#I always love seeing you in my notifs!!!!

[hoseoksluna]

LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door. 

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often. 

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you. 

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality. 

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run. 

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty. 

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok. 

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay. 

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff. 

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship. 

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it. 

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile. 

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it. 

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together. 

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested. 

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion. 

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours. 

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water. 

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you. 

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last. 

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.” 

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of. 

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.” 

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you. 

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common. 

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you. 

And it no longer shall. 

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life. 

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.” 

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps. 

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch. 

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself. 

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up. 

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service. 

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you. 

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take. 

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore. 

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening. 

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were. 

And the process soaks your panties. 

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore. 

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches. 

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age. 

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you. 

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea. 

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste. 

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him. 

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex. 

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you. 

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.” 

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about. 

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body. 

And you might as well give him what he asks of you. 

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them. 

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours. 

He didn’t expect that. 

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly. 

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.” 

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you. 

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable. 

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet. 

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over. 

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better. 

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him. 

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now. 

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back. 

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you. 

And you let his following question consume you just as much. 

“Were you in love with him?” 

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out. 

No need for long nights of overthinking. 

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?” 

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst. 

“What’s it to me?” 

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers. 

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him. 

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face. 

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore. 

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin? 

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation. 

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?” 

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it. 

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.” 

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.” 

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about. 

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back. 

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?” 

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?” 

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will. 

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.” 

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead? 

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment. 

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick. 

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer. 

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.” 

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.” 

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety. 

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release. 

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.” 

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.” 

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak. 

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long. 

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.” 

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt. 

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at. 

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water. 

And you do. 

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out. 

“Did you cry for him?” 

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?” 

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.” 

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.” 

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his. 

The life in you throbs. 

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that. 

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.” 

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again. 

“Touch it, please.” 

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged. 

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain. 

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing. 

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him. 

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool. 

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.” 

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants. 

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with. 

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally. 

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.” 

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume. 

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit. 

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body. 

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it. 

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away. 

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.” 

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out. 

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him. 

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once. 

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.” 

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity. 

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?” 

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off. 

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth. 

Your poor heart skips a beat. 

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?” 

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you. 

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over. 

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.” 

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils. 

“That’s so hot.” 

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.” 

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his. 

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too. 

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle. 

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.” 

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon. 

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty. 

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.” 

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” 

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.” 

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.” 

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.” 

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it. 

“I want that so bad.” 

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.” 

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him. 

“I didn’t bring any condoms.” 

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.” 

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing. 

“I’ll give you a big load.” 

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.” 

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face. 

“Good girl. Such good manners.” 

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime. 

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.” 

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity. 

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin. 

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you. 

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.” 

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish. 

“Say that again.” 

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one. 

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out. 

But only one thing is clear. 

“I’m yours.” 

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp. 

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg. 

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.” 

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines. 

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him. 

Blood-hot. 

And you feel as though you deserved every drop. 

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see. 

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning. 

They cease to exist. 

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?” 

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him. 

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head. 

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.” 

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again. 

Again and again. 

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb. 

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world. 

Hoseok is that life. 

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[warlocksoup]

into the spider-verse: nishinoya yuu

volume one, chapter one: emails

word count: 2.1k

masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

I know about him.

Teeth gnawing on the inside of her cheek, she stares down at her laptop screen. At the same email she’s been staring at for the last three days, ever since she first got the notification for it on her subway ride home. From ijs99ETJfdhsg@yahoo.com: I know about him. To anyone else, it might not bear the same weight. To her, it’s suffocating.

She’s done everything she can to try and trace it. Everything she can, of course, being Googling the address and enlisting the help of Yachi from the IT department at the Bugle. The outcome of the former being: Your search - ijs99ETJfdhsg@yahoo.com- did not match any documents, and the outcome of the latter being Yachi’s entire laptop getting infected with malware.

So, not great.

She shifts on the stiff stuffing of her couch, legs crossed under her and the heat from the bottom of her laptop on the bare skin of her thighs. I know about him. She hopes it’s a bluff. Realistically, she knows it’s not. But she’s still in the denial stage.

The screen goes dark, and she wiggles her mousepad to brighten it up once more, just so she can stare longer. She can’t tell him. Not yet. Ideally, not ever. But definitely not yet.

“What are you doing?”

She jolts, automatically slamming her laptop shut as she does so and jumping to face the source of the intrusion.

Spider-Man’s in her living room.

Which is fair. It’s his living room too, even if she does pay the lion’s share of the rent.

“Porn,” is her immediate response and the only thing she can think of to justify her reaction, even if it makes her cheeks burn. “Watching porn,” she doubles down, because she has to.

He reaches behind his head and grabs the end of his mask that sits at the back of his neck, pulling it off in one swift movement. Nishinoya looks at her with his hair flattened against his forehead, blond streak brushing against his brow, and a blossoming, deep purple purse spread across his cheek. “In the living room? Well, I guess I am home early, so can’t complain there.”

She pushes her the laptop off to the couch, and stalks towards him, eyes now fixed on the bruise that stains his features. “And what the fuck happened to you?”

Noya grins at her, bright and unfazed. Almost proud, like his injuries are a badge of honor. “Just ran into my good friend Alexei Sytsevich. He was super stoked to see me.”

Her hand shoots out and takes hold of his jaw, lightly squishing the soft flesh of his cheek together as she tilts his head to the side, trying to get a better look at the damage. Noya just stands there and lets her. “Thought that guy was in jail.”

“Broke out,” Noya says, words barely making it out between his smooshed-up lips. She releases him, and steps back. “He loves breaking out of jail. It’s like his favorite thing to do.”

Noya steps back, and retreats into his bedroom, closing the door with his foot as he does so. Still, she can hear his voice coming through their thin, plaster walls. “I don’t even know what that guy’s end game is anymore. I’m pretty sure he just wants me dead. It’s always like, ‘this is your end, Spider!’ when before he was a lot more focused on his personal goals, so.” 

She sighs and collapses back onto the couch again. Freak emails from freak strangers with untraceable email addresses and Sytsevich breaking out of jail for the thousandth-fucking-time to wreck his havoc on Noya’s face. Her hair is going to start turning gray. “You’d think they would’ve built a cell to hold him, by now,” she calls, and Noya is swinging open his bedroom door to saunter back out into living room, suit abandoned in favor of old gym shorts and a vintage looking Godilla t-shirt. “What do you think costs more taxpayer dollars, building a better cell, or paying all those cops to get him back in again?”

Noya rolls his eyes. “Well, I’m the one they call, and they don’t pay me, so.”

That she knows all too well. It’s hard, being a single-income home. Since Noya’s full time job is both incredibly demanding and also unpaid, rent and utilities and groceries mostly fall on her shoulders. Which, it’s not like she can complain or hold it against him. In exchange, he’s the one and only Spider-Man, and she could do worse for roommates.

And he helps when he can, selling candid photos of Spider-Man to the Bugle so they can use them to accompany their hit pieces on him (Noya, of course, finds it incredibly ironic every time they write out a check to him, gleefully paying him for photos of himself).

Noya flicks on the kitchen light, and as he’s lingering in the kitchen, popping open the fridge door with his hip to stare blankly at its contents, she grabs at her laptop once more, opening it back up so she can stare at the email once more. “Do you wanna get a pizza tonight? Some guy gave me a twenty for saving his car from the Rhino’s path.”

“Twenty?” she echoes back, fingers hovering over the reply button. Should she reply? What would she even say? Her Internet safety training at work taught her to never reply to spam emails, just to report it to the system administrator. But looping in the Bugle on an email like this is the last thing she wants. “Seems kinda cheap for saving his entire car.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Noya calls back, closing the fridge. He flicks his wrist in the direction of the living room, and string of white web following it. It attaches itself to the side of a crinkled up, plastic water bottle she was drinking, and before she can blink, the water bottle finds itself in Noya’s hand.

“Dick,” she says, without looking up from her computer. “I was drinking that.”

“Can you look at your porn later? Do you want the pizza or not?”

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

Between them is a half-eaten box of pepperoni pizza, propped open on the fire escape. Noya chews loudly on a slice, his eyes on the city skyline, and hers on him. She watches the bruise on his cheek, and how it moves and shifts with each bite he takes. She reaches out and grazes her thumb against it. He swats her hand away. “Stop it, stop worrying.”

She frowns and slides her hand between her pressed-together knees, like she’s trying to hold it still. “Who the fuck said I’m worried?”

“You’re always worried,” he replies, dusting off the end of his pizza nad leaning up against the closed window behind him. “Every time I come home with so much as a papercut, you’re staring at me like there’s a bullet hole in my chest.”

Her eyes drops, and she looks at the greased-stained cardboard between them. “Well, you have come home with bullet holes before, so.”

He sleeps them off. He wraps up the wound in that fucking webbing of his and he just sleeps it off like it’s a headache or scratch or something most people wouldn’t even go to the doctor for. And then she’ll find dried, rusted bits of that webbing, littered around the house.

“Yeah, and I turned out fine,” he assures her, voice a bit softer now. She looks at him, brown eyes shining and slight grin unwavering. “A bruise isn’t gonna kill me. I don’t want you to waste your energy freaking out over me. You have better things to be freaking out over. I know how horrible your boss is.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, but I don’t really give a shit about him, to be honest.”

Her fingers fidget, and Noya reaches over, covering both of her hands with his. She looks up at him. “I’ll always take care of us both. Okay? Nothing can happen to me while I’m out there, because I know I gotta come back home and make sure you’re good. That’s my number one priority, and I’m not gonna break that promise. Alright?”

She nods her head. “Yeah, alright. I trust you.”

His grin brightens, and he leans forward to throw his arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side. “See, that’s my girl. Complete and total faith in me. I love to see it.”

“Whatever,” she grumbles, but rests her head against his shoulder. It feels nice, in his arms. “I’m really the one who takes care of you, y’know. By like, paying the bills.”

“Oh, that reminds me. Can I borrow ten bucks? I bet Tanaka-“

He stops and straightens out. She peers up at him, at watches as his focus narrows in on something in the distance. By the time she catches up, and she can hear the sirens start to go off in the distance, Nishinoya is gone, leaving a slight breeze against the strands of her hair.

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

On her desk are two rejections.

The first is on Spider-Man, a feature piece that details his symbolic value to the people of New York; how valuable his presence in the community is and just what he represents to the average New Yorker. It theorizes that identity of Spider-Man isn’t what matters, but the meaning of the mask itself. And it has a big, yellow sticky note on it with the word ‘WRONG!’ written out angrily in thick, black marker.

She sighs. She knew that one wasn’t gonna make it past Jameson. Hardly any of her Spider-Man pieces do. Noya told her to just start writing smear pieces on him, just to get more articles published. But she’s not willing to sacrifice her journalistic integrity to write a bunch of bullshit about how her best friend is ‘getting in the way of the NYPD.’

The second is on the recently passed Norman Osborn. Most obituaries have been fluffy love letters to the capitalist, and maybe Jameson was expecting more of that, rather than a scathing dissection of his life, including, but not limited to, his involvement in developing and selling weapons of war. The sticky note on this one reads, ‘what is this commie crap?’ which, in all honesty, she should’ve been expecting.

She sighs and falls back into her chair. She needs a new, better job. At a place that will publish her articles without twisting her words into nonsense propaganda. A place that will pay her properly, and not like it’s nineteen-eighty-five.

There’s only one silver lining to her job, and that’s the blonde-haired girl depositing a hot latte and everything bagel on her desk. “Rejected again?” Yachi asks, pulling up a chair from the empty desk beside her.

“Ugh, apparently billionaire, tax-evading war criminal Norman Osborn was a friend to the masses that needs to be celebrated, and the guy that says innocent lives every day for free is public enemy number one,” she rants at once, snatching that coffee up and immediately gulping it down, ignoring how it burns her tongue on the way down.

“Yeah,” Yachi agrees. “You didn’t know that?”

She rolls her eyes, wiggling her mouse to wake up her computer. “Shut up.”

Yachi leans back in her chair, and gestures towards the computer screen. “Any more emails from that anonymous guy?”

“No, and thank god for that.”

“It’s so weird,” Yachi notes. “’I know about him,’ is weird, but they’re not threatening you for like, money or information or like any other average email scam. And from what I could see that guy really did not want to be tracked down, and spent a lot of time making sure you couldn’t. And for what? To say something weird.”

Yachi doesn’t know the weight of it. Doesn’t even begin to understand the threat, the implication. Yachi doesn’t even know how the ‘him’ is supposed to be. So she really doesn’t get how disconcerting those facts are. She contemplates, for a moment, slamming her head into the keyboard in front of her.

“Whatever,” she decides ultimately. “I’m just going to ignore it and hopefully absolutely nothing will come of it. It’s how I deal with most of my problems.”

“Oh, what a coincidence, me too,” Yachi laughs, and then stands. “I gotta go. Jameson accidentally downloaded malware onto his computer trying to claim a Target gift card. Have fun rewriting your articles.”

“See you for lunch?” she calls after Yachi’s retreating form.

“Yep!” Yachi confirms with a wave of her hand, disappearing down the line of small, cramped cubicles.

