and met his gaze; it was nauseatingly sympathetic. Your responding shrug was a small, little thing—more like a twitch in practice, “Not your fault.” 

Your yearly visits to Sheriff Stilinski’s office were solely your father’s doing, even if no one wanted to admit it to your face. Most mayors would use their political power to get their child out of a police station, not into it, but perhaps he stopped being your dad somewhere between the funeral and now. 

“If you could start—”

“From the beginning,” you smoothed your thumb in small circles over the armrest of your chair, attentively tracing patterns into the polished wood, “I know.” This was, after all, the fourth anniversary of your first interrogation. You’d become somewhat of an expert at being a useless witness. You picked at your uneven cuticles before continuing, “Mom put me to bed around 10:00—which was kind of late for a school night, honestly, but she let me stay up to finish another chapter anyway.” The right corner of your mouth twitched for a brief moment, “Nancy Drew: Password to Larkspur Lane. I told her that forcing someone to go to sleep in the middle of a mystery was specifically forbidden in Geneva Protocol II.” Your mom had been far too indulgent of your lip on most occasions, but that night she didn’t smile at your snarky aside. She let you finish the chapter because she was too tired to argue; you could tell. At the time, you saw it as a victory. Now, it kept you up at night, the drooping lines of your mother’s mouth spilling over the pages of whatever book you were trying to read.

You bit down on your tongue when a stray splinter snagged against the soft pad of your thumb, “Dad was out of town, so it was just the two of us. Mom always put me to bed when Dad was gone; said it was the only way she could get to sleep. Had to make sure my window was locked.” You paused for a long moment: everything went dark after this. Your mother kissed the top of your head, murmured, ‘Love you,’ turned out the light, and then that was it. You woke up in the hospital, and your mom was dead. 

A bead of sweat dripped onto your top lip. The air in the Beacon Hills police station was, without fail, sticky with heat and body odor—and it wasn’t just the oppressive Californian sun. Even in the winter, a person could choke on the stifling warmth. Idly, you wondered if it was a matter of interrogatory tactics or budgetary constraints. 

“And then,” Sheriff Stilinski prompted gently, though you both knew how the story went from here. You had told it to him and a dozen other officials at least a hundred times in the last four years. 

You bit down on your thumbnail and winced when your teeth snagged on the tender nail bed, “And then nothing. I opened my eyes, and a nurse said that you found me on the front lawn.” 

“You don’t remember how you got outside?” 

You shook your head, staring past the Sheriff's shoulder. Large pieces of dust floated through the air, highlighted by the slivers of light trickling through the blinds. Suddenly, you had a newfound appreciation for the lack of fans in the room. 

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his jaw, “You don’t remember saying it was an angel?”

Blinking slowly, you looked at the grim line of the Sheriff’s mouth and gripped your knees tightly, digging your fingers into fragile skin until your wrist cracked, “I should, right? I was twelve. I should remember something—that’s what everyone thinks. That’s what my dad thinks.” Your eyelids fluttered to a tight close, and your voice went so quiet you could barely be heard over the hum of the copier outside the door, “He thinks it was me. That’s why he makes you question me every year.” Copper flooded your mouth as the soft lining of your cheek split under the brunt of your teeth, “He thinks you’ll finally figure out how I did it.” 

You were scared to open your eyes as the silence stretched between the two of you. You’d danced around the subject before, hinted and spun around the heart of it, but you’d never truly discussed how it looked from the outside. Sheriff Stilinski had been kind enough to give you a few different excuses over the years: trauma, head injury, oxygen deprivation, just plain ol’ grief—but whatever caused your temporary amnesia wasn’t so conveniently explained. In fact, currently, you had no explanation at all. When you finally peeked through your lashes, clumped together with frustrated tears, you couldn’t quite figure out what expression the Sheriff was making. He leaned back in his desk chair and frowned, “I’m sure he doesn’t—”

“He does,” you cut him off. Your eyes went flinty, irises darkening to something far more ashen with the resolve of your anger. You never had any trouble reading your father’s face; the disgust was thinly-veiled between the flickers of fear. 

Sheriff Stilinksi leaned forward so that you had no choice but to look him in the eyes. They were kind—more tired than usual, but still kind. They always were. That was one thing you remembered from that day, waking up in the hospital to Sheriff Stilinski’s kind, watery blue eyes, just before the entire world fell apart. His voice was gentle, but firm, when he finally spoke, “I don’t.” 

You nodded numbly and pulled at a fraying string on the hem of your denim skirt until the thread snapped. 

“I mean it, kid. They couldn’t identify the source of the fire. They couldn’t even find an origin point; no twelve-year-old could pull that off.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, “Could anyone?”

Sheriff Stilinski’s brow furrowed, and his mouth screwed up into a crooked line, like he was chewing on his words and deciding if he should swallow them or spit them out. “I wish I had all the answers for you. I really do. Not knowing, it’s worse than any truth.”

You blinked up at him for a moment, once again taken aback by his raw sincerity, and swallowed hard. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to have the answers; he was the one who was supposed to ask the questions. There was one failure in his muggy office, and it wasn’t the Sheriff. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Not your fault.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the phone on his desk. “I have to take this, but if you remember something, or if you just need to talk—”

“My dad spends a small fortune on a psychiatrist and a behavioral therapist for that,” you stood up quickly, shouldering your bag. You forced the corners of your mouth into a small smile, tight at the edges like a sheet that had been stretched too thin, “But thank you. For everything.” 

The Sheriff’s gaze darted to a framed photo on his desk. You had seen it before, on one of your many visits to his office. It was of a boy—his son, you assumed—he looked like he was around five or six at the time. He was grinning, wide enough to show off his missing incisors, and his fingers and wrist were stained cotton-candy blue from a melting popsicle. You must’ve been that happy once, right? In the beginning, everyone was unencumbered by the weight of imminent mortality. Maybe that’s what Sheriff Stilinski was thinking, too. He looked away from the photo and gave you a small smile, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You gave a half-hearted wave before wrapping your fingers around the strap of your backpack and walking to the parking lot. 

Outside, the sky was grim, a mocking reflection of the dour expression on your face. The spite in your eyes hardened when big, fat raindrops splattered against the apples of your cheeks. For a moment, you just stood there, glaring at the rain and cursing the cosmos for their utterly unamusing sense of humor.

A jeep pulled into the parking lot, and the squealing engine startled you back into reality. The search for your car keys was, of course, a considerable endeavor. Nothing could be easy. Not here. Not today. Not ever, you thought. A bit melodramatic maybe, but the weather was certainly ripe for a bit of self-pity.

You stacked your textbooks and binders onto the hood of your sedan, haphazardly throwing your jacket on top of the pile to protect your painstakingly penned Kafka essay from the rain. By the time your fingertips brushed against the cool metal of your car keys, your hair was damp and curling at the ends. 

The momentary relief was short-lived when you pressed the unlock button five times and the accompanying beep didn’t sound, not even once. For an absurdly long minute, all you could do was rest your forehead against the driver’s side window, breathing heavily until condensation gathered next to your mouth and the drizzle speckled dots onto the sleeves of your thin cotton shirt.

“If you’re trying to charge the battery through osmosis, it’d probably be more effective to smash your head against the hood.”

You jumped, and then flinched again when your keys clattered against the ground. You caught a glimpse of the phantom speaker in the side-view mirror; bizarrely, he looked just as surprised as you felt. You turned around, trepidatiously—objects may be closer than they appear n’all—and tried to swallow your rapidly rising heart. 

“Sorry,” the boy pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down and had the decency to look contrite, “big mouth.” He rubbed a hand over his chapped lips. “It’s a real problem. It’s so big, actually, that my foot just slides right in there like…all the time,” he gestured animatedly with a flat hand, a quick sliding motion, like a fish through water.

You blinked at him, slowly, and bent down to reach for your keys, “Might wanna see someone about that. Sounds unsanitary.”

“Eh, it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” he said, eyes widening into horrified round circles the second he stopped talking. A faint flush creeped up his neck to his ears, and your heart dropped back into your chest. Slashers and ax murderers didn’t blush. Probably. You hadn’t ever met one, but it seemed like sound logic.

“Choking hazard,” you hummed, leaning back against your car. Your fingers traced a small dent in the door, the cause long forgotten, “It’s definitely still a choking hazard.”

The boy grinned before fixing his expression into something on the cusp of severity, “I’m about 95.7% sure that anything bigger than a fist is completely mouth-safe.” He held up his fist and nodded sharply, “Make that 98.3% sure.”

“98.3?” your brow arched.

“Maybe even 98.9.” 

The buzz of a lamp post hummed above your heads as you stared at each other with little smirks until the quiet made you sink your teeth into your bottom lip and big-mouth drum his fingers against his forearm. 

“So,” his sneakers squeaked against the slick asphalt as he shifted his weight, “you need a jump?”

You pursed your lips and ran your eyes over the front of your car, “I might give osmosis another shot. 30 seconds is hardly a fair trial.”

“Of course,” he hummed, “you gotta be fair.”

“We are in front of a police station.”

“Well,” he scratched his cheek, “it’s not a courthouse.”

“Technicality.” You were slightly horrified when you finally noticed that you were smiling. The sensation felt like it had escaped straight out of the uncanny valley and latched onto your face like a parasite in need of a host. It only took two weeks for muscles to atrophy; years must have completely decimated the fibers in your cheeks. “I guess I could use a jump. If your offer was an offer and not a hypothetical.” 

“Smart choice.” The boy rapped his knuckles against the hood of your car and said, “Steel’s probably pretty low on the permeability scale.”

“As opposed to a skull.”

He snorted and then nodded towards the large lump of books and papers covered by your freshly dampened jean jacket, “You should probably move your stuff. Y’know, ‘cause of the very un-permeable battery.”

“There’s that,” you sighed and started stuffing your things back into your backpack, shaking it violently until your notebook finally slid past your chemistry textbook, “and flunking English isn’t high on my list of things to do this weekend.”