With one, deep, calming breath, she returns her attention to the desktop in front of her. She stretches her neck to the left, and then to the right, and prepares for another day of endless bullshit.

Ding!

YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE.

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[lukolabrainrot]

Calm theory anon here again!! Lord knows I'm exhausted of this little girl but I wanted to touch on what all we have seen since Italy Birthday trip and Lukes recent like. 1. It was reported by someone who took a photo with Luke at the airport that he was alone. Meaning he flew back by himself. Rumor that he left two days before 2. We got radio silence from the group for a while. 3. Rory unfollowed sienna then it was reported on by the fan pages and then he followed her back. 4. Sienna unfollowed Jack Vine (this is the guy that Luke stays with when he didn't have a house) then it was reported on by the fan pages and she followed him back. The last couple days she's unfollowed him again. 5. Charmaine reposted on TikTok about NDA👀 6. Rory takes a trip with his mom. 7. Sienna likes a post of Hannah Dodd and Nicola from fashion week. 8. Sienna hasn't liked any type of photos of A since early August nor did she like that last Luke post. Now with all this information I'm sure we all can come up with some conclusions. I do think that Luke set up some type of NDA which in my opinion was necessary. We have to remember that Luke's management team is actually a very well-known and establish team this was told to me by people in the PR field. He doesn't have newbies. Now I'm sure that pissed a lot of his friends off. It made them keep quiet about things that they might not have wanted to be quiet about. We clearly see something going on. Now Luke liking A stuff. it was 10 1/2 hours after she posted on her grid with a story posted after four hours of the photos being live. Now the posting to her stories of the grid picture is a new thing. That didn't start till after Italy. What does that tell me? She knows that his notifications for her has been probably turned off. So in order for him to see her photos, she would have to post it in her story which he most likely watches those. This particular photo wasn't liked until after Nicola posted at the concert. I don't believe in coincidences. He got a notification that Nicole posted. Then he went online afterwards watching Nicola story. Now who to say it's not part of his NDA that he has with her that. But as I was thinking about all of this today, one of the interviews that Nic and Luke came to mind. When they were discussing red flags. And one of the questions was keeping up with an ex. Nic said something like I feel that how you speak of your ex says a lot about you or something like that. Remember, Luke listens to every single thing that Nikola has said. She's the one person in this world that he remembers how they met down to the chairs they had sat on. So he would remember stuff like this. So it could be an NDA thing or it could be him trying to be civil with his ex. Regardless of the like which does not tell you anything. The only thing that tells me is she is desperate for that like. She has to put it in her story so that he will see it, she wants that like so bad that she's doing something she never had to do before. Why does she want the like so bad? Because she can control the fandom. Every time Luke likes this girls picture people spiral. it's like on a photo. He's not commenting on it. He's not giving her heart eyes. He's not sharing it to his stories. He liked the picture. We don't know the reason why and we will never know. All I'm saying there is a lot going on BTS that's clearly evident by how they're all moving. We just gotta wait for Nicola to speak more. Remember, her voice should always outshine this girl's voice. Nicola has given us all hints that something more is happening. Let's trust her please

As always, love your thoughts and theories!

Here are some additional theories/thoughts I have about the SM events from today. Disclaimer: These are just my thoughts and interpretations based on all the publicly available information I have seen recently. So please do not take this as 100% fact!

N didn't post her Chappell Roan story until almost midnight her time

L THEN preceded to like A's post approximately 30 minutes after N's CR story- which at that point was technically the day AFTER A made her post

So my little delulu theory is that N went home to L after the concert with her besties, they cuddled up and caught up, N posted her story, this made L log on to IG and prompted him to do his obligatory like of miss A's post after seeing A's story

Some additional notes/thoughts:

Even if N DIDN'T go home to L, all of the available information Calm Theory Anon and I have laid out here tells me this. L DOES NOT HAVE NOTIFICATIONS ON FOR A AND IS NOT PAYING ATTENTION TO WHAT SHE IS POSTING. L IS DOING THIS WITH N THOUGH.

He also liked A's post within a really short time of N's CR story. Now, the only thing this definitively says is that L/N were on their IG accounts around the same period of time. But this was around 12:30 AM their time. It was pretty late at night, and like it's just an interestingggg coincidence if L/N were separate and just both getting on SM around the same time at that time at night. We also know N tends to go on SM when she is getting ready for bed (N has said this). And she posted the CR story around the time she most likely was getting home from the concert. I think there are just a lot of signs/clues pointing that L/N were together around midnight their time. And L was NOT at the CR concert, so that means she would have met up with L AFTER the concert. And if she was meeting L after the concert at that time at night, they were probably with each other the rest of the night. So this is what leads me to believe that N went home to L OR L got the notification for N's story and got on SM and saw A's story. The timing of it all is just very interestingggg to me 🤔

Lastly, A had to essentially BEG L for this like. Why does L still have to like her posts? I have no definitive answer. My thoughts are it's some sort of contractual agreement. Regardless, these likes have no direct indication of L/A's relationship BTS. If I look at the full picture of EVERYTHING, all the signs indicate that L/N are spending more time together (or just since August decided to start publicly hinting to the fandom that they are spending a lot of time together). And all the signs point to L/A not being on good terms, and that there was some sort of rupture in L's friend group around the Italy bday trip.

These are just my thoughts though. What does everyone else think?

[warning-heckboop]

"Hot take I guess: Peri was really bad at his job" god you're so real for this. like. peri is literally my favorite character but he's SO bad at the emotional aspects of godparenting and i wish people would acknowledge that instead of always presenting him as some kind of hyper empathetic super dad.

I'll be honest, I saw the beginning of this ask in my notifications, and I was like. "oh no, here we go, the Peri supporters are going to tear me apart"

I'm glad to know some people seem to agree! Like you said, I love Peri as a character, but part of what makes a good character good is that they aren't perfect. Like if Peri was the perfect god parent and then they made Dev the villain anyway, it would just be. Kinda bad writing imo? Like, yeah, a lot, if not all, of Dev's bad behavior stems from his dad's mistreatment and being raised spoiled. But that's part of the reason Peri is there. He's not just meant to wait around for Dev to ask for something and do nothing else until then, like he seems to think he is (again, see the birthday episode, both in regards to how Peri comments on pretty much exactly that when Dev comments that he could have been the one to give him something like the rocket boots instead of Hazel, as well as in regards to how Peri reacts when he sees Dev is upset in his dad's secret room, but instead of trying to comfort him himself he just. asks if he wants to wish for something. He makes zero effort to try to comfort Dev himself and instead puts it back on Dev to make the decision to comfort himself through the conduit of Peri's magic). A fairy god parent's job is to help their god kid with what makes them miserable, and for Dev, a large part of what makes him miserable is his own bad behavior. But instead of trying to help him work on that, Peri just gets moody in return.

He gets the wish granting part of being a god parent just fine, but that's about it. It's like. You know when someone is book smart and does really well in school, but then when they try to apply it to real life, they're a mess? Thats how I see Peri. He's a great god parent on paper, but in action? He's lacking some key skills they probably don't test you on in god parent school.

If we do get a season 2, I REALLY hope they address Peri's flaws as well as Dev's. They both need a redemption arc imo, and I don't think either can really fully make up for their mistakes without growing together!

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Dancing in the Courthouse

♥ masterlist | request rules | part of my 1k event

♥ pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

♥ synopsis: In 2021 you and oscar decided to elope due to your unpredictable schedules. now that you have more stability in your life, you were able to throw a dream wedding with the man you loved most in the world.

♥ smau + written - as always none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: first fic apart of the 1k event!

-Paris, 2021-

The streets of Paris were bustling as you took a seat in your Uber. You could hear a Taylor Swift song playing faintly on the car's radio as you pulled out your phone.

You

hey osc I'm on my way back

Oscar checked the notification and panicked a little internally. He slipped the device back into his dress pants and shook his hands.

"Relax, tout ira bien," Estie assured Oscar. (translation: everything will be fine)

He sighed and turned towards the two French men, "Are you sure?"

All Pierre did was laugh.

"Call me when it's over," Pierre said with a smirk and guided Esteban out the door, into an elevator.

You were in France on a girls night out with your best friend Kika, whom you met through Formula 1. Little did the two of you know that Pierre and Esteban snuck over to your hotel room in order to help Oscar set up a surprise.

You tapped your keycard on your hotel door and called out your boyfriend's name. You set your purse down on a small marble table and kicked off your heels, making your way through the main room.

A small trail of pink rose petals guided you to the terrace causing your heartbeat to pick up.

Was this really happening?

You opened the glass doors to find more rose petals surrounding the floor and a very handsome Oscar. You strode over to him in complete shock until he grabbed your hands in his.

"Y/n you have been my best friend for as long as I can remember," he said as his thumb drew circles on one of your fingers. "You have stood by me since the beginning of my career and I could never imagine a life without you. I know we don't get to spend as much time together as we'd like to, but that is why I wanted to do this today."

He slowly got down on one knee in front of you and pulled out a black velvet box to reveal a silver ring.

"Will you marry me?"

You squatted down to his height and mumbled, "Is that even a question?"

You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him gently, "Yes of course I will."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-July 4, 2024-

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, lilymhe, and 300,572 more

ynln london girl

📸 creds: @/oscarpiastri

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user1 lmao the oscar picture creds

oscarpiastri I risked my life for that first pic

ynln @/oscarpiastri you were on another balcony?

user3 if anyone risked their life for that picture it's Alex

user2 speaking of alex she looks SO pretty there

carlossainz55 red nails for ferrari

ynln anything for you carlitos 😽

iamrebeccad so so true and real

user4 pretties

user9 lets all manifest an oscar win for this weekend

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, hattiepiastri, and 1,481,583 more

ynpiastri oops I guess the cat is out of the bag huh! the rumors are in fact true, oscar and I are married. we have been trying to keep it a secret since our elope in 2021, but it seems as though I slipped up with a photo on my insta. at least it was the perfect timing for the reception we're throwing this summer 🥰

view comments

nicolepiastri see you at the sequel wedding!!

ynpiastri <3

user1 ...sorry?

user8 PARDON

user12 THEY'RE ACTUALLY MARRIED

user2 POOKIE YOU CANT JUST POST A SHIRTLESS OSCAR LIKE THAT

user7 her username change I am so endeared

mclaren how many of you knew...

logansargeant I did

alexandrasaintmleux I did

charles_leclerc I did

landonorris I DIDNT?!?!

landonorris @/oscarpiastri how come charles knew before me

charles_leclerc @/landonorris he's my son???

iamrebeccad I'm so happy for you!

ynpiastri tysm becks 🥹🫶

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by pierregasly, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, and 123,740 more

wagupdates the girlies pulling up to the belgian paddock

view comments

user1 the color scheme 🛐

user2 PLS did they plan this for y/n’s wedding?

wagupdates @/user2 we think so!!

oscarpiastri I guess I need to step up my fashion game

charles_leclerc @/oscarpiastri I can help 😁

ynpiastri @/charles_leclerc no you cannot

user7 I love them

user4 they're GORGEOUS

francolapinto 😘

user8 ITS MR STEAL YOUR GIRL

user3 HAHAHA

user9 FRANCO Y/N IS MARRIED

charles_leclerc @/francocolapinto Te sugiero que elijas sabiamente tus próximas palabras (I suggest you choose your next words wisely)

francolapinto sorry sorry! its a joke its a joke 😅

user10 the threatening spanish 😭

carlossainz55 @/user10 I taught him that

fernandoalo_oficial @/carlossainz55 and I taught YOU that

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by pierregasly, ynpiastri, carmenmundt, and 563,885 more

francisca.cgomes rich bitch energy

tagged; @/ynpiastri @/alexandrasaintmleux

view comments

user1 are you shopping for dresses

francisca.cgomes mayybbe

ynpiastri GORGEOUS

francisca.cgomes NO YOU 😚

aussiegrit @/nicolepiastri do i get to walk oscar down the aisle

nicolepiastri no 😐

charles_leclerc that’s right because i am

user2 the family seating is gonna go crazy lol

user5 so what’s the dog situation?

landonorris bark

ynpiastri @/landonorris NO 😭

user5 I MEANT LEO AND ROSCOE 💀

ynpiastri @/user5 leo we know is definitely going to be there! 🥰

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Wedding Day-

liked by alex_albon, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55, and 1,749,053 more

ynpiastri 💍

tagged; @/francisca.cgomes

view comments

danielricciardo 🥹

pierregasly vous êtes tous les deux magnifiques (you both look gorgeous)

user6 the fact that kika is her maid of honor

user7 IM NOT CRYING

user4 the venue is STUNNING

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

There was a salty ocean breeze on a cliff-side of Monaco, the place you and Oscar picked for the wedding.

There were dozens of familiar faces along with beautiful greenery and pastel flowers decorating the space.

You were sat at your table with your husband Oscar as the toast’s began to start.

“Hi,” someone said into the mic with a smile. “I’m Kika.”

There were a few soft laughs from the crowd. She pulled a piece of paper out of her gold-colored dress.

“When I found out you eloped without me that day in Paris my first thought was ‘fuck you’.” she said causing some more chuckles to come from the guests.

“It was only because I wouldn’t get the chance to give you the speech I had planned—but here we are today and I’m so glad I finally get to say it. Over these past couple years you have been my best friend, in and outside the paddock. I have so much love for you and I couldn’t be happier for your relationship with Oscar.”

You got up from your seat and hugged her, eliciting a few ‘aws’ from the room.

Lando stood up next with the mic, “Oscar was the guy on the grid no one could shut the up about,” Lando spoke into the mic and everyone laughed. “I didn’t get it at first, but then I met him, and I got it. And I felt the same when I met Y/n. You two are lucky to have each other. Congrats, mate.”

He raised his glass of champagne causing everyone to clink their glasses and cheer.

liked by lewishamilton, aussiegrit, nicolepiastri, and 1,937,954 more

ynpiastri wifey

view comments

user1 this is so cunty

wagupdates we heard that y/n’s heel broke and oscar had to carry her to the car (hence the last picture) 😭

user7 she is SO pretty

patriciooward great to see you again osc!

user6 I. LOVE. THEM.

user2 omg they’re so hot

user3 y/n’s outfits today >>>

lilymhe the reception was beautiful

ynpiastri <3

[dakotalun]

What Now? | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: You just got broken up with and you can only think of one place to go.

warnings: none, just some fluffy Eddie moments :)

word count: 1k

a/n: Shit it's been a while. Anyways back to it!

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

Everything was going okay recently, not many nightmares and the ones I did have weren’t too bad. Until…

“What?” The confusion is evident on my face and in my voice.

“I just don’t think we’ll work out. I’m sorry,” Jamie’s head is down and their eyes are looking everywhere but at me.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all, it’s me.”

I scoff, “Pfft. Okay sure,” I roll my eyes at their words, “Like every other time people say that line.”

“I’m being serious, love. I love you, I really do but there’s shit that I need to figure out-”

“Then we figure it out together! That’s what it means to be in a committed relationship!”

“I just- I feel like having a partner right now is not helping,” Their voice is distant and soft now.

“I get it. I’m too much, too clingy, too needy, too…everything,” The words sting my throat and tongue as they leave but it’s the truth, it’s what they all mean when they break it off with me.

“Not at all! You’re perfect, in every way, shape, and form. Seriously, it's me. I’m going through shit that I feel like would break us if I kept lying about it to you.”

“So this has been going on for a while?” I see their face change for a second then go back to sadness.

“Yeah, it has. But I thought it was nothing-”

“How long?”

“What?” Now it’s their turn to be confused.

“How long have you known and been going through this?” My face is steel and I show no emotion.

“Since Lolla.”

Lollapalooza was in August, it’s November. They’ve known this and not said anything for 3 months! Lying to me about everything for so long and I had no idea. I don’t even know how to feel right now. I begin to grab my bag and stuff my shit in it before getting up off their bed.

"Y/N," They reach for my hand to stop me from leaving.

I pull away before they can touch me, "Don't. I- I need space," I leave their room and head for the front door, looking back at the fuzzy orange cat lying on the back of the chair as he always does for the last time. 

"Bye Cheerio," I twist the knob and walk out of the apartment I had felt so welcome in before. 

I can hear the thunder once in the elevator, realizing that I can't return home because I promised Robin the apartment, assuming I'd be with Jamie all night. I try to think of who else I could stay with tonight.

Chrissy maybe? No, she’s at Jason’s place for the weekend. Oh, Nancy should be free right? I reach for my phone to text Nancy but see a Google Calendar notification on the screen.

Nancy Double Date with Johnathan and Roomie! Damn, I guess she’s out too. Maybe Robin would understand me coming home tonight, if I told them what happened? 

As I think about what to do and where to go, rain starts to pour down, soaking through the loose shirt I had put on. 

Why does this keep happening to me? How do I always end up in the rain with no place to go? I think back to last summer when Kris, Sophia, and I got into it and my brother’s friend had to come rescue me from myself and the rain. I laugh at the thought that this is just going to be my normal from now on.

As I walk, my feet autonomously begin to head to the only other person whom I trust and who might be able to help. I don’t even realize where I’m going until I’m standing in front of the building, not under the protection of the awning even though it’s only 3 feet in front of me.

I take a deep breath before stepping forward and deciding this really is the only option I have left. I’m thankful for the covering once I’m actually under it. I dial apartment 203 and wait for the voice of my best friend to spread through the old speaker.

"Hello?" His voice is low and gravelly; he must have just woken up.

"Eddie, It’s Y/N. Can I come up? I-" I sniffle and before I can continue I hear the lock moving and the door unlock so I can enter. I didn’t even realize I had been crying until then.

I quickly open the door and make my way through the small maze to get to his place on the second floor. I can feel my wet socks and the weight of my bag has risen tremendously since I left Jamie’s. I'm gonna need to check and make sure my computer is okay once I get inside his place.

Soon I reach his door and he's standing there against the frame, in a tshirt and sweats, his signature look. The expression on his face is one of concern and fear. Something I’m all too familiar with.

"Hey," My voice is weak and not at all how he normally hears it. I’ve never cried in front of him and we’ve been friends for over a year now, strange.

"Shit, Y/N you're soaked! Get the fuck in here," He moves out the way and closes the door behind me as I walk into his living room, making sure to take off my shoes before going onto the carpet.

He comes back with a towel and wraps it around me after taking my bag and setting it at my feet. I mumble a thank you before taking a seat at the edge of his couch, completely on the other side from where he normally sits.

To my surprise he sits next to me and rubs my back, comforting me and drying me at the same time. We sit there in silence for a few minutes. I'm tired and not in the mood to fully explain what happened yet, so neither of us speak until I realize I should probably tell him why I came to his place so late and without warning.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @dixontardis @witchwolflea @micheledawn1975 @daydreaming-mood @idfwfeelings @adaydreamaway08 @preciousbumplingbee @rustboxstarr @plk-18 @teary-eyed-egg @needylilgal022 @exploding-bonbon @gagasbee @eddiemunsonsguitarpic @aol19 @thatwitchyoucouldntburn @meanlilbean @sonnyahngel @corrodedcass @pigwidgeonxo @marsmunson86 @lottie-90 @figmentofquinn @sareim123122 @eddies-puppet @gvf23 @kennedy-brooke @rocklees-wife @emma77645 @cherris-n-peaches @breehumbles @joequinn-love @anyoddthoughts @aysheashea @eddiesskittle @uncxmfxrtablex @cherrymedicine13 @mrsjellymunson @shotgunhallelujah @bambipowerblueaddition @hexqueensupreme @josephquinnsfreckles @harrysgothicbitch @paleidiot @smurfflynn @lilyungpeanut @selena-rocker27

[jasntodds]

Penance [7]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 8,230

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, fluff, mentions of death, hurt/comfort, mentions of scars, small description of jason's autopsy scar, smut, 18+ mdni

Summary: ❝Thesus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. Thesus: Stain them. I don’t care.❞

It’s been a month and a half since Crane’s reign of terror was stopped, leaving Gotham to finally return to normal. But, what is normal? After everything Jason and you have been through, it seems normal might be some unobtainable dream state. But that’s not going to stop either of you from trying and maybe, you’ll get lucky in the end. At the end of it, the two of you have suffered enough, right?

Right?

A/N: It was my birthday a few weeks ago and 2 days later I was in the ER with a bad kidney infection so that's why this is late lol I'm sorry!! lol You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary  and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

Jason and you patrol together and it feels like old times. You work well together just as you always have and it’s something the both of you really needed. Patrolling with Tim was different because you had to and you couldn’t really do it how you were used to because it was about training Tim and showing him the ropes. But this? This is like it always was, fighting side by side, teaming up and taking turns interrogating people. You stop at Excellent Gotham halfway through and park yourselves by Jason’s favorite gargoyle to eat.

You think tonight is healing parts of you. You felt hopeless before and now you're sitting here with your favorite person as if nothing has really changed. Maybe you don’t need to punish yourself all of the time and maybe this can be good. Maybe you can let yourself heal from everything. If Jason can, don’t you deserve to try?

“Wasn’t too boring tonight, was it?” Jason quips, the both of you back in your street clothes as you stand outside of your apartment building, Jason having rode home with you to make sure you got home safe.

“Eh.” You shrug. “It was alright I guess.” You scrunch your nose at him.

“Alright?!” Jason scoffs. “Bullshit. I’m a fucking trip.”

“You’re something.” You let out a cackle and Jason is relieved to see you look so happy. You looked lost earlier. “Can I ask you something?” You ask.

“What’s up?” Jason shifts his weight to his left leg, resting the helmet on his hip.

“When do you go see Leslie again?” You look down, tugging your sleeves over your hands before your eyes come up to Jason's.

Jason's brows raise slightly before he shrugs. “Uh…few days, why?”

“Can you, uh, a-ask her if she…ya know…maybe I need…to go.”

Jason nods his head with a warm smile. “Yeah, I’ll ask her and give her your number.”

“Thanks, Jay.” You give him a small and shy smile.

“Of course.” Jason smiles softly. “Hate fucking admitting it, but it’s been helping a bit again.”

“Good. I, uh, that’s why I wanna go. Might be for the best.”

“Good. Can’t hurt.” Jason nods his head.

“Yeah.” You smile softly. “Well, I’m gonna head in but thanks for tonight.”

“Do it again?” The corner of Jason's tugs into a hopeful smirk.

“Hell yeah.” You laugh softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You beam before spinning on your heels and entering the apartment building.

A smile is stretched across your face as you make your way up the three flights of stairs to your apartment. No part of you believes going to see Leslie is going to be easy but if she’s helping Jason who literally died, surely she can help you. And it feels really good to finally feel like you and Jason might be falling back into some sort of normal after everything.

You enter your apartment, pressing your back against the door as it shuts behind you. The TV is playing quietly from the living room, the rest of the apartment is dark. You're so stuck on how well the night went, you almost miss the sound of Molly’s voice coming from your living room.

“Molly?” You question, pushing off the door and walking the few feet into the kitchen, looking into the living room thanks to the open concept layout.

Molly is leaning against the arm of the couch holding her phone against her thighs. A wide smile splits her face as Jurassic Park is playing on the TV. Molly is still rambling on about the first time she saw the movie, completely ignoring your presence. You roll your eyes and walk over to the back of the couch, looking at her phone screen.

“Hey.” Gar chimes.

Molly jumps. “When did you get back?” Molly ask.

“Just now?” You question. “Hey, Gar?” Your brows furrow, looking between the two of them.

Nothing going on, sure.

Molly looks at the time on her phone. “Did it go okay? You’re not mad are you?” Molly questions.

“What happened?” Gar asks.

You look between the two of them and maybe nothing is going on but from where you're standing, it definitely looks like it. You aren't even upset about it, but if something is going on, you think it's weird and confusing neither one of them would just say something but you aren't going to push. It's not really your business or your place. So, you decide, you're not even gonna say anything. You'll sit back and see what happens with them.

“Nothing?” You shake your head. “We patrolled together, grabbed some food, and came back.” You shrug your shoulders. “So, I’m gonna shower and head to bed.” You reach over the couch and steal a handful of popcorn from Molly’s bowl. You glance to the TV, watching the water in the cup on the dash of the Jeep start to vibrate. “You guys are missing the best part.” You state as you start walking away. “Get it together, guys.” You make your voice cheery, making sure they know you're joking and you can hear Molly laugh quietly as you enter your room.

You grab your change of clothes before heading to the bathroom and hopping in the shower. Music plays through the bathroom until it's interrupted by a ding from a text. You peek out of the shower just in time to see your phone screen still on with Jason’s contact on your screen. He’s texted you a quick ‘made it home’. You smile to yourself and continue washing your hair while your phone chimes again. This time when you look over, it’s a second text from Jason telling you you should just meet him at his place around noon and you can go to Home Depot together. You roll your eyes but your smile is glued to your lips while you finish your shower.

You take a seat on the toilet seat with a towel draped around your body. You pick up your phone while your stomach bubbles and twists.

You: What? Don’t trust my driving?

Jaybird: No ☠️

You: Fuck you 🔪

Jaybird: I’m really shaking in my boots babe

You: You suck

Jaybird: 🤤

You: 🤮

Jaybird: 🖕

You: Ill see you tomorrow I do like to be chauffeured around

Jaybird: How many times did it take autocorrect to get that word right?

Your jaw drops before you burst out laughing. He’s such an asshole but it did take more than a few tries to get that damn word right and he would know.

You: I will walk over to your apartment and fucking stab you so fucking help me jason todd

Jaybird: You’d have to catch me first babe

You: That a dare?

Jaybird: I dare you

You: Okay

You toss your phone and immediately start getting dressed in sweats. You don’t bother with makeup or anything else. You get the bathroom tidied up before you exit the bathroom, phone in hand before you go for your backpack. Molly is still peaking over the couch on her Facetime call with Gar.

“What’re you doing?” Molly asks.

“Going to stab Jason.” You answer casually while Molly looks to her phone at Gar.

“She’s doing what?”

“He dared me, Gar!” You yell but Molly and Gar can tell by the airiness in your voice it's really not that serious.

“He dared you to stab him?” Molly asks, unsure if she really heard you correctly or if she really wants to any sort of context.

You widen your eyes at her, nodding your head quickly. “Yeah! And I’m not gonna back down. It’s a dare.” You scoff with the furrow of your brows.