His gaze flickered back and forth, rapidly cataloging every corner and crevice of your face. You tilted your head, brows pinched, and stared back at him with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. His eyes, you noticed, became a peculiar shade of brown in the yellow glow of the setting sun and the fluorescent light of the lamppost. More like honey, you realized, more like honey than irises. Something finally clicked behind them. "You,” he pointed aggressively, “you go to Beacon Hills.”

You pushed his finger away from your face with your own, “Safe bet, considering there’s exactly one option for the next 2,000 square miles.”

“You’re kind of a smartass, you know that,” he muttered. He struggled with the trunk of the jeep parked next to your car, cursing under his breath until he finally wrenched it open with an almost guttural grunt.

Your lips parted briefly, and then you grinned drolly. It was refreshing, not being treated like some fragile little creature who would buckle in the knees—or possibly set something on fire—at the slightest confrontation. “Kind of?”

“Total.” He nodded decisively before sticking his head and torso into the depths of his trunk. “Completely, entirely, and wholly a smartass.” There were various clanging sounds until he re-emerged with a pair of jumper cables, “Never noticed that in class. You don’t really…say anything.”

You bit back the snark poised on the tip of your tongue. When people looked at you, the only thing they saw was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. You were the daughter of the woman who burned to death on Cedar Street; your mom died, and you were there. It seemed like that was all you would ever be in Beacon Hills. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was better to be no one. 

High school had been your chance to slip into social obscurity—more kids, more drama, less discussion of homicide by arson—so you took it, wholeheartedly. You kept to the corners of classrooms, away from extracurriculars, and your mouth resolutely shut. 

“I try to exclusively bring the smart and leave the ass at home,” you finally replied.

The boy’s eyes drifted downwards for a moment, and his voice did a funny, squeaky thing when he said, “I should give that a go sometime.”

“10/10 would recommend. No one bugs you—and teachers never throw erasers at your face.”

“So you do remember me,” he grinned a little and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before unlatching the jeep’s hood and propping it open.

Slanting your head, you watched his profile. There were moles scattered across his cheek and neck, and his angular jaw clenched as he struggled with the knotted cords in his willowy fingers. “Vaguely,” you said faintly. It was coming back to you in pieces. That was life after twelve for you: bits and pieces. Everything was made up of the disquieting moments when you surfaced from the haze and into the present. It should’ve felt like a lungful of air, but it didn’t. It always felt like choking. 

He wiped his grease-smudged hand on his jeans and then extended it towards you, “Stiles.”

You took his hand, despite the strange formality, and shook it—mainly because of the black streaks staining his pants. “Y/N.”

His fingers twitched a few times when he connected the clamp to the coordinating battery terminal, and your eyes widened. You held your breath in your sternum until you registered that he hadn’t been electrocuted. He was just naturally tweaky, you concluded. It was either that, or he had jumped one-too-many engines in the last 24 hours…unless it was hidden option C, and he was actually tweaking. Unlikely, given he was on his way into a building teeming with cops, but far stranger things had happened in Beacon Hills.  

You sighed a little as you listened to the rain patter against the asphalt and the roof of your car, rubbing your palms over your arms until the goosebumps prickling along your biceps receded into your skin. Stiles looked back at you again, and his mouth wormed its way into a little frown. His head disappeared into his trunk, and after a moment a lumpy maroon mass hurtled towards your face. You caught it before it could smack into your nose, and you clutched at the soft material until you realized that the projectile missile was actually just a sweatshirt. 

Stiles was staring at you when you looked up from your hands. A small, unsure…something squirmed over his face, and you felt a little stupid, just standing there, hoodie limp in your arms. It happened a lot—more than it should after so many years. The invisible quicksand materialized in the strangest, most insignificant moments. You blinked, completely brainless, at simple questions, stared aimlessly into your closet until your second alarm startled you into snatching the first shirt you came across—clasped at a stranger’s hoodie until the rainwater pooled on your lashes dripped into your eyes.

Robotically, you thrust your arms through the sleeves and tugged it over your head, “Thanks.” The sweet scent of grass clung to the fabric, and there was something earthier underneath it, something like evergreen. You smiled slightly, combing your baby hairs behind your ears, “I guess I forgive you for attempting to blind me in the process.”

Stiles’s shoulders unwound as he scoffed, “That was an excellent throw. First-line material, honestly.”

You looked at him and tilted your head, eyebrows crawling towards your hairline, and Stiles sighed loudly, “Okay, so I’m not an ‘athlete’ or whatever—but I’m working on it. You’ll see—you’ll all see.”

You hummed softly, unconvinced but grateful enough to not comment further. Another bout of silence fell between you, but it wasn’t so restless this time—even after Stiles torpedoed his body through his passenger seat. He fought with his keys for a while until the correct one slid into the ignition. 

The jeep’s engine hummed pleasantly in the background as you let out a soft sigh, dropping your head back against your car window. The rain had stopped somewhere between trying to unlock your car and now, but you couldn’t quite recall when. The chill wasn’t so bad, you realized, without your foul mood casting a shadow over your head.

Stiles landed back on his feet and leaned against the jeep. You could feel his gaze on you again. A tickling sensation trailed down your spine as you fiddled with your keychain. You took a step backwards and bit your bottom lip, “I should probably try start my car…y’know, before you throw something else at my face.’”

He nodded, taking a step towards his jeep, “Solid plan. A tire iron was next.”

You slid into your car and stared at the steering wheel, forgetting to laugh at his joke. You wrapped your fingers around 10 and 2 and silently called upon every deity you’d ever heard of to end your suffering. Stiles seemed nice enough, but you seriously doubted your smalltalk capabilities were up-to ‘ride home’ standards. Perhaps, you should revisit your resounding dedication to atheism, you thought, as the engine sputtered in protest a few times and then came back to life. 

Stiles flashed two thumbs up through the window. The smile on his face was positively goofy, but his dismount from the jeep was somehow even goofier. He stumbled over his large feet a few times before regaining stability. You bit back a smile when he shot you another thumbs up, this time through the dash as he removed the jumper cables from your car’s battery.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans again; at this point, you were convinced that they were beyond saving, but Stiles didn’t seem concerned. He tapped against your window before stepping around the open door, “You should probably let it run for a while. Take the scenic route home; enjoy all the Beacon Hills hotspots open past 8:00 pm on a weeknight. I personally recommend the Rite Aid or Walmart.”

You snorted, “Maybe I’ll swing by the Preserve. I hear the woods are especially beautiful in the foreboding darkness.”

“Don’t.” Serious was an odd look on Stiles’s face. You decided that you much preferred the goofy grin. “Don’t go anywhere near the Preserve. It’s officially cordoned off—totally locked down, quarantine-zone-central. Something about flesh-eating, parasitic plant life.”

“As completely real and unobtrusive as that sounds,” you drawled, “don’t worry about it. Literally every single person in town knows about the body they found in the woods.” It was bound to happen, small town and all—and ‘woman dies in deadly animal attack’ was the most interesting thing that had happened in Beacon Hills since the intersection got a Target two years ago. “I’ve seen every installment of Friday the 13th and The Blair Witch Project. If I’m going to be murdered, I refuse to also be humiliated by a cliché C.O.D.” 

The manic expression on his face softened to a relieved smile and then again to a little smirk, “So what’s a certified fresh murder, then? Not that I doubt the depths of human depravity, but I think society killed off originality a few centuries ago.”

You thought back to a house fire with no origin, accelerant, or discernible cause. Apparently, not. “You know what they say,” you sighed, “life finds a way.”

Stiles tilted his head, “And death.”

“And death,” you agreed, staring at a small chip in your windshield. The cracks had just begun to spiderweb out from the pit. 

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, and he looked so much like the Sheriff with his face twisted around thoughtful contemplation that you couldn’t believe it had taken you this long to make the connection. The boy in the photo had grown up. How unfortunate for him. Stiles swallowed whatever it was that was lingering on his tongue and shut your door. He leaned his elbow against the window frame and cocked his hand in a stiff little wave, “Seeya at school. I’ll bring something fun for target practice—maybe grapes. You like grapes? Don’t answer that—I’ll surprise you.”

You put your car in drive once Stiles was safely a few feet from the wheels and gave him a dry smile, “The anticipation is killing me.”

What a scary place to be, you thought as you watched Stiles disappear in your rearview mirror. Anticipation. Hope. Life. You were chronically good at surviving; cockroached your way out of every horrible thing life squashed you with. Lately, all you could do was cling to your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin, until you were barely more than roadkill. A walking carcass was a far cry from living, but death would not stop for you, so you stopped looking for him. You kept treading water, took your pills, stopped existing—you were a lot like Schrödinger’s cat that way: too stubborn to live, too stubborn to die. You didn’t know what to do if someone unsealed the box and forced you to choose. That was the trouble with possibility; it required far too much uncertainty.

Your dad’s SUV was parked in the garage when you finally pulled into your circle driveway. It was a rare sight; your dead battery had disrupted your usual routine. You were supposed to be safely tucked away in your room after an early dinner—take-out usually, sometimes a quesadilla if you were feeling exceptionally inspired—by the time your dad got home from work. It was dysfunctional in every sense of the word, but it was the only way you could function in the same space. 

He used to stare at you from the other end of the dinner table: not eating, not speaking. The only way you knew he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. After a while, he moved dinner to his office. ‘Working dinner,’ he’d say in passing, ‘budgets are due.’ Eventually, he stopped coming home altogether. It was better that way, you thought. You loved each other better from afar, where the power of nostalgia could cloud all the present unpleasantries. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you now. You wondered, and you desperately didn’t want to find out.  

You shouldered your backpack and made sure your car lights were off twice before quietly creeping into the mudroom. You could hear the buzz of the microwave as you toed off your sneakers and tried to discern the smell emanating from the kitchen. Something with garlic and tomato. Bona Vita, probably. Your dad loved their al pomodoro. 