“Were they always this weird?” Molly asks Gar.

“Hey!” You yell.

“Yes.” Gar answers with a nod.

“Okay, I’ll be back!” You call with a smile as you kick your shoes on and head out, locking the three locks on your way out.

Jason prepares for you to get there, knowing you take dares seriously. He unlocks the door and shuts every light off in the place. If you want to come for him, he’s not going to make it easy. That ruins the game. It’s silly and he knows but at this point, he doesn’t want to miss even a single opportunity with you. Yes, he shouldn't have wasted a month and a half and neither should you but he’s thinking maybe that was for the best. It did give you both space to start to healing. It gave you both space to start setting up your own lives and finding out who you are today. It seems to have helped and there’s nothing saying you can’t continue while trying to get back what you once had. Optimism is not something that ever came easy to Jason Todd but he’s letting himself feel optimistic about you for just a second.

You pull up to Jason's place, seeing it’s completely dark. At first, it almost scares you, thinking maybe something happened and this is a trap. That would be something that could happen. But, that thought fades quickly because you don’t have that pit in your stomach and Jason would never have played along with anything to endanger you. This is Jason being a shit.

You dig in your bag and pull out your phone, using the flashlight as you enter the building, keeping light on your toes.

“Finally.” Jason's voice rings through the speaker system. “Usual rules?”

This was something you did at the Manor when Bruce was out. You blacked out the entire house, the only light would come from the moon outside. Other than that, it was just you two and a black house trying to locate each other. The only rules were not to permanently injure the other one -- don’t shove each other down the stairs and no lethal weapons. First person to disarm the other wins.

“You’re on, Jay.” You call as you shut your flashlight off, pocketing your phone.

You have your hands at your sides as they start to warm and glow a vibrant shade of green. Your steps are careful, using the glow to guide your feet. Back at the manor, you didn’t even need the light from your hands at one point. You had the whole place memorized from doing this with Jason which did kind of defeat some of the purpose of the blacking out the building but it served enough purpose. Plus, there are more stakes. It has the same premise as Dick’s whole thing with the blindfolds but this is more fun.

Jason is positioned at the end of the hall, carefully listening. He can see the glow of your hands which he said was cheating at first, until he realized he can also find you. He doesn’t need the glowing but it’s definitely not a bad thing to have on his end. So, he stands against the wall, watching and listening to you walk closer. His eyes track you, knowing you’ll search the full hallway before attempting the stairs. A part of him wants to dodge around you and essentially play a weird game of hide and seek but instead, he keeps his feet planted. The idea is to disarm, not to find.

Your hands stop glowing the further down the hallway you get. Jason's brows furrow, still listening to your footsteps. They echo softly no matter how light on your feet you try to be. If you know anything, it’s that Jason likes to play games. He’s going to make finding him easy the first time because that’s the point. And then you’ll have to spar it out until one of you backs off and runs off. He’s done this before so you keep walking with soft feet until you reach the end of the hallway. Jason is like a radiator. He could heat up an entire room if left there long enough so as you stand right in front of him, you can feel the space between you growing warmer.

You strike first, just missing his head as Jason grabs your arm. He spins you around as you kick your leg around his, sending you both to the ground. Jason falls on top of you, barely catching his weight on his hands to not crush you and you don’t miss a beat, crawling from under him only for Jason to grab your ankle and yank you back. Jason hears your laugh through a squeal.

“That’s a fucking ego boost.” Jason laughs with you.

“You’re not scary, sorry, Jay.” You tease, yanking your ankle free.

“Lotta people'd beg to differ." Jason defends as he hears you run off down the hallway.

“Not to me!” You sing-song, your voice echoing off the walls and staircase.

A smile stretches across Jason’s face as he shakes his head. He starts walking after you, not hearing your footsteps anymore and he knows you've hidden yourself behind some sort of corner so he’s careful with his steps.

A large part of him thought the good parts of him died and the pit kept them. It kept them in exchange for his life, maybe that’s just the price he was to pay in order to live. Someone can’t come back to life without sacrificing something. Look at Ra’s. But, over the last few days, he’s learning that may not have been in the case.

His bones still ache and something still feels hauntingly different but the good parts of him are still there. Tim didn’t even blink when Jason showed up in the alley, he was so unbothered by all of Jason’s training methods that even got you to pitch a fit every once in a while. Jason had a good time training Tim and him and you are back to doing this stupid game in the middle of the night with laughter bouncing off of the walls. He’s smiled more the last few days than he has in two months. Maybe the good parts of him aren’t entirely gone. They were just covered in guilt and remorse.

You're tucked away in a corner and you always wonder how Jason manages to be so silent as he walks. You can be quiet but you can’t even tell when he’s moving until it’s almost too late. It’s for his own protection, he’s been doing this longer, but it’s always fascinating to you and it'd be a little scary if you didn't know him. One second he’s down the hall and the next, he’s standing in front of you without ever making a sound. It’s his most intimidating quality.

But you're careful anyway, listening, focusing on your surroundings and then the hairs stand up on the back of your neck with a subtle throb starting to your right. You dodge just as Jason's fist flies through the air and you grab his arm, elbowing the inside of his arm. Jason lets out a groan and you twist it around before Jason laughs.

“It’s cute you think you still stand a chance.”

“I’ve taken you before.” You quip, holding his arm behind his back.

“You’re out of practice.” Jason chuckles, pulling his arm away before he spins back around, going to grab you but you jump back.

“So are you.” You quip.

“You sure?” Jason asks making you nearly scream. He’s right in front of you now and you didn’t feel him that time. His breath is fanning over your face and without needing to see him, you can tell he’s smirking, cheeks probably that pretty shade of pink.

“Uh-huh.” Your voice catches in your throat.

“Right.” Jason gives you this chuckle that makes you want to kiss the smirk off of his face but you know you can’t very well do that now so instead, you make your move.

You quickly slide to the right before kicking his feet from under him. Jason lands on a knee and he swipes his leg across the floor, knocking you down just as you try to run off. It’s Jason’s turn to get to his feet and find a new spot.

The two of you go back and forth like this and it’s different this time. Usually, you spar hard and you both make solid efforts to disarm the other but this time, you’re spending a lot of time hiding and running. It wasn’t so much intentional at first from either of you but the more you do it, the more you realize this is just more time to spend together. Tomorrow comes eventually and tomorrow always has some sort of surprise in it. Tonight, you don’t wanna worry about that. You spend your time in the dark, finding each other and going back forth with fists and quips.

Two hours in, Jason is hiding out on the landing of the first staircase, tucked away in the corner. The window is two feet away from him, the city lights cascading through the pains and onto the wood flooring. His eyes stay trained in front of him, hearing you from downstairs walking around. You've been looking for a few minutes and Jason is wondering if you’ll give up. And then he hears a smack and a groan from down the stairs. Jason has to stifle his own laugh, far nicer than you who burst out laughing when Jason hit the doorframe. You seem to recover okay, your steps picking up a few seconds later and he can hear you ascending the staircase.

Your steps stop right at the top.

You roll your eyes and you know damn well Jason is right behind the light of the window. He’ll be able to see you before you can see him. And if you know anything about him, you know he’s standing right in the corner, right foot lifted and pressed against the wall with his arms crossed and that stupid smirk on his lips. This game was never very fair from your perspective. You've never won. Jason’s senses have always been better, Bruce trained him well. As much as you hate the thought. You let out a sigh, take two steps forward and stand directly in the light, a taunt telling Jason to get it over with.

Jason pushes off the wall with his right foot and makes his move but he’s cautious. You do not give up, especially to him when there’s a game like this in play. He strikes first, you block him in an instant, using the light to drag him from the shadows and you get him with your knee right in his side. Jason doesn’t even flinch, throwing another hit, this time hitting you on your side. The two go back and forth, breathing turning heavy as you use the city lights to your advantage. But, it’s Jason who gets the upper hand as he almost always does, grabbing both of your wrists as you use one to try to punch him and the other to block his hands. His grip is tight and unwavering.

Jason’s chest is nearly touching yours as you look up at him. There’s a devious gleam you can make out even in the low light, the corners of his mouth perked into a subtle smirk. Your heart jumps into your throat.

“Giving up so quick?” Jason questions.

“No.” You let out a soft pout but you aren’t fighting him.

Jason can feel his heartbeat on his tongue. His grip loosens on your wrists but he doesn’t let go. Instead, his thumb rubs your skin softly, not even realizing he’s doing it. It’s been hours and he’s been having a blast and he knows she is, too. For the life of him, he can’t figure out why you both let time go by. He does know why, because it all hurt but maybe it was just getting over the hump of it all. He thinks it must be just as hard for you to overcome as it is for him. But, you both always seemed to be able to cope better around each other. It’s the understanding of every action and word that leaves your lips. The feeling that you’ll both never be alone.

Jason nods once. “Not trying very hard.” Jason whispers softly.

Last night felt so good and cathartic. Maybe you just want to live in another one of those moments for a few minutes.

“You’ll just tighten your grip.” You whisper back, watching a cheeky smirk grow on his lips.

“Doesn’t seem to bother you much.” Jason quips and his eyes glance to your lips.

What if he kisses you anyway? Just one more time. Then you can do this friend thing with the game and the banter. What if he kisses you anyway?

“No.” You answer back, glancing to his lips.

What if you kiss him? Just one more time and then you can do the whole friend like you did before. What if you kiss him?

“How’re you gonna get out of this then?” Jason quips.

Fuck it.

You lunge forward, your lips connecting with Jason’s. He groans and immediately drops your wrists as his hands come to your cheeks, pulling you closer to him. Jason melts right into you, nearly exploding at the seams with the very thought you were thinking the same thing he was.

His mouth moves with yours and you push forward until Jason’s back hits the wall. Jason grabs your hips, turning you both around so your back is pinned against the wall. He kisses down your neck, nipping and biting at the flesh. Your heartbeat skyrockets as your hand tangles into his messy hair. Your eyes are closed as a soft moan escapes your lips. Jason bites down, sucking a mark into your skin.

You pull his head back to your lips, the kiss turning sloppy and wet. Jason slides his hands under your thighs, picking you up to pin you against the wall as his knee slots into between your legs. His thigh hits just the right spot making you let out a moan into his mouth immediately followed by a groan.

You pull his hair back, getting a pretty groan from Jason before you go to his neck, leaving your own purple mark. Jason holds your hips helping you grind down against his thigh. The sound of your desperate gasps makes him want to lose his mind. He wants to surrender all control he has ever had and forget anything bad ever happened. His head is lust drunk and all he wants is you. His bulge is growing and throbbing through his sweatpants, desperately wanting free.

You feel yourself growing closer and wetter but more desperate. There’s not quite enough friction and he knows it. He knows this only ever gets you teetering on the edge but it’s never quite enough. He knows exactly what he’s doing and you want to bite him. Your pussy throbs and aches for something to fill you up.

“Jay.” You pant desperately into his mouth.

He fucking snickers.

And stills your hips.

“Jay.” Your brows pinch together as if you're in pain.

“What’s that?”Jason teases.

“Fuck. You.” You nod your head, trying to move your hips but his grip keeps you steady.

Jason leans forward, nipping up your neck making you whine. He can feel your pulse against his lips as he kisses his way up to your cheek. You feel him grin against your skin and you think your skin might set the both of you on fire.

“Say please.” Jason mocks you, whispering in your ear, his voice deep and graveled.

You think you've melted into the palms of his hands.

Jason loosens his grip slightly, allowing you to get some friction for just a few seconds before stilling your hips.

“Didn't hear ya, babe?” Jason’s eyes lock on yours with the quick raise of his brows, using all of his self-control not to cave himself.

There's a sliver of you that wants to push him, see who can actually outlast the other because you know it'll be him begging for you in about ten minutes. But, your head is swimming and your body is erupting in goosebumps. The desperation of wanting him all over you makes you lose every other thought that was once there.

You kiss him, keeping your lips close to his, pulling away just enough to speak. “Please.”

Jason doesn’t waste a single second to dropping his knee as his lips connect back with yours.

Jason pulls you with him, his back towards the second set of stairs as you both walk up them, unsteadily with your lips connected. Once you’re up the stairs, Jason is grabbing the hem of your hoodie, tugging it over you and tossing it on the floor. Jason’s hoodie is next, tossed somewhere in the dark hallway. By the time you reach Jason’s room, he’s tugging your top off and tossing it to the floor.

It’s all hasty and hot, desperate and needy as Jason pulls you to his bed. He lands on top of you, catching you to mind your fall and your hands are under his shirt. They’re warm and soft. They make him feel whole again.

The words ‘i need you’ circle his brain but never quite make it out. He needs you like he needs air. You're the breath of fresh air on the first day of spring. It’s the first day the air doesn’t hurt his lungs. You taste how the word cathartic sounds. He needs you like he needs the oxygen in his lungs.

You scratch up his back and Jason arches his back right into you. His head spins. His lips trail down to your cheek and then your neck. He leaves a second mark in his wake and your head falls fuzzy. You aren’t even entirely sure you're even here anymore. All you know is that you want him and your skin is on fire. You can’t form a single coherent thought as Jason makes his way down to your collarbone, leaving yet another mark. All you can think about his him. His mouth and his the way his teeth graze over your skin, how warm his hand is as it trails up to your breast. All you can think about is the pretty moans and groans that leave his lips as you claw his back again. You've turned to mush all over again.