You tried to make yourself as small as possible as you skulked into the kitchen, shoulders hunched to your ears and grip tight around the strap of your backpack. Your dad’s back was to you; you could see the wrinkles in his collar from where he tugged at it when he was agitated. He stopped stirring his pasta once you reached the island. 

“Did…” your dad trailed off for a moment, still facing the kitchen counter, “did everything go alright with the Sheriff?” 

You shrugged even though he couldn’t see you, “I guess.”

“It’s just,” he rubbed at his jaw and looked down towards the oven, “it’s almost eight. I was wondering…worrying.”

He still wasn’t looking at you. You stared at the back of his head and sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. Look at me. Your brows pinched, and your back molars ground together. Look at me. 

“I called him. Sheriff Stilinski. He said that you didn’t speak for long.”

“Didn’t have anything new to say,” you shoved your hands into hoodie pockets, realizing belatedly that you forgot to give Stiles his sweatshirt back. Another problem for another time. 

“That’s not what I—” your dad grasped the lip of the counter and hung his head like it suddenly weighed too much for his spine, “I was wondering what happened to you.” 

“Oh,” you shifted your weight onto your other foot, “dead battery. I think it was the door light.”

Your dad nodded a little, “Do you need someone to pick up your car?”

“Got a jump from a friend.” Not a friend, not really, but you supposed it was the closest you’d come to one in the last four years. That was just a little too sad to say out loud. 

“Good.” He nodded again, “Good.” 

You nodded because it seemed like the only thing to do and slipped towards the hallway. You’d taken no less than five steps out of the kitchen when your dad said, “You could call me. Next time, you could call me.”

Maybe. Maybe you could if he would look at you.

[randofics]

Hey, sorry to bother you. Is there any chance you could do some more writing on the fic about being able to reach where the bots can't? Maybe them seeking out more and more chances to get help with it so they can feel them again (once again sorry to bother im not used to doing asks lol)

My first ask that I've actually finished! It took a few days, but I got it done. Hope you enjoy this anon!

Being able to reach where the bots can't Pt.2

After the men on base found out you could squeeze into Optimus's engine space and reach where they couldn't, they would call on you for assistance quite often.

Once after a battle, they were giving Optimus a thorough lookover for any serious damage when someone spotted leaking enerjon pooling underneath him. There was enough for everyone to get a bit worried. One guy spotted you walking into the hangar and yelled for you. The tone of his voice was enough for your happy face to twist with worry.

You sprinted over and bent down to look where they were pointing. Heart tightening at the sight, without hesitation, you slid underneath him to look. Finding a dripping trail of the blue fluid, you sat up on your knees and leaned against the inside of his wheel. "I need some electrical tape!" A hand tapped your side, and you grabbed the roll immediately, pulling out a long strip and tearing it off with your teeth.

Reaching up, you felt for the torn cables and hoses. Finding a matching pair, you quickly pressed the open ends together and wrapped them tightly to seal them. You did that for the other ones till you didn't see any more bleeding. Your heart racing in your chest, you leaned back against the inside of his wheel again and asked for a clean cloth. You wiped your hands clean and gently cleaned any surface of his engine that had drying enerjon.

His shocks creaked as the tension in his frame was released. The cables still hurt, but with your gentle touch, that was quickly forgotten.

-------

Crosshairs didn't like the feeling of things stuck in his plating, but if it meant possibly getting you to touch him in order to remove it, then he could tolerate it. Now he didn't do it on purpose it really was accidental. Nevertheless, he called you over for some assistance in removing the offending plant matter.

Once again, you leaned over into his engine space and felt around for anything out of place. Feeling the soft texture of a leaf, you touched your way down to the branch it was attached to and gave it a tug. You managed to pull it free, but the end was broken off somewhere inside the mechanics of his engine.

He was too low to the ground for you to slip underneath, so you called another person nearby to get you a set of carjacks. A minute or two later, they ran up with two heavy jacks in hand. Laying on the concrete, you felt underneath his bumper for parts of his frame you could use to lift him. Sliding the jacks into position, you cranked them both a bit at a time till his front end was up high enough for you to safely slip underneath.

Flashlight in hand, you scanned the underside of his engine for the green of leaves. Spotting one poking out, you slowly pulled it till the rest of the branch came free. "Is that all of it?"

"Yeah, that feels like all of it." With that, you slid out from underneath him tossing the branch to the side and starting to release the jacks. They slowly racked down till he was on his wheels, and you pulled them away.

He transformed and tested his movements a bit. With a grumbled thank you from him, you went on with your previous work.

-------

Bumblebee had a plan in motion. He'd purposefully gotten dirty so you would help clean him. He waited outside the hangar for you to arrive and honked his horn to grab your attention.

When you saw him rolling towards you, absolutely caked in mud, you had to do a double take. "What in the world did you get into bee?" You chuckle, shaking your head at his antics.

"Can you.. wash.. me?"

"You have a wash station inside bee. Why do you want me to wash you?"

A voice clearly from an old movie answered you. "It's gotten old darling"

"So you just want to change things up a bit?"

A happy whirring answered you. You sighed. "Well, I suppose I have the time. Just park by the wash station so the hose can reach you. I'll grab some stuff."

"So, do you want the water cold or hot?"

🎶"Shawty fire burnin' fire burnin'."🎶

You let out a snort at his music reference. "Ok, hot it is." You sprayed him down, trying to remove as much dried mud as possible before using the sponges. Surprisingly, you got almost everything off with the hose alone. Dunking a sponge into your bucket of warm soapy water, you splashed soap over his hood, following behind with circular motions. Scrubbing anything too stubborn with a wet cloth.

He was definitely enjoying this. Your hands all over him and the warm water running over his plating. It was over too soon, though, and you dumped the bucket in the nearby drain after giving him a thorough spray down to remove any leftover suds.

"Sorry bee, you'll have to get your undercarriage cleaned in the wash station. It's too hard for me to wash under there."

"That's alright."

He watched you walk away through a set of double doors nearby and then drove into the wash station, letting it blast his undercarriage with cool water.

You chuckled to yourself as you walked down the hallway. You knew exactly why he'd gotten so dirty, and you thought it was cute how he tried to play it off.

-------

Rachet had gone out with Bumblebee and Raf after Optimus suggested he take a break from the deskwork to stretch his "legs". He'd grumbled about it but relented. When he returned, there was some mud splattered on his plates that he didn't pay any mind to. When Arcee commented on it, he brushed her off, saying that he'd get cleaned up later.

You arrived at base after bee picked you up from work. And as soon as you saw the grumpy medic standing at his desk with mud on his white and rusty red paint, you rolled your eyes. Figures he'd be too engrossed in work to even shower.

Motherly instincts taking over you called his name with no response. A little louder the second time. "Rachet!" He didn't look at you, but this time, he answered. "What? I'm busy!"

"You need to wash off."

"Can't right now, there's too much to do."

"Rachet, I will spray you if I have to."

"Sorry, still too busy."

You let out an annoyed growl. Then, an idea popped into your head. You ran off to find some tools.

Slightly out of breath, you placed the buckets on the floor behind rachet and dragged an extra long hose to the same spot after hooking it to a nearby spicket. Turning on the water, you ran to the end with the spray nozzle and, without warning, sprayed him in the back. He jumped, letting out a yelp at the cold water. Whipping around, he glared down at you.

"Hey, I tried to warn you. Now transform so I can get all that dry mud off you." He rolled his optics, letting out a grumble of annoyance. Relenting, he transformed, and you smiled in satisfaction.

"Just be quick about it." You got to work spraying him down and sudsing him up. You had to sit on your knees on his tire to reach the center of his hood. Your chest pressing into him as you reached for the awkward spot. Internally, he was freaking out about it.

This definitely felt nicer than the wash station, though, and eventually, he was relaxing on his shocks, enjoying your thorough cleaning.

Once you'd finished his chassis and tires, you put on some swimming goggles and slid under his side. He'd been so entranced by your touch on his panels that he hadn't even noticed you slip underneath him. When he felt your touch on his undercarriage, he jolted forward an inch in surprise.

"Woah, Rachet!"

"Sorry, I didn't realize you were under there." He tried to speak as normal as possible, but you noticed the slight crack in his voice. Gently, you started scrubbing the cables and other parts that made up his undercarriage. You immediately took note of how tense he'd become and listened to any sounds he made.

He kept as quiet as possible, but he was definitely feeling things he hadn't in a few centuries. Luckily, no one was in the main room of the base at the moment. Even so, he didn't want you or anyone else to hear the noises his body was trying to produce.

You could, every once in a while, make out stifled grunts and groans, which made you grin mischievously. Eventually, though, you had completely cleaned every inch of his undercarriage that your small hands and the cloth you used would allow. So reluctantly, you slid out from under him soaked with soap and grime all over.

You stretched, removing the goggles and ringing out some water from the bottom of your shirt. "Woo! Now I need a shower." He transforms, looking himself over for a moment. "Ahem, thank you, y/n." He held his fisted servo over his mouth, looking anywhere but at you. "I could tell you enjoyed yourself." He looked at you wide optics, and you grinned up at him, giving a wink and walking away to take a shower of your own.

[snitchcrimsonwrites]

Maybe pt. 2

Pairing: Norm MacLean X Female Reader or OC

Former friends to a relationship?

Life is pretty easy in Vault 33 until you're trying to rekindle a former friendship and raiders attack. Now, our main characters are trying to navigate newfound feelings all while undercovering the mysteries of Vault 33. Stay tuned. Follows the main storyline of season 1; some events may be reordered for plot.

Some of the conversation feels a little clunky, but we want these two to make up and move on, right?

Part 1 Here Part 7 Here Part 12 Here

Part 3 Here Part 8 Here

Part 4 Here Part 9 Here

Part 5 Here Part 10 Here

Part 6 Here Part 11 Here

Norm hates this feeling. Laying in bed, he can feel his stomach twisted in knots. This gut-wrenching feeling has kept him up most of the night, realizing he’s got to make a decision. As far as he’s deduced from his sleepless night of pondering, he’s got two primary options. 

Option A. He pretends yesterday’s conversation with (Y/N) never happened, and they continue exchanging small talk, pleasantries, and those awkward neighbor half-waves until the end of time. The scaredy cat in him prefers this option. It avoids confrontation and maintains the status quo they’ve held for the last couple of years. It is simple and lacks any unnecessary entanglements. Things just go on according to plan. He’s done it before, it can easily be done again. 

OR he can proceed with Option B to confront (Y/N) about what she said in the cafeteria yesterday. This option has sparked his curious side. Cause that entire interaction was odd, wasn’t it? Norm had so many questions, but are they worth pursuing? Opening that can of worms could lead to more problems, more decisions, and fewer answers. No. He needed to know. Curiosity might just kill the cat, but at least he’d be able to sleep at night. 

(Y/N) worked in one of the maintenance labs as Vault 33’s official Pip-Boy Programmer—one of the perks of doing well on the Vault G.O.A.T exams. Norm was eager, planning to stop by the lab first thing before he headed to his desk. Unless someone had major issues with their Pip-Boy, they’d probably have the lab to themselves that early. Alright, it was decided. He threw off the certified Vault-Tec comforter, climbed out of bed, and headed toward the shower to get ready. 

—--------------------

You were already at your desk, pretending to be occupied, when Norm MacLean appeared in the doorway of the lab, leaning on the doorframe and fiddling with his Pip-Boy. Truth be told, you were half-expecting him, especially after yesterday. But maybe not this soon. You were hoping he’d stew on this decision for at least a day.

“Good Morning, Norm. Pip-Boy on the fritz?” you ask, knowing full well that the reason he was here had nothing to do with his Pip-Boy. Even if his Pip-Boy was malfunctioning, Norm was more than capable of taking care of that repair without your assistance. 

“Yeah, I think I’m having some software issues. Do you think you could do a diagnostic run for me?” 

You smile, “Of course. If you wouldn’t mind taking it off and filling out the repair form, I can start right away.” 

He complies, handing you his Pip-Boy and taking the clipboard with the attached Vault-Tec paperwork. As he starts on the paperwork, he estimates he’s got roughly twenty minutes of fake errand cover to work with. 

You attach the Pip-Boy to the diagnostic cable running from your computer, load up the program, and wait. “It will just be a few minutes to get a full picture of what’s going on,” you reassure him. 

“That’s fine. My supervisor knows I was having a few issues with it this morning,” Norm says, barely looking up from the clipboard. 

The two of you fall into awkward silence, neither wanting to be the first to break it. 

You relent. “Hey, I’m sorry if yesterday made you uncomfortable. I know we haven’t spoken much at all lately, but I heard about what happened from Reg, and I just couldn’t stop myself from coming over. It wasn’t right of me to use your situation as my catharsis, especially since we had that failing out. I should have respected that. We can continue on as we were, friendly neighbors in the same Vault.” The words stuck in your throat on the way out. That’s not what you wanted, but if that’s what Norm came here to say, better get it out of the way sooner. 

Oof, now he felt terrible. Norm should have known you’d apologize for thinking you made him uncomfortable. That’s your nature. You’ve always been empathic to the needs of your friends. He needs to come clean. 

“I never wanted that.” 

I’m sorry. What did he say? He never wanted that. To stop being friends? Your brain was going a mile a minute, swirling with questions, too many to vocalize at once. Thankfully, Norm elaborated before you even tried. 

“I never wanted to stop being friends, but the closer we got to graduation, the more effort you seemed to put into exams and passing, being the best in the class. You had ambitions and goals, and (Y/N) you could achieve them. You didn’t need to be dragged down by the Black Sheep of Vault 33.” He tries not to think about his label, and usually, it doesn’t bother him. But right now,  it weighs on him; it feels laminated across his forehead, defining him. 

“Norman,” you manage to sigh out. “I’ve always admired that about you. That’s what I meant yesterday. I wish I had the confidence to act that way before now; I’m sure I’d be much happier. After my dad passed away, I wasn’t sure how I was going to navigate,” you gesture to the air around you, "everything. I was on my own, and subconsciously, I picked up on the reality that the better I did in that classroom or for the Vault, the more control I thought I could have over my life.” 

She didn’t need to explain. He knew exactly what she meant. It is kind of an unspoken rule of Vault 33. Obviously, those who did well on their exams got matched into the most coveted jobs within the vault, but those placements also impacted other situations. Those higher-achieving students had more say in when and to whom they were married, more access to leadership positions, and the list goes on. 

“I had no idea how my life would go, but at least I knew I wanted a hand on the steering wheel. I mean, I’m not sure if I actually want to be married or if that’s part of the programming to be in a relationship, but whatever happens, I want it to at least feel as though I made the decision." You pause and add, "Seriously, could you imagine if I got stuck having to marry Chad Johnston?” 

Norm snorted. The juxtaposition of his former classmates as a married couple was hilarious. Those two couldn’t be more opposites. “Well, at least he’d have someone to teach him to read,” he managed between laughs. 

This garnered a snicker from you as well. “Haha, you’re hilarious,” you say in the most sarcastic tone you can muster. “So, what do you think? Can we act like adults and finally move on? Or do we double down on whatever self-destructive tendencies we’ve got going on here?” 

“Hmmm, I don’t know about you, but I’m really leaning into that second one.” He pauses and puts his hand to his chin. “On the other hand, it might be nice to have lunch with someone I’m not related to.”

DING. “Vault-Tec Pip-Boy diagnostic program is now complete, no issues were detected.” 

You both smile. “Well, it looks like the software issues seemed to have resolved themselves.” 

“Isn’t technology incredible?” Norm asks as he stands to leave. 

[qveerthe0ry]

Truth or Consequences

Summary: You know deep down the hatred is only for himself and the turmoil he’s got boiling inside of him. Why else would he be paying to see you every week? Word Count: 3,442 Pairing: Ted Garcia x ftm! reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, dom/sub dynamic, mild humiliation/degredation, (LOTS of) dirty talk, internalized homophobia, reader uses the f slur and t slur to refer to himself, sucking the strap, rough oral sex, deepthroating, coming untouched, paying for sex, reader has top surgery scars but no other physical descriptions, no use of y/n, Ted Garcia is a republican A/N: I literally could not have done this without @for-a-longlongtime hyping me up and giving me motivation. Thank you bby <3

It’s late. It always is. You’ve been holed up in this hotel room for the last hour and a half. Waiting. 

You don’t like when he makes you wait. He knows this, and perhaps it’s why he’s never shown up on time. 

At least there’s Coke Zero in the minibar, and enough cable channels to keep you entertained. 

But you click the TV off when you hear the familiar “knock-knockknock-knock” on the hotel room door. 

You take your time straightening yourself up in the mirror, knowing he’s sweating it out in the hallway, where anyone could see. 

It’s a small town. 

You cut off his second attempt at the secret knock and tug him in by the collar of his tacky leather vest.

His eyes grow wide and he flinches when the heavy door slams shut behind him. 

It’s cute, how he always seems so frightened. 

“Took your sweet time tonight.”

He clears his throat and blinks hard before his pretty lips part. 

“Secretary lost part of my speech— ”

His sentence cuts off with a high-pitched whine when you grab his jaw to manually shut his mouth. You click your tongue at him and feel his Adam's apple bob against your wrist. 

“Try again.”

You notice his chest heaving, and you feel his jaw work under your fingertips. 

“I— I’m sorry.”

Fuck, he looks so good like this, scared shitless and tenting his faded Wrangler blue jeans. 

You release his jaw, but grab onto the curls at the nape of his neck and tug. 

“Not quite.”

He curses, eyes shut tight. 

“I’m sorry, sir.”

You chuckle and watch as the noise goes straight to his cock. 

“That’s it, there he is. You have to mind your manners, Mr.Mayor. Don’t you wanna get re-elected?”

He whimpers and nods his head, and your fingers tighten their grip in his hair. 

“Yes sir, I do.”

You hum as you let your free hand find those curls at the nape of his neck, too. You thread your fingers together at the back of his head and watch his tense expression melt into something more relieved. 

“Tell me your safe word.”

With a shuddered breath, he speaks. 

“Insurrection.”

“And if your pretty mouth is full?”

His hand finds your waist, tapping three times in a row. 

“Good boy,” you mumble, ruffling his hair. 

You watch as his skin flushes, trickling from under his collar to spread across his face. 

His hand is still on your waist. You grab it slowly, then all at once torque on his arm so he twists away from you with a yelp. You crowd him from behind, get your other hand around his elbow, and kick the back of his knee.

He collapses onto the gaudy carpet with a groan, arching his back to relieve the tension in his shoulders where you’ve still got his arms in a death grip behind him. 

You love to watch him squirm around. 

“You know the drill, Mayor.”

You release your hold on him and watch some of the tension melt away. He digs around in his pocket and comes up with his phone, as always, letting his face unlock it for you. He sets it down on the bed in front of him, then holds his hands behind his back with amusing obedience. 

“Pretty quiet tonight. Nervous?”

He shakes his head immediately, a knee-jerk reaction. You’re behind him, so you can’t see his face, but you know his eyebrows are all pinched up. You know he’s lying. 

You weave your fingers through his curls once more and tug so he’s looking up at you. 

“Why are you lying to me?”

His lips part, pretty pink tongue peeking out to wet them. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I am nervous. Big day tomorrow.”

You’re well aware of the events to take place over the next 24 hours. His last big speech before the town either votes him out or keeps him around. You don’t dwell over politics, especially not now, but you’re well aware that the polls are leaning toward the former rather than the latter. 

“Poor baby,” you coo, “I can’t imagine why you’d be nervous.”

Your fingers twist a cruel motion in his hair and he whines, tries to worm his way out of your grip. 