He presses some kisses around where your braw cuts off, just enough to tease you before he comes back up, kissing your lips. And all you know for certain is how badly you need him. You need him today and tomorrow and every day after. Every moment with him is worth every bit of pain and agony. Every moment without him is boring and lackluster. Jason walks into a room and it’s like a color bomb explodes through the room. His laugh could light up the darkest of hallways and his eyes are the prettiest shade of green, they could convert anyway to love the color. Breathing is easier whenever he's around.

Your hands go to the hem of his shirt and try to tug it off of his head but Jason stops you, shooting up immediately. Your high immediately vanishes seeing the look of panic spread over his feature. Jason’s head comes back, still spinning but down in panic and his chest heaves. What’s he supposed to do?

“I-I’m sorry.” You shake your head, leaning up on your elbows. “I-, uh, I thought…well…I…I should have asked--”

“No.” Jason shakes his head, looking down then back to you. “It’s not…that.” Jason nearly chokes on his own words.

“What’s wrong, Jay?” Your brows tug together and even though you're the one half-naked, he’s the one feeling exposed.

Jason’s teeth grind together and he didn’t really think this far ahead. His mind was clouded with the thought of you and the desire to just have one more fucking night. His mind was clouded with the idea of chasing the feeling you shared just a few months ago. He didn’t think about this step. This part of the whole sex thing. You don’t care. You never care about scars but it hurts him.

Jason clears his throat as he brings his hands back to your hips, watching your chest quickly rise and fall with every breath. He's running through everything he could say. How is he supposed to tell you he has a thick, protruding scar from his collarbones all the way down his abdomen? That can't possibly be some sort of turn on and if anything, he's almost certain it'll send you into a spiral because it nearly does to him every damn day he looks at it. What's he supposed to say? What's he supposed to say without making you feel worse or feel like you need to push to make sure he's okay?

What's he supposed to say in order to keep this moment intact without it being just another moment tainted by painful memories?

“We can just keep doing this. Um…I-I don’t mind…if you don’t.” You try to pull in a breath. The guilt chews at your stomach. “I, uh, I don’t—“

“Y/n.” Jason cuts you off, not wanting you to spiral. “It's not that, I fucking swear.” Jason squeezes your hips and his brows twitch up with reassurance. He's just not sure if he's ready to reveal that part to you. It makes him feel guilty. He's supposed to be able to share everything with you but the shame eats at him. “I want to.” He clarifies, earning a nod from you. “It’s just…” His eyes go distant for a second before coming back to yours. “Stays on.”

You offer him a large nod and you thought it was odd he turned around before to change. Jason has never been very modest about anything ever. He has worked very hard for his chest and abs and he doesn’t mind showing off a bit, especially in front of you because he’s still a shithead. But, last night he didn’t and sitting here now, you're putting the pieces together while a piece of your heart breaks for him.

“I, uh…I know.” You nod softly, pushing yourself up to sit up fully.

Jason sits on his knees, his knees on either side of your legs.

You can't know.

“What?” Jason’s brows tug together.

“The night Crane kidnapped you, you, uh, you couldn’t get out of your gear so I had to help you.” You offer him a soft shrug. “So, uh…I just want you to know that I already know. It’s completely fine, I get it, but I wanted you to know that I already knew.”

Jason can feel his throat wanting to close and his world feels like it's closing in on him. It feels like a nightmare. He doesn't want you to know. It's embarrassing.

“You saw it?!” Jason’s voice cracks as his cheeks burn a vibrant red as he bites his own tongue to try and hide and his shame.

You nod again. “Yeah. You, uh, you were really high and I figured it would not be something you would want brought up.”

Jason shakes his head looking down. He feels tainted, ruined, a mess of broken and damaged pieces piled on the floor to be discarded and forgotten about. He's not even sure what's worse. The fact you knew and then never said anything or the fact he didn't even get a chance to make peace with it before he told you. He hates it so fucking much and it just makes him feel like the biggest failure there is. What more proof does anyone really need? He failed at being Robin, failed at taking down the Joker, failed at being a good son, failed at being a good boyfriend, he even failed at staying dead. It's just embarrassing and shameful.

You can see the gears in his head working overtime. He's going to spiral and the scar doesn't mean shit to you. Your entire back is riddled with them. Any one of those could have caused massive bleeding and killed you. The way you see it, his scars were better because most of them were just part of the job. He got them putting himself in danger for the greater good.

"I don't care, ya know?" You state with the raise of your brows and all Jason does is shake his head. "I don't fucking care about it, Jay. I know you do. Whatever the fuck you're thinking about it, you're wrong." You rest a hand on his cheek. "You don't have to take your shirt off around me if you don't want to. I get it."

"I fucking hate it." Jason states, taking your hand in his, his fingers delicate over your skin. He uses both hands to rub circles into your palm, massaging the muscles.

"For what it's worth," You let out a breath. "I don't. I don't care and I don't mind. That shit doesn't matter to me, Jay."

"I know." Jason nods his head because he knows you don't. It's something in his own head. It's just really difficult to move on from.

"So, whatever you wanna do, I don't mind." You offer him a tender smile.

Jason lets out a breath. “Thank you.” Jason says back. “Did you know? That Bruce had it done?”

“Yeah.” You pull in a breath, biting back your bitterness for Bruce. “He didn’t say why though I was screaming at him when I found out so he didn’t have much chance, I guess.”

Jason lets out a quiet but sad chuckle because even in death, you will fight tooth and nail for him. “You were screaming at him for it?”

“Well, yeah, I thought it was pointless. I figure it’s just legal reasons, maybe.” You shrug. “But I didn’t wanna hear it then.” You chuckle softly. “So, yeah, I uh, I knew he did and I knew the Pit didn’t take it away.”

It's something he's going to need to find a way to make terms with but at least, you're understanding about it. He wishes he had the opportunity to tell you himself but...he's thinking maybe this was easier. You've known and never batted an eye or said a word about it. Maybe he doesn't have to feel all that shame and embarrassment around you.

“White hair, kept all of my scars, and got the one my chest.” Jason lets out a scoff.

“Least it fixed your face.” You quip back with a cheeky smile in hopes it'll help cheer him up a bit.

You see the flash of something kind and cheeky cross over his face.

Jason drops your hand, leaning in. “What’s wrong with my face, huh?” The corner of his mouth perks into a grin and you always have a way to make him feel better about anything and everything.

Your name might as well be synonymous with catharsis.

“Did you want a list?” You raise with a smirk as you tilt your head to the right.

Jason lets out a laugh. “Fuck you.” Jason shakes his head at you and his eyes go to your lips before traveling back up to your eyes.

“Say please.” You lean in closer to him, brushing your nose against his.

Jason shakes his head, bursting at the seams with a devilish grin. His hand comes up to your cheek before he kisses you, pushing the both of you down to the bed.

“Please.” Jason nearly growls into your mouth.

Jason leans up and tugs his shirt off quickly before coming right back to your lips. Your hands tangle in his hair and give the strands a light tug. You push on his shoulder, signaling for him to roll over. You get on top before you trail down and press kisses to his cheek and then to his neck, leaving your second mark of the night.

The words ‘i love you’ bounce around Jason’s head like a pinball in a pinball machine. He’s so in love with you he thinks he might have lost all of his sanity. He did not know it was possible to feel so strongly for another person but he does. And he wants to live here forever. You make him better and he is so certain of that if not for everything that has happened but the reason that Jason doesn’t want to self-sabotage with you. It’s not worth it. You’ll fight and make up and it’ll have been for nothing. All it would do is hurt the both of you and haven’t you both been hurt enough?

You can feel Jason's hardening bulge beneath you. Without breaking the kiss, you slide your fingers into the waistband of his pants, helping him tug them down. Jason sits up, helping you get the rest of his clothes off before he flips the two of you so you're back on your back. You let out a laugh just as you always did and Jason thinks he'd never grow tired of it.

Your hands are in his hair and he can feel you smiling against his lips despite the haste of your kiss. Jason slides his hand under your back, undoing your bra before he helps you get off. His hand goes right to your right breast, pinching your nipple between his thumb and finger. You moan into his mouth as your head starts to go fuzzy all over again. You squirm under him and a grin comes to Jason's lips.

You snake your hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around the shaft before you start pumping him slowly. Jason's mouth opens against you as his hips stutter for just a second. You start moving your arm faster and Jason's mouth trails back down to your neck. His teeth graze the skin and you think you'd let him mark every part of your body without ever putting a thought into it.

He sucks a mark into your neck.

And then another.

And another leading down the scar on your shoulder from the bullet wound.

He stops there, switching to a kiss and your stomach twists while your brain starts to turn to goo. He presses kisses back up to your lips and you're squirming under his touch as you can feel yourself growing wetter by the second. 

"Condom." You mutter against his lips before removing your hand from his cock, precum leaking from the tip.

Jason wastes no time in reaching for his nightstand to tug out a condom. You're already stripping the rest of your clothes by the time Jason has the package in his hand. 

Jason smirks down at you. "Not wasting any time, huh?"

You shrug, almost taunting him as you keep your eyes locked on his, careful not to look down at the scar. "Been a while."

Jason chuckles as heat runs over his neck. "Having withdrawal?"

"I could just do it myself." You quip back.

"Can I watch?" Jason questions and a part of you thinks he's serious.

You roll your eyes. "Maybe next time."

Jason has to clear his throat as his cock twitches with the remark. "Hold you to it." Jason mutters as he finally gets the wrapper open.

"Then I get to watch you."

Jason's eyes flash over to you as his stomach drops and spins. "Whatever you want, princess." Jason finally gets the condom on and you pull him back down to you.

His lips connect with yours, hot and fast at first, hungry as if he hasn't eaten in a month. His cock is lined up with your soaking pussy but the kiss slows and deepens. Jason's hand trails down your right thigh, delicate fingers running over your skin as goosebumps erupt over your body. You run a hand down his shoulder and to his arm, his bicep twitches under your touch.

Jason is warm and sturdy, an unwavering force that you find yourself so intertwined with, you really aren't sure how you've managed to live so much of your life without him. It always feels like he's meant to be around you like someone out there made him just for you and you were made just for him. In some ways, that's scary and feels like a big responsibility, but in others, it's comforting. It's the reassurance that it's just you and him in the end of it all. You'll get there one day. That's how it's supposed to be.

Jason pulls away, resting his forehead against yours before he starts sliding his cock into your aching pussy. The pit in your stomach grows as you start to see stars. Jason's eyes are shut and he's thinking he's left this whole plane of existence. He sinks into you slow and steady until he bottoms out.

His eyes open, locking on yours. Your fingers are lightly running up his arm and the words of 'i love you' almost spill from his lips like an overflowing cup of water. His nose brushes yours and he almost says it. He doesn't want to scare you away with piling too much on you at once. Last night and the scar tonight, he knows you're worried the Titans.

He'll tell you later.

Instead, Jason settles for something with the same meaning.

Your eyes close and the words of 'i love you' almost escape your lips like an easy breath. You brush your nose with his and you almost say it. Jason has been through a lot. You don't want to add to it, not right now. You don't want to add more pressure if he can't say it back yet. You don't want to scare him off.

You'll tell him later.

Instead, you settle for something with the same meaning.

"You and me." Jason whispers to you as he goes to kiss your cheek.

A tender smile pulls at your lips as your heart stutters in your chest. "You and me."

A smile rips through Jason's lips as his heart feels like it's just burst through his ribcage.

Jason pulls out and pushes back in, just as slow this time before he starts picking up the pace. Your mind starts swimming with his quick movements. His mouth is on yours again and you can barely keep up. Your mind is flooded with how full he's making you as your pussy clenches around him.

You try to form words, anything to tell him to keep going but nothing can form quite right, giving Jason the ego boost he doesn't exactly need. He gets the idea and doesn't lighten up. His hand grips your thigh, tugging your leg up near his hip. With the new angle, he's tapping the patch of nerves inside of you. You gasp against him, your nails digging into his back.

"J-Jay." You nearly whine into his mouth and Jason nearly finishes right there with the first word you're able to get out being his name.

"Hmm?" He hums, trying to hold his composure. "Gotta speak up, babe." Jason teases.

"H-harder." You get out.

Jason grins wickedly against your lips, doing as you asked but only for a few thrusts before he stops entirely. "Like that?"

Your eyes shoot open, pupils blow with desperation and lust. "Please."

You don't have to ask again.

Jason thrusts his hips harder and faster than before. You groan louder below him almost immediately. Your pussy is clenching around him more and more and he can tell you're getting close. He slides a hand between you, rubbing tight circles around your clit. You nearly scream with the new sensation.

You grip his hair and pull his neck closer to you just as Jason gets you to reach your high. You let out a mixed whine and moan of his name before you bite down where his shoulder meets his neck, desperately trying not to scream. Tears prick your eyes as your stomach tightens and your whole body shakes and twitches beneath Jason.

It takes everything in him not to lose himself until you're finally finished, panting below him. His hips stall against you as his head hangs in the cook of your neck, his cock twitching as he shoots his load into the condom.

Jason leans up, chest heaving and he places a kiss to your cheek and then your forehead before he rolls off of you to dispose of the condom in his bathroom.