“You’re just the best little Mayor there ever was, aren’t you? Pouring more funding into the corrupt police department…” 

You stroke his face with your free hand, and though it’s tender, he flinches at first contact.

“Tweeting about the evil gay agenda…” 

Your thumb finds his chin, then his plush bottom lip, and you hold his mouth open as he squeezes his eyes shut. 

“How about that secretary of yours? The one who’s salary doubled in your four years in office, huh? Does she know you come to see me every week?”

He doesn’t respond, just makes a pathetic little noise in the back of his throat. You pull his hair again. 

“Answer me.”

“No! No, sir, she doesn’t.”

His words come out a little garbled where you’re holding his bottom lip. You hook your thumb behind his front teeth and slowly drag down, until his mouth is wide open. His eyelids flutter, just in time to watch you spit into his gaping mouth, stray droplets landing on his nose and cheeks and chin. 

“You don’t tell her about us, Mr.Mayor? Are you ashamed of me?”

He curses, struggles in your hold, and you let him go. Though he keeps his hands together behind his back, he tilts his head forward, presents the back of his neck to you. It’s flushed, in this twisted mix of shame and arousal that always gets him off. 

“Yes sir, I am.”

You huff, tut at him and kick at the sole of one of his Lucchese cowboy boots. 

“Well that’s not very nice.”

He makes to lift his head up and look at you, but you shove his head back down. 

“Why don’t you just sit here for a minute and think about how you can make it up to me, huh?”

“Yes sir,” he nods. 

You let out a satisfied hum and grab your bag from the foot of the bed. Closing the bathroom door behind you, you get to work suiting up for the occasion. This is your favorite part, taking your time and letting him anticipate. You know he’s on-edge out there, waiting for you, wondering how you’re going to punish him this time. 

You’ve railed him within an inch of his life, sat on his face until he’s nearly blue, edged him for so long you almost made him late for an early morning meeting. But tonight, you’ve got just the thing, know exactly what to do to make sure he’s thinking about it until the next time he comes to see you. 

You look in the mirror when you’re ready, jeans pulled back up so only your largest, most obscene strap-on is hanging out of your fly. Your flannel shirt hangs open, top surgery scars on full display. You know he likes them, and you know he hates that. 

You slowly and quietly open the bathroom door. A smirk spreads across your face when Ted is right there where you left him, shaking a bit, but otherwise perfectly still. 

His breath hitches in the quiet hotel room when he feels you reclaim you space behind him. You chuckle, and he curses, and you wonder if this will ever get less fun. 

“You really hurt my feelings, Teddy Bear.” 

He grumbles at the nickname you’ve given him. He’s not so fond, but you think there’s a ring to it. 

“Sorry, sir.” 

“Look at me, Mayor.” 

Despite the show of reluctance he’s put on, his head snaps up and back to look at you. His nostrils flare, and you know deep down the hatred is only for himself and the turmoil he’s got boiling inside of him. Why else would he be paying to see you every week?

You swear you see his pupils grow even larger when his gaze lands on the monster of a cock in front of his face. If that wasn’t enough, his tongue swipes over his bottom lip and quickly retreats, like his morals are just a second behind his horny little brain.

Your yes flick past his head to his phone, still unlocked on the bed. You grab it and hum, act like you’re going through his apps just to watch the way he squirms on his knees for you. 

You finally open the camera, and the little blip sounds and lets him know you’re recording. 

He looks great on tape like this, looking up at you with his wide, brown eyes. The bulge in his jeans is even more prominent since they’re such a light wash, and the lens even picks up on the tiny little patch of dampness that soaks through the denim. 

You pull the phone up, angle it down a bit more so your dick is on display, eclipsing the view of his face. The pale silicone contrasts beautifully with his flushed and tan skin. You take it in hand, stroke it a few times, though your fingers can’t quite wrap around the entire thing. 

Ted’s squirming in the near background, shifting from knee to knee, and you think he’s waited long enough. 

You step forward, and he opens his mouth. You chuckle and grab his jaw, run your thumb along his wet lip. 

“Eager little beaver, aren’t you, Mayor?”

On camera, you watch him tear away his gaze from your prick to your face. His forehead wrinkles up, he doesn’t want to answer. 

“Don’t get camera shy, baby. Let’s see your manners.”

His mouth finally closes, and he swallows and clears his throat. 

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir, what?”

He tries to look down, but you keep his jaw firmly in place. His nostrils flare again, but the camera also picks up the way his hips shift forward, his straining cock begging for relief against his fly.

“Yes sir, I’m eager.”

You hum. 

“Eager for what, Teddy Bear?” 

His jaw clenches, you can feel it under your palm. 

“Eager for your cock, sir.”

You nod silently, and his eyes flicker up to your face instead of the phone. 

And then you release his jaw, grab the base of your cock, and slap him with the cold silicone. 

The noise he makes is pathetic, all strung out and desperate, and so you do it again, and again, until a phallic red streak adorns his face. 

“This what you wanted my cock for?”

He nods quickly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah? Want me to leave a bruise? Want the shape of my cock on your face for the whole town to see tomorrow?”

A sound escapes his throat like he’s just got the wind knocked out of him, and he opens his mouth to answer, but you don’t let him. Instead, you smack his shiny lips with the head your dick. 

“I know you do, Mr.Mayor. I know you want everyone to see what a good little cocksucker you are.” 

His tongue reaches out to press against your cock, swirl around the large mushroom head of it.

“Yeah, that’s it. Get it nice ‘n wet.”

He does, lets saliva pool in his mouth and then sinks his mouth further down, pulling back to reveal what a dutiful job he’s done with drool slipping from the corner of his mouth. 

“Imagine if this got leaked, Ted,” you murmur.

He whines, opens his mouth once more to take you in, even further this time, but still barely past the head. 

“You’d like that? You think you’d get more votes if they knew how good you are at this?”

He nods around your prick, looking directly at the camera, and fuck, it’s a sight, makes a low heat build in your gut that you try your damndest to ignore. 

So you thrust into his mouth, a slow but smooth motion, watching through the phone how wide you’re stretching his lips. He takes a deep breath through his nose until he can’t anymore, until you’re feeding the tip of your cock down his throat and he closes his eyes in focus. 

“Fuck, yeah, I think they’d love this,” you say, and you’re completely sheathed inside him, holding, waiting until he can’t take it anymore. 

He pulls back with a gasp and you let him, watching his spit dribble from his mouth, loving the deeper shade of red his lips are turning. 

“Don’t you think so, Teddy Bear? You’re so inclusive now, sucking off a faggot and a tranny.” 

He chokes on his spit, sputters and coughs until his face is red. But he whimpers, too, and he tries so hard to wiggle in his jeans and find even the smallest bit of friction. 

You laugh at him, how desperate and wrecked he looks just from sucking on your fake cock. The damp patch on his pants has doubled in size and something about it makes you feel so so powerful. 

“Tell ‘em how much you like my cock, Mayor.”

He clears his throat and looks directly at the camera. 

“I love your cock, sir.”

As soon as he’s done speaking, you run the slick tip all over his lips. 

“Yeah you do. Look so pretty with it in your mouth. Why don’t you take off all those layers? Show ‘em how pretty you can be?”

“Yes sir,” he nods.

He’s quick about it, throwing his vest off and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt until it’s hanging off his shoulders. It goes, and his tank top underneath does as well once he gets it untucked. 

And then he’s just in his sinfully tight jeans, looking up at you with a heaving chest. 

“That’s a good boy,” you mumble. 

He sits back on his heels with a sigh. 

“Thank you, sir.”

It’s a little tender, the way you smooth your free hand across his broad shoulder, the soft muscle jumping under your touch. You film the way his breath hitches when your palm ghosts his pebbled nipple, then the way he shudders when you flick it. 

“You really are so pretty, Mr.Mayor. Love how these get so hard for me,” you tell him as you roll one between your thumb and finger. 

His head lolls back, and his mouth opens around a groan when you squeeze. You give the other one just as much attention, until you feel him trembling under you. 

Then, you reach up to wrap your hand around his bobbing throat, no pressure, just for show. 

“Hmmm… think maybe we should get you a collar. Make you even prettier. Would you like that, too?”

He nods with his eyes shut. You give him a moment to realize where he’s at, but when it’s clear he’s lost in his head, you slap his cheek. 

“Yes! Yes, yes sir, I would.”

His glassy eyes stare up at you, past his recording phone. 

“Yeah, have you wear it to all your fancy meetings, let all your constituents know who you really belong to.”

You hear him gulp, loud in the quiet room, and watch him squirm around some more, watch how his cock jumps in his jeans. 

“Who do you belong to? Who owns this mouth, and that weeping little cock?” 

“You do, sir. It’s all yours.”

“That’s right, Mr.Mayor. Let me take what’s mine, huh?” 

He opens his mouth with a slack jaw, and his eyes looks so beautiful when they roll back as you fill his mouth. 

Instead of thrusting, you grab a fistful of his hair and pull him into your cock. He keens around the silicone, so fucking needy. You curse and whisper his name, and that only gets more of a reaction from him. He’s humping the air now, a frantic roll of his hips, and you know he’s found that sweet spot where his jeans rub against him just right.

For a moment you let him go at his own pace. On camera, the bobbing of his head and the jerks of his hips are synced. His eyes are shut, and he’s really fucking into it, and as much as you hate to admit it, you are too. 

The silicone base of your cock is pressing up against the perfect spot to get you heated. It doesn’t take long for you to still Ted’s head with a firm grip and start fucking his mouth. 

He looks up at you just as he gags. His eyes are starting to water, and his chin is covered in drool. You thrust harder, deeper, until his eyes look a bit frantic and his breathing gets labored. 

“Fuck, Mayor, you’re gonna get me off like this,” you say as you slow, give him a bit of a break to catch his wind. 

He whimpers, and he closes his spread legs and rubs them together, aching for a bit more. 

“You like that? You wanna make me come?”

His ‘yes sir’ is muffled around your cock, and it jiggles in the harness when he nods his head and that feels so fucking good. 

“Get me off and then I’ll let you come. Gotta do it just like that, though. Don’t fucking touch yourself, Ted.”

He whimpers and doubles his effort, sloppy, knocking the huge cock all around to try to get you off with his panicked movements. You watch through the camera as the muscles in his arms and shoulders and chest all tense up, and you can’t tell whether or not he’s trying to come or trying not to come. 

You’re getting close, the sweaty glide of the smooth base flicks against your throbbing bud. Your own breathing starts to pick up, and you’re so close but it’s just not quite enough. 

So you grab the back of his head and thrust, slip the silicone to the back of his throat and grind until you finally, finally tumble over the edge. 

He’s gagging and coughing with the prick still in his mouth, and the tears are running down his face one right after the other and it only makes those waves keep crashing in a delicious rhythm. 

When you pull back, just a bit, there’s teeth marks on your cock, shiny with spit on the video recording. You give another thrust just to punish him for it, and it sets off a fucking gorgeous chain reaction.

It ripples from his head to his toes. His breaths are more than labored, evident even when his shoulders shake and stiffen, his stomach clenches and unclenches and his hips jolt and stutter as he squeezes his legs together. 

You pull your cock from his mouth just in time to kneel down and get a close up of his jeans, and the way that wet spot gets larger and larger as his cock jerks and his hips roll. 

The sounds he makes are so fucking pathetic it’s almost funny, whimpering and sniveling as he just keeps coming, spurt after spurt absolutely soiling his pants. 

His legs shake with the last few pulses, and then he’s slumping, completely ruined from head to toe. You lean back on your own knees so the camera gets an Oscar-worthy pan of his stomach and chest, heaving and sweaty. Up even further to his freshly fucked mouth, all red and shiny and swollen. And his eyes, wide and almost scared looking in his post-nut clarity and guilt, don’t quite meet you or the lense. 

“Smile real pretty for the camera, Teddy Bear.” 

And to his credit, he does, though it’s anything but genuine and much more resembles a grimace than anything else. 

The sound of the recording ending marks the end of this little session as well. Both sets of bones pop and crack as you stand up together. The dressing is quiet, as it always is, and he doesn’t steal a single glance at anything other than the tacky hotel room carpet. 

He clears his throat, and you look up from buttoning your shirt to see him still flushed and still guilty. He’s dressed, but he’s holding his vest in front of him and shielding the soaked spot on his jeans from view. 

“Thanks, I guess.” 

You hum and shrug as he grabs the door handle. 

“Same time next week?”

He shrugs then, too, but you know the answer already, know that next Monday you’ll have another bundle of taxpayer dollars come through on your venmo. 

He leaves without another word. 

When you watch his speech on the news the next day, his voice is noticeably more hoarse and gruff.

[howlingday]

Jaune Arc fell into ice. That's the last thing he remembered. Now he's in a strange grove with spirits watching him all the time.... He thinks they might be broken.

Team RWBY are faunas researchers who've found the discovery of the century. A human man still alive in ice. It's a contested theory that ancient humans eventually evolved into faunas and with a member of the previously thought extinct species they might just be able to prove it. Now how to get closer to him

(tldr stone age jaune dealing with modern day faunas RWBY being horny on main for him. The spirits must be crazy)

Last Man Standing

The last thing Jaune remembered that cold winter evening was sulking across the ice to get away from his cheating ex-girlfriend. What was supposed to be a romantic night of welcoming in the new year instead became the worst heartbreak of his life, made worse when she called him out as a spineless nobody that no woman would ever want. She also said his hair looked shaggy, which didn't hurt as much as the betrayal itself, but it still stung.

Then everything got fast. Then everything got cold. And then everything got dark.

When he awoke, he took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling a sweet scent of strawberries. His eyes still shut; he leaned forward to get closer to the smell. This earned him a yelp, a slap, and a scream. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a girl in a red hood running around the corner. Did she have dog ears?

"Where..." Jaune groaned as he leaned forward, noticing the hot air blowing over him. Though he was still partially frozen in ice, he managed to push his way through the, at best, hard slush of his cocoon. He looked down to see his clothes were soaked. "Ah, man..."

"I'm telling you, Weiss, I know what I saw!"

"Ruby Rose, the specimen has been frozen for at least a thousand years! Even if he did manage to thaw out, he wouldn't... be..."

The two young women stared at Jaune as he twisted his hoodie like a used dishrag, water spilling onto the floor. He turned and saw them, his eyes nearly as wide as theirs as they stared at one another.

For Jaune, he'd never seen anyone like them before! It was like something out of an anime. Two beautiful girls, one with pointed, dog-like ears, while the other had a long and bushy tail twitched back and forth. For them-

"CODE GRAY!" Screamed the tailed girl. She then rushed out of the room, dragging the other girl behind her. The dog-eared one glanced back with sort of sad eyes. None of it sounded good to Jaune, and considering the wailing sirens and flashing lights, he had to get out of wherever he is and fast!

Tossing on his still damp shirt, he made for the exit, accidentally knocking over a poor girl with rabbit ears. He gave a hasty apology as he continued to bolt down the hallway. Unfortunately, this caught more people's attention, and eventually a woman came barreling after him, hand on her beret to keep from flying off her small, round ears. He couldn't see much of her eyes past her designer shades, but what he could see spelled death.

"Incoming!" Jaune looked ahead, flipping backwards as his neck slammed into an extended arm. He gave a hoarse groan as he looked up to see three women towering over him. One was the same woman as before with round ears poking from her beret, the cute appearance contrasting with her snarling scowl. Another had gave a cheeky grin as she leaned forward a bit, showing off her cleavage to her catch, all the while a long, blonde tail swished about.

But the third and final woman gave no hint of any sort of emotion. Neither anger nor joy, but simple indifference. She reached behind her and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, tethered by a thick cable with glowing blue lights that ceased and revealed an opening with the click of a button. Her pointed, red dog-like ears made her look all the more intimidating.

"You're under arrest."

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Bloodied Hands

Summary: Colter Shaw x Fe!Reader -> When you get hurt on a case, Colter stays with you.

Disclaimer: I don't really know what this is. Mostly caring fluff with a little angst, I suppose. Descriptions of blood, surgery, being in hospital. Not proof read.

Having felt a familiar hand on your arm, you woke up to find Colter stood over you. 

“I need to change your bandage.” 

Too tired to reply, you nodded and he helped you sit up before, slowly, you lifted the hem of your t-shirt to allow him access to your stomach. 

Colter was careful when he unravelled the old bandage, and he was doubly careful when he cleaned your wound and redressed it. 

His fingers were light against your skin, trying their best to avoid hurting you. 

“There. Done.”

“Stay with me?” You asked, opening your eyes long enough to take a mental image of his face. 

He nodded after a moment. “Let me just get rid of these.”

He was back less than thirty seconds later, walking to the opposite side of his bed. 

“Come here,” he said in a low voice. 

Every movement you made was slow, but he waited. He would wait a lifetime if he had to. 

Taking you into his side, your hand clung to his arm as they wrapped around you, your back toon propped against his chest. 

“Anything else hurting?”

You shook your head a little. “I just want to sleep.”

“Okay,” Colter replied before absentmindedly kissing your temple. “You sleep?”

“Stay with me?”

“Always.”

It wasn’t long before your breathing became even and the tensed weight in his arms softened, drifting into a hopefully dreamless sleep. 

But Colter remained awake. He couldn’t help but have his brain run over the last week. From when you surprised him at his trailer, dressed in a raincoat and carrying a foil covered dish. 

Reenie had called you, telling you Colter was in the area and since he didn’t know you had moved, you decided to surprise him. 

However, when Teddi and Velma called only a few minutes later, it turned out you knew the family considering you were the one to last treat their animals. 

That night, you helped Colter with some research. Bobby would still be asleep and since you and Colter had nothing better to do than talk and catch up, you pulled out his laptop and began researching. 

Colter smiled at the memory, seeing you easily get into his laptop. 

You had grilled him slightly for using the same password as he did years prior. 

That night, you fell asleep on his bed. But rather than wake you, offering to drive you home, he pulled a spare blanket from his cupboard and covered your body. 

By the time you woke up in the morning, you were alone. But there was no surprise there. You figured Colter still went on his morning runs. 

He called it a morning run. You called it torture. 

By the time he got back, you were pulling on a pair of grey cable knit socks and tucking your yellow t-shirt into your jeans. 

“Have you seen my-”

Colter found your hair clip on the side. “This?”

“Yes.”

Plucking it from his hands, you moved to find a mirror and twisted your hair around your fingers before clipping it back. 

If Colter knew less than a week later he’d be carrying that clip in a bag of your belongings…it wouldn’t have changed anything. But it made him think. 

Eventually, Colter and yourself managed to track the stolen animals to a farm across town. They had a couple of abandoned sheds a couple of acres away. Only, yourself and Colter had gotten separated. 

And just as he was talking one of the thief’s down from murder, you were fighting for your life, surrounded by caged animals. 

By the time your attacker, and the second thief, ran outside, he was met with police cars and armed officers. 

Inside the first barn hadn’t just been animals, but also enough drugs to warrant a ten year prison sentence, minimum. 

Only, as Colter was talking to the sheriff, he mentioned you. 

“And where is your partner? We’d like her to check the animals over before we take them back to their owners.”

“Yeah, she’s…”

Colter looked round and finally spotted you. Except, something was different. Wrong. 

He called your name, but you barely heard him. All you could do was look at your hands. 

“C-colter.”

That was all it took for him to start running across to you. 

“Hey, what- oh my god. Medic! Someone call an ambulance! Hey, hey, hey, what happened?”

All you could do was say his name again before you felt your legs grow weak and your body drop. But he caught you. Barely. 

“Whoa, hey, hey, okay. Take it easy. Hey, y/n? Y/n, I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

“It’s gonna take a while before an ambulance can get out here.”