You sit up, wrapping the blanket around you with your chest still heaving and you give Jason a tender smile as he walks back towards the bed. He grabs his clothes as you watch him and you're getting your first full view of the scar. It doesn't bother you but you understand why it bothers him. Seeing it in full, it's a harsh scar, not something that looks like it'll even fade. You think if it were you, it'd bother you, too.

Jason makes his way back to the bed, plopping back down before he leans against the pillow. His eyes are still lustblown as he gives you a soft and tired smile, and you think his eyes are filled with something you became so accustomed to. Your hand goes to his hair, brushing the white streaks away from his face. Jason’s hand grabs your hand before bringing your palm to his lips and he presses tender kisses over your hand.

“For the record,” You start as Jsaon places your hand back down. “I don’t care what scars you come home with.” You say so easily and your word choice doesn’t go unnoticed by Jason. “I know you do but I don’t…” You pause, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Just as long as you come home.” You nod a few times as your brows pinch together.

Jason sits up, his face coming just a few inches from yours. “I’m sorry I didn’t.” His voice is rough and this is a different apology than the one you got on the roof. The one you got at his safe house. There are no stakes in the apology.

“It’s not your fault.” You place a hand on his cheek and Jason leans into it. "I forgive you anyway, though."

He still wonders how you were ever able to bear it. Despite his general feeling of self-doubt and self-loathing, he knows your feelings have always been very real for him. You didn’t cope, that he knows for certain and he’s not entirely sure if you ever will. It’s something you have to make peace with just as much as he does. And he thinks about how maybe that’s an important part of you both moving forward. You forgive him for some reason but Jason doesn’t think you've accepted it yet. A part of him has, it happened to him and he’s alive. He went through it. One second, your world is moving at a steady pace and the next it’s halted, suddenly stopped with no warning and then it’s thrown in the other direction. It sounds more like whiplash. So, Jason wonders if you’ll ever hit the acceptance stage. He wonders how you were ever able to bear any of it. He knows for certain if it were him, he’d never be able to.

Your eyes are soft and tired and there’s the tiniest, adoring smile on your lips. A look Jason is privileged enough to be the only one to receive. And he thinks about he’d never be able to bear the loss of you. It rips him to shreds. It would take all of the remaining good parts of him and shatter them. He’d never recover if something happened to you. Even if it's beyond his control. It’s terrifying feeling that way about another person.

Jason nods against you before he presses a kiss to the palm of your hand. “Yeah…” He lets out a breath. “Thanks for sticking around.”

“Thanks for letting me.” You smile softly. "You and me?"

Jason offers the same smile back. "You and me." Jason confirms. “You still gonna talk to Leslie?” Jason asks as you pull your hand away.

You nod softly. “Yeah. If she has anything open.”

Jason gives you a soft smile. “Good.” He nods softly. He sits back up all the way, looking to his doorway. “Gonna grab your clothes.” Jason chuckles softly, tossing his shirt over his head before he gets up.

You watch Jason disappear through the doorway and you're quick to grab his pillow, checking to see if he’s replaced the knife with a gun. Your chest warms with the sight of your blue switchblade still locked and lying under his pillow. It’s a relief he hasn’t put the gun back. Your thoughts are jolted as fabric hits your face.

“Hey!” You yell through a laugh, your clothes falling into your lap.

“Fucking nosey ass.” Jason nods his head at you, making his way back to the bed with his hoodie in hand.

“You’re an interesting person to be nosey about.” You shrug as you get the blanket off of your shoulders. You can feel the tiredness weighing on your bones and you know if you don't head home soon, you'll end up staying here. As much as you really want to, you do not want to overstay your welcome. “Well,” You sigh as you tug your shirt over your head. “I should probably head home.” You laugh softly, seeing the orange light of sunrise seeping through Jason’s window.

“Guess so.” Jason nearly pouts at the thought. He never wants you to leave but he doesn't want you to feel obligated to always stay just because you're here late. You'll be back here later anyway. “Still gonna help me today?” Jason’s eyes are hopeful and big.

“Of course.” You laugh softly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I’ll just sleep for a few hours and how about we like one?” You ask. “We’ll both be out of it if we don’t get some sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Jason says in agreement. “Want an escort home?” He asks but you can tell by the way he raises of his brows and the way he's already moving to get up, it's not really an offer. He's going to do it anyway.

“Thank you.” You stand up, putting the rest of your clothes on. "Just get some sleep when you get back, okay?"

Jason nods with a grin. "Of course. Gotta be well-rested hanging out with you."

"I can not help you." You quip as you grab your bag.

"Sorry." Jason lets out a chuckle.

"Let's just go." Your eyes widen at him to tease him before Jason gestures towards the door for you to lead the way.

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[cinnaleaf]

ESSENCE OF US - CH 6: IN LIMBO*

Please read responsibly. This fic will get hot and heavy as the story progresses, 18+ only MDNI | READ CH 5 | MASTERLIST | READ CH 7 [soon]

summary: a fleeting encounter with a mysterious Trent leaves you wondering if fate is playing a bigger match. your paths continue to cross in unexpected places as the fragrances around you mirror the growing tension between you. maybe it's just a coincidence..or maybe its destiny in the making.

warnings: ANGSTY, SMUT, unprotected sex, language, intense anxiety genre: angst, fluff, slow(ish) burn romance wc: ~7.6k a/n: L'Équilibre Caché means hidden balance

A couple of months passed since you and Trent made things official. You weren’t sure how time flew by so quickly, but it felt right. In the beginning, you were inseparable; always at his house or your apartment, grabbing late night eats, or waking up to the best cuddles and lazy kisses. However, recently things slowed down. Life happened. Trent was busy with football, and you were buried deep in preparation for your perfume launch. It was taking longer than you anticipated, thanks to a very handsome distraction. 

You glanced around Les Notes d’Amour, inhaling the mix of floral, citrus, and spice elements that lingered in the air. The launch was still a few months away, but your nerves were starting to creep in because nothing felt solid yet. As much as you hated to admit it, this was your most personal creation and you didn’t want to mess it up. You sat at the counter with your lavender notebook open, absentmindedly scribbling ideas for any new scents you could add as you watched a live interview of Trent on your phone. God, he looked so good. How could someone look so sexy post match? You continued scribbling and jotting down ideas on different pages for inspiration. One page was blank, except for a small doodle of a solar eclipse in the corner with a sentence written that said ‘I want you for as long as the stars shine’, but you didn’t notice it as you flipped past since you were too occupied by how good he looked on your screen. Seeing his smile always gave you butterflies, even if it was just on a phone screen. 

“Mate, I gotta ask..” the interviewer said, leaning forward. “what aftershave are you wearing? You smell amazing.”

You froze, the pen dropping against the notebook paper immediately. 

Oh, shit. Please don’t.

Trent grinned, clearly enthralled by the compliment as he reached in his jacket. “Ahh, this? It's custom..one of a kind actually. Made just for me by my gi–umm… someone close.”

No, no, no. He almost said girlfriend, there’s no way no one caught that.

“It's called Rêveur,” he said, pulling out the bottle and holding it up for the camera. He tried to be subtle, he really did, but he failed miserably—like always. He turned the bottle in an attempt to hide the logo, but in his excitement he twisted it back to reveal the full label: Rêveur by Les Notes d’Amour. Y/N L/N.

Fuuuuuuuck. 

You felt your stomach drop. This was it. The final puzzle piece the media needed to confirm you were his girlfriend. The suspicions were already there of course, but there wasn’t a clear and definite answer until now. Your phone started going off immediately as banners popped up at the top of your screen. Emails, notifications, messages, website inquiries. You stared at the screen while the interviewer looked at the bottle with curious eyes. Trent was completely clueless about leaking the label. He stood there with the biggest smile on his face, going on about how special it was and how much he loved it. It would’ve been a cute moment if it weren’t for the logo being caught on screen in 4k quality. You grabbed your phone, frantically texting him as your fingers moved at the speed of light.

WTF??? LOGO ON SCREEN!! YOU HAD ONE JOB

You sat there, fumbling back and forth between the live interview and your texts as you waited for his response. There was no way he was going to see your text while he was on camera, but it was worth a shot. Your anxiety started creeping in like an iron grip. Both of you were trying so hard to keep things lowkey, and he just tossed your name out there like it was nothing. You swiped back to your texts, adding another message as your fingers typed furiously. There was no way out of this anymore, it was done. Fully revealed.

?????? YOU JUST OUTED US LIVE ON TV

Everything was blowing up, everyone had seen your name. “Fucking fantastic,” you muttered under your breath as you flipped your phone face down on the counter. “This is going to be a disaster.” 

The door chimed about an hour later with a group of teenagers barging in, extremely loud and voices filled with energy. They couldn’t have been older than sixteen. You immediately felt your blood pressure rise when you saw them eyeing the fragrances and giggling. 

“Aye, is this the place that made Trent’s aftershave?” one of the boys asked, already making his way to the shelves to pick up a tester fragrance that was definitely not Rêveur. You never planned on selling it. It was supposed to be something special—something just for Trent.

“Yeah bro, it’s gotta be,” his friend answered, spraying half of a tester bottle in the air. The sweet, musky scent of tonka bean and coconut filled the room instantly as you saw him juggling the bottle so carelessly. 

“Be careful with that!” you called out, stepping forward just as the bottle slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor. The scent of coconut and tonka bean flooded the room and you felt your chest tighten. 

Fucking perfect.

One of the girls snickered. “Oops, sorrrrryyyy” she said, though it was clear she really didn’t give a fuck. You forced a smile but internally, you were screaming.

Get out, get out, get out.

“Is Trent your boyfriend or somethin’?” another boy asked, picking up another bottle and spraying it into the air. “That’s ace.”

No, not ace. Stressful. Stressful as hell, actually. 

After what felt like an eternity, they finally left, slamming the door behind them in a fit of giggles as you tried to clean up the mess. There was an overwhelming scent of tonka bean and coconut which was starting to make your head pound. You barely had time to breathe before the next customer walked in. The woman was in her mid-fifties with a stiff bob, you know the one. She immediately stormed up to the counter with a sense of entitlement and you knew exactly what was coming next. 

“Excuse me,” she said, dripping with impatience. “I’ve been calling for over an hour and no one has answered. Give me that aftershave everyone’s talking about. I need it for my husband. The one Trent Alexander-Arnold mentioned on the telly.”

Your headache intensified immediately. “Sorry ma’am, it’s not for sale,” you replied, trying to stay polite as possible. You knew this lady was going to be the most annoying person ever and you weren’t in the mood for it. At all. “Not for sale?” She blinked, clearly offended. “That’s ridiculous. Who would make something, advertise it, and not sell it? What about the customer experience? That’s just bad business.” You took a deep breath, gripping the counter to steady yourself. “It’s custom. It’s not available to the public.”

“Well that’s poor planning, isn’t it?” she snapped. “What kind of business is this? I want to speak to the manager.”

Lady, I AM the manager. Fuck off. Just LEAVE. 

You took a deep breath before responding, “I own the place. The aftershave isn’t for sale..sorry.” After hearing a long spiel about how terrible your business model was, she finally left after muttering something about never coming back. Thank god. You exhaled, rubbing your hands against your aching temples. 

Fuck, I need a paracetamol. 

But of course, the universe was not on your side today. The door chimed again, this time it was an American tourist in head to toe designer. You immediately cringed seeing the abundance of huge branded logos clashing against each other: Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Fendi and Prada all in one outfit? Jesus, did she hop on a plane right after visiting Rodeo Drive? “Ohmygawd, is this where Trent got his cologne?!” she exclaimed, her valley girl accent was unmistakable. She had to be from California. Behind her, her bored looking boyfriend leaned against a display, not interested in the slightest.

Ugh. Here we go again.

“I like, really need to get it for my boyfriend,” she continued, her voice in complete vocal fry. “Do you guys have it?”

“It’s not for sale, sorry,” you replied, trying to maintain your composure. Her face fell as she flipped her blonde hair back dramatically with a pout. “Ugh, seriously?? I totally would’ve bought like five bottles. I bet it smells soooo good.”

“Babe, can we go? I wanna hit the pub before they close.” her boyfriend asked, lazily scrolling through his phone. After a few more whiny complaints, she finally left and dragged her very disinterested boyfriend behind her. You were standing in the middle of the shop as the scent of coconut and tonka bean lingered in the air, your nerves fried and head pounding so hard it was starting to make you feel nauseous and dizzy. Customers poured in all day begging for ‘The Trent Scent’. That’s what they were calling it now instead of Rêveur. It had officially gone viral.

You closed your eyes once people stopped shuffling in, trying to give yourself a few minutes of peace from the overwhelming scent and incessant ringing. But of course, the universe had other ideas. Your phone rang and as soon as you glanced at the screen, your stomach twisted immediately–Mum.

Fucking hell. Out of all days?

You debated not answering, but you knew she would keep calling until you did. This wasn’t going to be a casual check-in, and you definitely didn’t have the energy for a follow up interrogation later on. It was best to get it over with now. You sighed, swiping to accept the call.

“Hi Mum.”