Colter looked you over. The sheriff was right. And you might not last that long. 

“Put her in my car. I can get you there in half the time.”

Colter nodded, moving his eyes back to you. “I need you to stay with me, okay? This is gonna hurt, but we’re gonna get you to a hospital.”

You nodded, weakly. 

“Put your arm around me.”

Within seconds, Colter was carrying you to the Sheriff’s car and getting into the back seat with you. 

Half way, you passed out, so you couldn’t remember much until you woke up in the hospital a few days later. 

But Colter could. 

He was applying pressure to your wound, your blood swirling over his hand whilst his mother cradled your head and tried to keep you awake. He called your name. Louder still when you passed out. 

It was a whirlwind, pulling up outside the hospital and carrying you inside whilst the Sheriff called for a doctor. 

A bed was brought over immediately and you got rushed into the OR. They forced both Colter and the Sheriff to stay behind the doors and all Colter could do was stand there, watching you be wheeled away. 

A few hours later, a training nurse walked over and handed him a bag of your things. And his mind went blank. 

“Shouldn’t- shouldn’t she have her stuff?”

The nurse nodded. “We’re waiting on a room for her, but it’s best if you keep hold of her things. That way they don’t get lost.”

“S-so, so she’s okay?”

The nurse nodded, with a slight smile. “Your wife is going to be fine. Sore, for a while. And tired. But they say her odds look good.”

Colter felt his entire body suddenly relax and tears came to his eyes. “Oh, thank god.”

“I’ll ask the Doc how long it’ll be before you can see her, but I doubt it’ll be long. Once we get her set up, you can see her.”

“Okay. Thank you. And please, thank everyone for me. I- I don’t even-”

But the nurse just smiled at him. “That’s okay. I’ll be back in a minute.”

As the nurse walked away, Colter sat down holding your bag of belongings in his hand. Inside were your clothes, plus your bloodied t-shirt. Along with your hair clip. 

Pulling out his phone, he made a call to Reenie. 

“No, no. They said she’s going to be fine.”

“Not that I’m not glad they are, but why are they telling you all of this?”

“I ran in with her and-”

Then it dawned on Colter. 

Wife.

“And they think I’m her husband.”

Rennie sighed. “Good. Let them keep thinking that. I’m gonna catch the next flight out. Please keep her safe.”

“Always.”

A few hours later, they let Colter in to see you. 

They had you dressed in a hospital gown and you had a couple tubes in your arms. If you hadn’t been slashed with a knife, lay in a hospital and if he still didn’t have your blood on his hands, Colter would have thought you were at home, sleeping. 

You looked peaceful. 

Still. 

Colter placed your belongings at the foot of your bed before sitting in the chair beside your bed. Even the thought of having lost you sent Colter spiralling. Which was why he reached out and touched your hand. He needed to know you were alive. 

Then he started counting your pulse from your wrist with the machine beside your bed. 

And he did that everytime he came in to see you until you finally woke up. 

When you did, Colter was asleep, holding both your hand and your wrist. There was a blanket over his shoulders which you could only guess was from one of the nurses. 

It took you a moment but everything came back and the last thing you could remember was Colter’s voice calling your name in the back of the Sheriff’s car. 

Carefully, you removed your hand from Colter’s before pushing back the hair from his face. 

“Colter?”

It took him a moment before coming round. 

“Colter?” You asked once more, your thumb rubbing at his temple. 

And when he did finally open his eyes, it took him a moment before he realised you were awake. 

His hand came to yours before he placed it in both of his hands and he stood up. “You’re awake.”

It wasn’t long before a nurse came inside with a bright smile, once she saw you were awake. 

“You’re lucky your husband got you here as quickly as he did. Breathe in for me.”

You leaned forward a little more, looking at Colter who had a little coy smile on his face. Clearly he hadn’t shut down the ‘husband’ thing. You took a deep breath in. 

“Reenie’ll be glad to know you’re finally awake.”

And she was. She arrived a couple of hours later, rushing inside before hugging you as tight as she could without hurting you. 

It wasn’t long after that, along with a few teasing words from Reenie about being ‘the happy couple’, that she got called away for a case and you were finally discharged. 

“She’ll need help changing her bandages,” The nurses explained to Colter, handing him a couple extra supplies and a list of things you’d have to get and how to use them. 

It was never a second thought to Colter to bring you back to his home. He could have driven you the hour and a half to your place, but he wanted you close. And safe. 

You would be at home, and you would be with him. But…it was just something a little extra. 

And you never questioned it. In fact, you avoided bringing it up to avoid the conversation that you should go home and that he should leave, most likely, for his next case. 

And when you asked him to stay, you were glad he did so. 

Because falling asleep in his arms was the place you felt most safe. 

[writingrock]

the pearl of my eye [1]

pairing: rafayel x reader (gender neutral) summary: in the darkness, the ocean carries you to meet a merboy who unexpectedly sticks around longer than they should

notes: childhood friends, mermaid au, childhood trauma, fluff, slight angst, mentions of death, mentions of drowning

word count: 3.1k

chapter list

Large wooden beams, once the foundations of a sturdy hull, now drift aimlessly. They’re scarred and splintered, bearing the wounds of the forces that tore them apart. Clashes of waves echoes and bounces around the wreckage, with each sweep it manoeuvres the debris to collide against each other.

Twisted metal shards belonging to the once sturdy machinery that carried the ship, are now strewn about being carried by the waves. Some shards clinging to coils of cables, tangled and knotted like the sinews of a beast.

Belongings of strangers float amidst the wreckage. A battered suitcase with a bundle of clothes pouring out. A child's toy, a solitary shoe, a soaked book. These once held an array of memories to their owners. But now they slink along the currents, their purpose is snatched away from them.

Just like the fragile lives that once harboured the ship. Around the wreckage, amongst the broken planks and fragments of cargo there was a small being in the midst of it all.

“Mom– Dad?! Where are you– ?” your small form was in the middle of the wreckage. Bundles of flotsam surround you as you spin around, arms frantically wading through the water to keep yourself afloat whilst you keep an eye out for your parents. Alas, you fail to perceive even the smallest glimpse of your family. Sorrow stabs through your palpitating heart.

You’re starting to swallow the possibility that your worst fears are coming true. The last thing you could remember before all of this was getting tucked into bed, in between your parents. Before you were woken up in a frenzy by your mother screaming. The whole ordeal was a blur to you, only remembering the flashes of movement and the shrill yells from the other passengers. 

Your desperate chokes barely break through the surface of the water. You’re starting to sink. Trying your hardest to fight against the violent currents that were dragging your small body down. The salty taste of seawater mixed with smoke suffocates you, assaulting your senses with indifference.

You are just a small child, must nature be this cruel? Your thoughts are harshly interrupted when the waves come over you, seawater rushes into the mouth like an icy, bitter flood.

The overwhelmingly briny, intense salinity stinging the tongue that leaves a lasting aftertaste that seems to leech into every crevice. Before you know it, you’re sinking down into the depths of the dark ocean.

Your world becomes a blur, your once talkative mind could only whisper a chain of cries begging for help. The ocean fully envelopes you, pulling your weak body further into its bowels.

 

Help me

From below, there had been a figure stalking the situation at hand. Slinking by the rocks with one head peeking out from the top. The rich purple hair fans out in all directions, the gentle motion of the water lifts and separates the strands. The varying shades of purple—from deep, royal hues to lighter, lavender tones—intermingle, creating a tapestry of colour that shifts and changes with every flicker of light.

Young Rafayel was not meant to be wandering about like this. Especially, in front of this spectacle of a commotion.

If his mother found out about this, he would be doomed. The young seafarer shudders at the thought of his mother’s wrath, his tail shuddering with him. His iridescent scales flickering in the low light with each movement of his tail.

He should head back, he isn’t meant to be here. The young lad should have been sleeping peacefully in his abode instead of venturing out on a midnight adventure. Thinking of the possible punishments, the young lad decides then and there that he was to head home.

That is until his eyes caught sight of this darkened, descending figure falling into the depths of the ocean, curiosity snagged his tail. Briefly, a glimmer of interest shines in the young seafarer’s eyes.

What is that? There is a moment of hesitation, wondering if he should swim towards the figure or ignore it and head back. Was it worth investigating and possibly getting in trouble?

Comically looking back and forth towards the direction of home or towards the mystery in front of him. The young lad was debating on which decision benefits him the most.

His thoughts come to an alarming halt when his ears pick up a unique thrum that softly vibrated in the water. The weak, soft vibrations were coming from the figure. Rafayel purses his lips and stares at the descending figure.

“Is it alive…?” his inner voice shakily questioned. In the darkness of the ocean, this unknown figure with low vibrations emitting from it only scared him. Yet there was a sense of alarm- something pressing him to investigate it. Hesitating, Rafayel swims towards the figure, braving through his fear with adrenaline pumping through his body.

As he gets closer, he could make out that it appeared to be a human child, roughly around the same size as him. He circles the being, studying the fragile creature before him. Your face is pale, the life draining from you slowly as your limbs weaken. Your heart’s thumps could barely continue, threatening to stop at any moment.

Realising the severity of the situation, Rafayel wrapped his arms around you. Immediately kicking upwards to the surface. He could feel the life ebbing from the human, the heartbeats weakening as they stayed in the water. Each flick of his tail, quickened the pace he was ascending. For the human in his arms. 

It is a god-sent miracle when the both of you broke through the surface of the ocean. An audible gasp left Rafayel’s mouth when his vision adjusted above water. He had never seen a wreckage before. The chaos and rubble scattered in front of him as he spun around, taking in the horrid sight. A part of him was amazed to see the parts of the manmade ships, giving him an insight to what were in these large human ships.

However, he also could see that there was death and sorrow with this accident. Moving his attention back to you, he scans the area for any buoyant chunk that he could put you on for now. You were his main priority, his heart raced thinking of the possibility that he was holding a lifeless body.

In the corner of his eye, he spots this large chunk of wooden planks, assumed to once be a part of the ship’s dock, floating on the surface of the water. In this precarious moment, this is probably the best thing he’s going to find.

With great effort, the young merman hoisted your frail body onto the floating lumber before reaching up and pulling himself up. His tail flopped onto the wooden planks, hovering over you with trepidation as his eyes carefully scanned you for any injuries.

Are you alive? His head is racing with a bundle of questions on what he should even do? What do humans even need? Unsure of what to do, his shaky arms reach forward to gently lift you up before shaking you around. Surely, this should do something right? Rafayel was helpless and desperate. His desperation leads him to do some rather nonsensical acts in an attempt to wake you up.

The confused and bumbling mer-boy would scratch your sides, smack your face with various levels of strength, lifting your limbs up and down as if you were a seagull flapping their wings and all sorts of tomfoolery before hitting your back which caused you to choke out the seawater inside of you. 

Hope washes over his face when he sees you stir awake. He’s done it! He’s saved you. You’re awake. You’re.. awake. It rings a second time in his head that you’re awake. You’re going to see a young merman next to you. Could you even register that in your current state? He’s going to freak you out and scare you to death! Can humans get scared to death? His mind and heart races with questions, starting to inch away from you to hobble back into the safety of the ocean.

But before he could even commence his escape, your shivering hand reaches out to him, waving around for support as you cough out the remaining water lodged in your throat. 

Weakly, you struggle to sit up with your weak body wobbling trying to gain some balance. Opening your eyes stings and disorients you further, the seawater causes you to shut your eyes tight. Your eyes start to water in an attempt to flush out the seawater in your eyes, huge droplets of tears and water glides down your wet cheek as you slowly recover.

The air struggles to make its way through your inflamed airways. You could still feel the lingering pressure of the water that once filled your lungs. Rafayel doesn’t have the heart to leave you here like this. Quivering, his hand boldly holds yours gently so as to not startle you. This doesn’t work as intended.

“W.. Who are you?” your voice croaks with fear, your hand retreating from his. Eyelids flutter to get a glimpse of the stranger by your side, squeezing out the sea water and tears. Your vision is adjusting slowly as you spun around to look for whoever held your hand. Your hurried movements cause the wooden planks to sway with the waves. 

“Hey don’t freak out—  I just saved you,” Rafayel managed to squeak as he scoots forward to help stabilise you, “Calm down! You need to recover first.”.

Two small figures bobbing up and down to the rhythm of the shifting planks. His arms waved around awkwardly to hold you still so you wouldn’t rock the wooden platform under the both of you. From the voice, you assume it was a young boy.

The stranger’s words gave you mixed emotions. Your head hangs low as your mind mumbles on hazily about who this person is. Feelings of worry and panic shake you to your core yet a part of you knows that you have to stay calm. In fact, you can hear the rational part of you nagging you to breathe and balance yourself before doing anything rash.

Afterall, you had almost drowned to your demise. You couldn’t really question him with how much your chest and throat hurt. It hurts to breathe. There's a sensation of burning and rawness in your throat— each breath you take is laboured and raspy.

Over time, your breathing starts to stabilise, the pain turning into a manageable ache that rumbles in your throat. Exhaustion lingers, your feeble body feels fatigued from the ordeal you went through. 

Your eyes finally adjust and you lift your head up to get a good luck at the person. The only reason you’re here alive is thanks to the strange fellow in front of you.

The first thing you notice are his dual-coloured pupils. The pink and blue hues swirl and blend at the edges, creating a mesmerising dichotomy. There’s a magical, almost surreal quality to his gaze that stops your eyes from wandering anywhere else. You thought to yourself about how his eyes look as if they belong to the realm of dreams.

Rafayel was wondering why you weren’t saying anything. Were you about to faint? He thinks his tail is freaking you out but you haven’t even noticed it.

“Are you alright? Why aren’t you saying anything— ” Rafayel starts to speak, worry swells in his heart. You could hear the nervousness in his voice. He didn’t want you to panic and possibly faint. He wouldn’t be sure what he’d do then if you did. Rafayel opens his mouth to explain about his not-so-human form but before he could utter a word, your voice cuts him off.

“Your eyes are beautiful.” you unconsciously blurt out. You didn’t mean to vocalise your thoughts, shyness creeps up your skin. Rafayel’s cheeks go warm, the pink hues extend to his ears.

Out of everything you could have said, he definitely did not expect that. The young mer-boy could barely utter a coherent sentence. He was flustered from the sudden compliment.

“H… How can that be the only thing you notice?” his brows furrowed in confusion, still shy from your compliment. His hands gestured to his very obvious, glimmering tail laying on the wooden foundation right next to you.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the fish tail that was a mere inches away from you. A merman..? Disbelief clenches your heart, your brain telling you that this isn't real. Squeezing your eyes shut, your hands move up to your face instinctively, the fingertips rubbing gently against closed eyelids. Perhaps your eyes were tricking you, was he really a merman?

When you open your eyes, the sight of the fish tail still lay there. Rafayel nervously waits for your reaction to his form, his eyes trying to gauge your expression. In this very moment, he never wished so hard for the ability to read another’s thoughts.

“You’re a.. Merman..?” you softly ask, shock registering in your body, “I never thought I would ever see one.”

Instinctively, your hand reaches out to touch his tail but he swats at your hand. Grumbling about how you should ask before touching someone. You sheepishly apologise to him for your rudeness, sticking to admiring it with your sight. 

There’s a tinge of bubbling excitement inside of your guts. Honestly, you’ve always dreamed of befriending a mermaid if you would meet one. How often you fantasise of underwater adventures with your newfound mystical friends. You’ve only read about the existence of merfolk in your books. The ones your parents read for you at bedtime.

Your heart sinks at the thought of your parents. Tears naturally welling up in your eyes. Are they really gone? You start to think about these cherished moments. The familiar, comforting scent of freshly laundered sheets as you cuddled up with your stuffed toy. You could almost feel the soft embrace of the blankets as your parents carefully pulled them up to your chin, tucking them snugly around you.

Your nose sniffles as you speak up, “Did you see anyone else besides me? Anyone larger than me?” 

Rafayel is visibly confused by that question. Honestly, he thought you were going to ask him about his form. A larger human? He recalls seeing a few bodies drifting on the surface of the seas but you were the only one that was sinking deep into the ocean. The only one he could rescue.

Unfortunately for you, Rafayel shakes his head regrettably, opening his mouth to explain how he had found you. A pang of sorrow pierces through your heart once more at the confused expression sitting on the young merman’s face. His audible ‘no’ rings through your skull as your eyes start to water even more.

It sinks in that they are most likely dead. The rest of Rafayel’s words disappear into a vacuum, only hearing muffled noises coming from him. You’re already sobbing uncontrollably, with each sob racking your tiny body. A wave of immense sorrow and regret engulfs you. Words spill out of your mouth in a broken, trembling whisper, calling out for your parents desperately.

You did not need to explain your outburst to Rafayel, the raw display of emotion speaks for you. Each wave of tears is a poignant reminder of what has been lost. Gently, the young merman holds you in an attempt to comfort you, his arms cradling your shivering body. 

The both of you huddle together on the dingy piece of lumber, adrift in the vast expanse of the ocean. It creaks and shifts with each movement of the water. The both of you cling to each other tightly, finding solace in each other. The endless horizon stretches around the both of you, your soft sobs filling the quiet void.

Young Rafayel tries his best to comfort you, although he knew his words could mean nothing to you in that moment. Comprehending the death of your parents is indescribable. In order to take your mind off the current situation, he starts some conversations with you. He wants to at least try and make you feel better.

The conversations start with your memories of your home and dreams. In turn, he too speaks about his own experiences and memories. Each word, each shared memory, is a thread that binds the two of you closer. He stays by your side forgetting about everything— his home, how angry his mother will be, the punishment. Everything.

All he knows is that he wants to stay by your side until you feel better. Time goes by unnoticed, your sobs start to die down slowly due to exhaustion. You lean into him, weakly drifting in and out of consciousness. Before you know it, you’ve fallen asleep in his arms. Not like Rafayel particularly minded it. 

The sky gradually lightens from deep indigo to shades of pink and orange, casting a soft glow over the vast expanse of water. The horizon slowly reveals a sliver of the sun, Rafayel looks to it in a daze. The wisps of gold swirl in his gaze. A foreign sound enters the atmosphere causing Rafayel’s ears to perk up. It’s the sound of sirens arriving– it starts as a faint, distant wail, gradually growing louder.

What is that noise? Rafayel turns his gaze to the direction of the noise, the sight of a boat appears in the distance. It's a rescue boat, probably to investigate the missing boat that was meant to arrive hours ago. This means that it is time for Rafayel to leave you, he had already been spotted by you. It’d be worse for him to be spotted by more humans. Carefully, the mer-boy sets you down on your back, doing his best not to wake you.

His attempt is simply futile because once he leaves your side, you stir awake. By the time you’re aware that he’s leaving, Rafayel is in the waters, his upper half above waters with his hand holding onto the wooden planks. Your hand reaches for his and holds it tight.

“Do you have to leave..?” a whisper leaves your cracked lips, your hand holding onto his hand. The sadness in your voice is clear, he would stay if he could. But for his safety, he must depart from you.

Rafayel forces a smile and squeezes your hand back, “I promise we’ll meet again. I swear it with the ocean as my witness.” 

Reluctantly, you let him go. Your hands go limp as you surrender to exhaustion. How long has it been? Slowly, your eyelids shut to drift into an unconscious state whilst your new friend dives into the water.

Rafayel returns home, sneaking into his room whilst you get taken into care. That night, the ocean bonded the two children from different realms to one another. A fated bond that will lead them to each other every time.

a/n: more to come in due time~~ hope you enjoyed

border credits: @enchanthings & @adornedwithlight