“Y/N! We were just talking about you!” Your mother’s voice was overly cheery, which meant she was about to start going on a long winded spiel about how proud she was—of the wrong things. “That’s...great,” you replied, already feeling a cloud of exhaustion sit over you. “Your dad and I just saw that interview with the footballer, Trent,” she continued, completely skipping over the fact that she didn’t even ask you how you were. “It’s wonderful you’re making such good connections. He’s very successful Y/N. Exactly what you need in your life.” You pressed your lips together, fighting your instinct to hang up right then and there. Of course that’s all she cared about. “Yeah…” you said vaguely, not wanting to get into the nitty gritty details. You weren’t going to tell your parents you were on the verge of a breakdown or that you were struggling to keep it together. They wouldn’t understand. They never did. 

“You’re really making something of yourself now,” your dad chimed in, they must’ve had you on speaker. “I always knew you could do it. You’re finally setting a proper example for your brother and sister.”Ah, yes. That constant reminder. The example you were supposed to be setting. A perfect, polished version of yourself that never existed. They wanted you to be perfect so badly that they were willing to go to extremes. It was never about you; it was always about how you looked to everyone else, even your younger siblings. Your chest tightened at the thought of your brother and sister. You loved them more than anything. They were the only reason you still kept in touch with your parents at all. But this constant pressure to be perfect and be their shining trophy was suffocating you.

I really need a holiday, you thought to yourself. 

“Mum..Dad…” You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice from trembling. “I’ve been really busy with work, it’s been... a lot.”

“We’re so proud of you,” your mom chimed in next. “We always knew you could achieve good things. With Trent you’ll go even further! It’s important to have a man like him supporting you. You lucked out with that one.”

Lucked out?? How am I related to these people?

Your grip tightened on the phone. This happened every time. They didn’t care about you. They only cared about what Trent’s success could do for their image of you. An image you were struggling to mirror. An image that was threatening to crack.

“I–I’m not with him because of his career,” you muttered. But of course, they didn’t hear you over their vain voices. “Ezzie and Ziggy really look up to you, Y/N. This is exactly the type of relationship they should see. A real power couple. Now they know what success looks like” your dad added. That comment stung in more ways than one. Your parents usually spoke about your siblings by using their actual names–Esme and Isaac. You gave them the nicknames Ezzie and Ziggy because they were twins, plus, their nicknames sounded a lot cuter than Esme and Isaac. You were the only person who called them that–you had a myriad of nicknames for them, but your parents only used those nicknames when they wanted to get under your skin. It was used it as a manipulation tactic, a way to say ‘Hey, don’t fuck this up this time. They look up to you’. It made your skin crawl, each word they spoke felt like a punch to the gut. They didn’t care if you were happy, if you were stressed beyond belief, or if you even wanted that type of attention. All they saw was status and an image of success that they could parade around to the world. Pressure began building in your chest which made it harder to breathe. Your voice came out strained, desperate to end the call. “I have to go. Still working.”

“Oh, of course,” your mum said in a light tone, completely unaware that you were on the verge of an anxiety attack. “We’re so thrilled. We always knew what you were capable of.”

“Um, y–yeah. Bye, talk later.”

You hung up before they could say anything else. Your hands started shaking as soon as you set the phone down. The shop was silent but the lights felt bright suddenly, the tonka bean and coconut scent in the air made you feel physically ill. The weight of their words was crushing you and pressing down on your chest until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your vision blurred as tears welled up in your eyes. You didn’t want to let yourself break and tried to blink the tears back. The tightness in your chest wouldn’t let up. It felt like the soft, creme colored walls were threatening to close in on you. The weight of their expectations, the pressure to be perfect..it was suffocating you from the inside out.

I’m not enough. I’m never enough. Why can’t I just be me? 

You squeezed your temples as the throbbing in your head from the spilled perfume pulsed in time with your heartbeat. The heavy scent of coconut and tonka bean was suffocatingly sweet, squeezing you. Your mind kept whispering, negative words echoing like the cruellest reminder that you would never be good enough. You pressed a hand against your forehead, trying to ease the pounding but it got worse. Tears streamed down your face before you could stop them, spilling over as thoughts settled on you like the world’s largest boulder.

E and Z still think I’m the only person in this world who has it together. I have to keep it together. For them.

You couldn’t stand the idea of failing them. They were one of the few people who saw you for who you really were. The twins were the first two people to believe in you even when you didn’t believe in yourself. They tested every scent you made, bragging to all their friends about how their sister was the best in the industry.

Ziggy’s face flashed in your mind. He was always smiling. It was the same infectious grin that reminded you so much of Trent. He had the same confidence as him, walking onto a pitch like he owned it despite only being fifteen. He was so protective over you and Ezzie. He played with his heart on his sleeve, always the first to support his teammates just like Trent. And then there was Ezzie. She was sharp, stylish, and always quick with a comeback. She had an arsenal of them ready to go at any time. She looked like a mini version of you, but acted just like Camille. She had the same fiery spark, and the confidence to walk in a room and own it; all while dressed in the latest fashion trends. She never missed a beat and was always ready to roll her eyes at the world and give you tips on how things should be done. She was a little diva. You admired her but could never quite match her wit. Although beneath all her sass, she had the biggest heart. 

The twins were your heart, your compass when you were lost in a sea of thoughts. 

Ezzie would tell me to stop being dramatic and ‘lock it up’ like Camille, you thought. The tears were still streaming down your face. 

“I can’t let them down,” you whispered.

You made your way to the back of the shop, each step felt heavier and it was getting harder to focus on anything other than the sharp, dizzying pain in your head. You couldn’t think straight with the wave of panic rising inside of you. As you stumbled to the back you started thinking about Trent.

What’s he going to think when he finds out I can’t handle this? He’s not going to want me anymore.

You were feeling lightheaded; it felt like you were floating outside your own body...like you were watching everything happen from a distance. You were here but not really here. Your mind was trying to escape the suffocating pressure wrapping around you. You gripped the counter for support when you made it to the back room. The room felt like it was spinning and your breathing was fast and shallow.

He needs someone who can handle the pressure of being with him..I’m failing him..and everyone.

You saw Trent’s smiling face in the back of your head. Something that made you feel butterflies a few moments ago was now making you feel like you were burning alive.

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe I misread everything about us. I should’ve seen this coming.

Your heart raced, vision tunneled; all you could do was stand there, frozen in place and unable to think past the storm within you. Just when you felt like you may pass out, the door to the shop opened again but you barely registered the sound of the bell in your dissociative haze. Camille’s voice cut through the storm, “Y/N?! why aren’t you answ–”

You blinked and tried to focus, but the room was still spinning and it took every ounce of effort just to turn around and face her. She took one look at you and immediately crossed the room toward you.

“Hun...what’s going on?” her voice was soft yet firm as she reached to steady you. “You have to calm down.” You tried to speak and tell her you were fine but your words wouldn’t come out. All you could do was shake your head while tears started streaming down your face again. Camille wouldn’t let you push her away, you tried before early in your friendship as an act of self-sabotage and failed. She led you to the nearest chair and guided you to sit. “Y/N, please breathe. Slow, deep breaths. In. Out. Okay?”

You were trying to follow her instructions but each breath felt forced. Your chest was burning but eventually Camille’s presence grounded you and the world came back into focus. “I love you,” she said, handing you a bottle of water. “but you can't keep doing this to yourself. You’re going to burn out.” You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “I’m fine. I just need a minute,” you croaked. Camille let out a long sigh, “No, you’re not fine. You need help. You can’t keep doing this all by yourself and you know it. You’re stressed.” You wanted to argue that you could handle it but the words died before you could get them out. In actuality, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep going like this. The added pressure of being perfect, the public eye now on you, and a booming business felt like too much at once. Self-sabotage was inevitable, and that was the one thing you were confident you could accomplish with absolute perfection. “I...I can’t hire someone Camille. I can’t. This is the only thing I have control over in my life. It’s mine..” you whispered. Camille shook her head, her expression was soft but serious. “Y/N, you cannot control everything and I need you to realize that. You can’t run this place alone. You’re going to run yourself into the ground, and then what?? What’s left after, huh?” You didn’t respond, you just stared down at the floor, fumbling with the water bottle cap as you twisted the cap around the mouth of the bottle. The thought of letting someone else in and letting go of that last bit of control terrified you after what happened the last time. You already lost so much today. Your privacy...your peace. The shop was the only thing you felt like you had left. Something of your own that could never leave you. “Look..I know you hate it,” Camille countered, as if she was reading your mind. “This shit isn’t sustainable though. You need help whether you like it or not.”

“I can’t,” you whispered. “I really can’t.” Camille’s hand squeezed your shoulder gently. “You don’t have to do it alone, Y/N. You’re going to wear yourself thin and have nothing left to give. I can’t let you go out like that, girl. Even Beyoncé has a team.” Her words pondered over you, a small chuckle escaped from your lips when she mentioned Beyoncé. Deep down you knew she was right, but the fear of letting go still had a hold on you.

“Please” Camille uttered softly. “Let someone help you. I’ll help you look, yeah? I’ll ask my dad if he knows anyone.” Your heart clenched when you heard her and you shook your head quickly. “Camille, no. I can’t let you do that. You’ve already done so much for me. I owe you everything. I can’t–” She cut you off with a gentle laugh. “Y/N, please shut up. You don’t owe me anything. That’s what besties are for, right? You hold me up when I’m down, I got you when you’re down. You’ll never walk alone as long as I'm alive. Never.”

Her words hit you hard as the sincerity of her voice broke through the walls that were suffocating you. “I..um, I’ll think about it,” you whispered in a shaky voice. Camille smiled, pulling you into a hug. “That’s all I’m asking. You don't have to make a decision right now...just let me know. We’ll figure it out later. I got you.” You nodded into Camille’s shoulder but the pounding in your head refused to stop. You pulled away, wincing from the bright lights on the ceiling. “Please tell me you have something for a headache in your bag. My head is fucking killing me ever since those teens smashed L’Équilibre Caché on the floor earlier.” Camille raised an eyebrow, fishing around in her purse. “Oh god…teenagers?”

“Yeahhh,” you groaned, pressing your hand on your forehead. “They came in..sprayed everything, and then one of them dropped it. I never want to smell tonka beans or coconut ever again.” Camille snorted, pulling out a pill and handing it over. “That’s exactly why I never want kids. Absolute chaos and they’re not tidy at all. Ew. Not for me.” You laughed before swallowing the pill down with water. “Today was a disaster. People kept asking for the aftershave I made Trent after I said it wasn’t for sale over and over. Everyone was so fucking rude about it.”

Camille laughed, shaking her head. “And that is exactly why you need help. Let someone else deal with telling people ‘we don’t have that, it’s a custom blend’ a million times a day.”

Trent sat on the plane, headphones on, iPad playing a show he found on Netflix. He was attempting to wind down after the match and leaned his head back against the seat, half listening to the show on his iPad while scrolling mindlessly through his phone until he saw a text from you. His stomach dropped as he sat up in the seat. Both texts hit him like a punch.

Y/N 🌙: WTF? LOGO ON SCREEN!! YOU HAD ONE JOB

Y/N 🌙: ?????? YOU JUST OUTED US LIVE ON TV

His heart pounded as he thought about the interview in his head, trying to piece together what he did wrong. He replayed the interview on his iPad, dread hitting him instantly when he realized he held up the bottle with the logo in full view. He was trying to be careful and keep the logo hidden, but he didn’t. He knew you hated the spotlight. You were always so careful about keeping things between you private and you didn’t want the media to twist your relationship into something it wasn’t. Because of his mistake, you were thrust right into the middle of the lights you wanted to avoid at all costs. Trent rubbed his face with both hands as guilt plagued him. He should’ve been more careful. He knew better than to bring the bottle out in the first place but he was just so excited. He was so caught up in the moment, proud of the scent you created for him, and the meaning behind it. He wanted to show you off so bad, he wanted the world to see how amazing you were despite your bashfulness. Most of all, he wanted you to see yourself in the same light. But because of his excitement, he gave the media and internet sleuths the final piece they needed for their puzzle. He glanced out the window of the plane as the night sky stretched beyond the wing. His teammates were joking and talking around him but all he could think about was you.

I fucked up. I really fucked up.

Your panicked texts replayed over in his mind.

I should’ve been more careful. What was I thinking?

He closed his eyes, leaning back in the seat as he turned some music on in his headphones to drown out the laughter surrounding him on the plane. All he was thinking about is how you were feeling right now. He wished he would have seen your texts sooner. He knew you were probably overwhelmed and panicking about what was going to happen next. He had grown to know your anxiety but didn’t quite know the full extent of it just yet. He knew how much the public eye weighed on you and he just added to that burden.

She didn’t want this and I did it anyway. Fuck..I’m going to lose her.

The rest of the flight home felt like it lasted forever. Every thought in his mind was of you. Would this push you away? Did you even want to be with him after this slip up? Trent clenched his jaw, desperately trying to figure out how he could make this right. The more he thought about it, the more helpless he felt. The interview wasn’t something he could undo. It was a permanent reminder that he hurt you inadvertently. He never wanted you to feel exposed or unsafe because of him.

As the plane descended, he pulled his phone out and stared at the screen. He wanted to call you and apologize. He wanted to explain that it wasn’t intentional, but he didn’t even know if you wanted to talk to him right now. He had no idea you were falling apart back at Les Notes d’Amour. He thought you were still trying to process everything.

I have to fix this. I need her to know I’m sorry. I can’t lose her. I love her.

What if an apology wasn’t enough, though? What if this pushed you too far? The thought of it made his chest tighten and all he could do was sit as he waited for the plane to land. Guilt was suffocating him and he needed to see you. Both of you were so busy and he missed you so much that he could hardly focus on the pitch earlier.

I need to see her but I don’t know what to do.

Trent found himself pacing in his living room after he got home. He was staring at his phone and contemplating his next move like a game of chess. Apologizing was the obvious thing to do, but how was he supposed to fix this? You weren’t like any other girls he dated who wanted to be appreciated with showy gestures, expensive gifts, or extravagant holidays. You weren’t impressed by material things because you could just buy it yourself. You had your own money, your own success, and your own life. How was he supposed to fix things with someone who didn’t need him to save the day? For the first time, he didn’t know what to do to make it right. He called the one person he knew would have the perfect answer: His mum.

“Trent, everything alright? How was the match?” Diane’s voice brought him a sense of comfort but it wasn’t enough to ease the uncertainty swirling around him.

“Mum, I messed up” he said, running a hand over the back of his neck.

“What happened sweetie?”

Trent sighed and he sank into the couch. He explained how he accidentally exposed you during the live interview and how you were probably spiralling from the pressure. His mum listened quietly. She didn’t know who you were, really. They never had the conversation until now.

“And this girl?” Diane began slowly. “Tell me about her.”

“Mum, she created your favorite perfume. But she sold it to a fragrance house so her name wouldn’t be attached to it.”

Diane laughed softly. “And you didn’t think to mention her all this time?”

“I dunno Mum. It wasn’t exactly planned, y’know?” Trent began to talk about you, feeling the tension in his chest ease. He told her about the fateful encounters and how you met by chance, again and again. He told her about how it felt like his own romance movie was being written right before his eyes; he felt like the universe was putting you in front of him for a reason. It scared him, but he knew. “I’m in love with her,” he admitted. “Never felt this way about anyone before. She’s special.” There was silence on the line for a moment and Trent wondered if he said too much.

“You sound very serious about her.”

“I am,” he said. “That’s why I've got no clue what to do. Any other girl, I can just buy something nice and apologize that way.. but she’s not like that. She doesn’t really need anything from me.” His mum was quiet for a little while before her voice softened. “Maybe she doesn’t need you to buy anything. Maybe she just wants to know you’re there. She sounds like a very sweet girl.”

“Yeah…I don’t want to lose her.”

“Then don’t.” Diane said simply. “Be the person she can lean on. She probably just needs your support and understanding.”

Trent stared at his phone as his mother’s words swirled around his mind. He needed to fix this, he needed to talk to you. He needed to do something. But every time his finger hovered over your name in his contacts, doubt washed over him. He was usually so confident. What if you weren’t ready to hear from him? What if you hated him now? Finally, he took a deep breath and rang you, his heart pounding every passing second as the phone rang. 

No answer.

She hates me. 

He frowned, trying to call again but it went to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. I’m sorry about earlier, Y/N. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. Just...just call me back please.” He slumped back on the couch, staring at the phone as if you were going to call him back immediately, but nothing came.

She’s probably fuming. She always answers when I call. Fuck.

He didn’t know you weren’t actually avoiding him. You were asleep, completely knackered from the day’s emotional rollercoaster. You were tucked away in one of the few places that was a safe space for you–Camille’s family’s house. If you could call it that. It wasn’t really a home, moreso an estate. It was an architectural masterpiece that made you feel like you were in a château. The estate had sprawling grounds and manicured lawns with fountains that glimmered in the moonlight. The home was white with glass windows that stretched floor to ceiling which offered a panoramic view of the garden. It was the kind of home that showed the world just how powerful and connected Camille’s family was. No one would bother you there. There were immaculately polished marble floors, chandeliers and plush furniture that was custom and handmade. You came here plenty of times, but every time you were there, the sheer scale of the home took your breath away. It was a world away from all the chaos you experienced earlier in the day. You could always flee here and just breathe. Camille and her family opened you with welcome arms every time, insisting it was your home too. Tonight, you were thankful for their support. You needed a space that would allow you to collapse and let go. Just to dream for a little while.

Downstairs, Camille was talking to her dad in his office. The room was lined with bookshelves and decorated with fine art which was a reflection of her family’s intellect. “I’m worried about her,” Camille said, glancing up at her dad. “She really needs help...”

“I have a friend who can help,” her dad said matter-of-factly, scrolling through his phone as he reviewed names. “Wouldn’t take much to get them on board.” Camille sighed as her eyes flickered to the grand bookshelves lining the office. “Yeah..but I don’t want to push her. I don’t think she’s ready yet. I just don’t want to scare her off by making decisions for her, y’know?” Her dad looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Not about making decisions for her. Y/N just needs support and you know that. She’ll come around, give her time.” Camille nodded but she felt helpless in the moment. She wanted to fix this for you and solve everything like she did in the past, but she knew you needed to feel like you were in control.

Upstairs, you were swaddled in a blanket where nothing was expected of you. Camille’s family always made you feel welcome. Her parents were completely different from yours, always loving, generous and supportive of everything she did—everything you did too. 

You were still in uni when you and Camille met, and although you crossed paths before, you didn’t really know each other that well. She was popular and confident, her life always seemed to be perfectly together. You admired her from afar..until one day.

You found out a guy you were seeing wasn’t just seeing you, he was dating Camille too. The initial shock of the situation had you fuming and you didn’t know what to do. Should you confront him or just let it go? Camille didn’t seem like the kind of girl who would be in this type of situation at all. The stars in the sky had other plans, though. Camille was the one to approach you first, her voice calm but fierce. You didn’t know what to expect. Maybe an argument or confrontation? Instead, she laid it all out and was ready to take him down. She was a girl’s girl through and through. 

“So, what are we gonna do about this blockheaded asshole?” she asked, eyes blazing.

Something clicked between the two of you from that point on. You didn’t turn against each other like the guy probably expected. You confronted him, standing side by side as you teared into him about his lies. He never saw the force of two determined women coming his way. There was no turning back after that. You thought Camille had it all together, but she had been hurt just like you. Both of you were more similar than you thought–sharing the same love for fragrances...and apparently men. You two were inseparable after that and became a dynamic duo.

You woke up in the middle of the night feeling sudden nausea wash over you. You groaned softly, clutching the edge of the bed. Your head wasn’t pounding anymore, but the remnants of the stress from earlier was still lodged inside your body. You sat up slowly, steadying your breath as the nausea subsided. You reached for your phone on the bed side table, but when you tapped the screen, it didn’t light up. Dead. Of course it’s dead, it’s been going off all day. You plugged it into the charger and laid back down, waiting for the phone to turn on. Exhaustion pulled you back in and you fell asleep just as your phone woke from the dead.

It was 3AM and Trent still couldn’t fall asleep. He laid on his back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on him. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could think about was you—how you didn’t answer his calls, hadn’t responded to his messages. He told himself it wasn’t even a full day yet, but the silence was eating at him.

With a sigh, he grabbed his phone off the bedside table, unlocking it for what felt like the hundredth time. No new notifications. No calls. No texts. He opened his camera roll to scroll through the memories you two made over the last couple of months. He wanted to feel close to you again, even if it was just through a screen. The first video he tapped on was a clip from a night at his place. You were in the kitchen wearing one of his hoodies, dancing to an upbeat song from a playlist. You had no clue he was recording and when you finally caught him, you were laughing, telling him to stop. He didn’t stop recording though, he couldn’t get enough of seeing you so happy and carefree. He continued to swipe through the roll, stopping on one where you were standing outside, looking at a full moon like it was the most beautiful thing you ever saw in your life, you loved the moon and he took note of that. Another photo featured the two of you dressed up for date night, his hand was on your waist as you stood in front of the mirror to take the picture.

He kept scrolling until he landed on a cute video of you in front of your shop, talking about something new you were working on. Your face lit up as you explained everything. He loved seeing you so passionate about your career. You weren’t like anyone else and that’s what he loved about you. You didn’t need him to complete you, he needed you. And that’s what made the thought of possibly losing you feel more painful.

Trent’s thumb hesitated when he scrolled to the last video, this one was recent. His pulse quickened just at the thought of the video, he pressed play as his breath hitched. It began with you in frame, wearing a black lace set that barely covered you. The panties featured high waisted criss cross straps that hugged your hips and left very little to imagination. The matching bra framed you perfectly, emphasizing your boobs. You stood in front of the camera, waiting for his reaction as the phone shook slightly in his hand. “You like it?”

“Fuuuck yes. You’re making me hard,” he muttered off screen with a rough voice. He zoomed the camera in on you, catching you shifting under his gaze. You turned slowly to show off the back as the barely there fabric hugged your hips in all the right places. His hand was heard smacking against your ass, making you gasp as he groaned. “You’re killing me. You look so sexy right now.”

You grinned over your shoulder, pushing your ass up against him. “Enjoy it while you can..I don’t think it’ll be on for long.” The video was meant to just be his reaction to the lingerie, but the moment he saw you his restraint snapped. “Baby..turn around for me,” he said in a low, almost desperate voice. You obeyed him, teasing him as you turned to face him fully. His breath caught in his throat when the camera panned over you, capturing every inch of the masterpiece displayed in front of him. “I could look at you like this forever,” he added in a husky voice. 

“Keep recording so we can look at it when we’re away from each other,” you said with a smirk. His voice on the video cracked, barely able to hold back his need for you. “Come here.” The camera shifted as he moved to another side of the room to set it down on a flat surface, capturing you in the perfect angle. You walked towards him, swaying your hips with your eyes locked onto his. The moment you touched him, his hands were pulling you in. He couldn’t wait to touch you.

“Please just wear this around me all the time,” he muttered. His lips grazed the side of your neck as you hummed, arching into him. “Mmm, you would love that, huh?” you teased, running your fingers over his hair as his lips trailed down your skin, kissing and biting. His hands moved to your ass, pressing you against the wall. 

“Off. Now.” he commanded. You could see how hard he was through his grey joggers and it was making your mouth water. You fumbled to unclasp the bra. As soon as it dropped to the floor his mouth was on your chest, tracing his tongue around your nipple as he tugged at the thin lace on your panties. You two were fluent in each other’s bodies, completely synchronized in every touch, kiss, and movement. 

“I need you inside me,” you whispered, feeling your body thrum with need. He wasted no time kicking off his clothes while the camera continued recording. You were on the bed now with your legs wrapped around his waist as he positioned his cock between your thighs. He entered you slowly, making you gasp as you adjusted to him. Trent buried his face in your neck, thrusting into you with slow and deliberate movements as your nails dug into his back.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin.

“Faster, baby. Please.” you gasped, trying to meet his thrusts because you needed more of him. His rhythm picked up as the video captured your bodies moving against each other, your loud moans and his groans. He gripped your hips, driving into you harder..deeper..until both of you were on the verge of cumming.

“Oohmygod, right there. I’m gonna cum,” you moaned, closing your eyes as you tried to focus on riding the wave threatening to crash against you. “Open your eyes, Y/N. Look at me when you cum. I wanna see you.” You opened your eyes, brows furrowed as he continued snapping into you. Your jaw dropped when the band finally snapped, your pussy pulsating and milking his cock. He came inside you, releasing white ropes just as you were coming down from your high. The video ended with both of you clinging to each other, trying to catch your breath. Trent stared back at the screen, breath uneven. The memory of that night left Trent aching for you all over again, but not for sex. He just wanted to feel your presence. He shifted in his bed scrolling through all your old texts, teasing voice notes, and random selfies. Each one was a reminder of what he was missing tonight. He had no idea what he was going to do to fix his mistake but he needed you back in his arms, period. He sighed heavily, staring up at the ceiling. He was supposed to be asleep hours ago but he couldn’t fall sleep when everything felt like it was in limbo.

Without thinking, he looked at his phone again with his fingers over your name. He knew you wouldn’t answer, you didn’t answer the entire night. But hearing your voice on the recorded greeting was comforting to him and he couldn’t stop himself. He needed to feel that tiny connection no matter how small it was. So he tapped the call button, bringing the phone to his ear, expecting it to go straight to voicemail like all the other calls. He closed his eyes waiting to hear the sound of your voice in a cadence that always made him smile.

C’mon. Just wanna hear you again.

But instead of a voicemail, there was a click, a pause, and then a soft, groggy voice. Your phone was now fully charged and you heard the ring, which woke you out of your slumber.

“Hello?”

His eyes snapped open, heart pounding out of his chest. You answered.

“Trent????”

i thought i was being so creative coming up with the name 'Love Notes' in french and apparently ariana grande has a new fragrance line named that LOL

sorry for the cliffhanger but it had to be done haha. if you made it this far, thank you for reading! lmk what you think

[sketchy-tour]

Your art is so much like a delicacy that is meant to be enjoyed no matter the time or day. Your art is so delicious looking, it would be one of my favorite foods to snack on and eat while never getting bored of it. I absolutely adore your coloring and the way you make your art be smoother than butter being spread onto toast.

YOU!!!! YOU ARE TOO DANG SWEET YOU KNOW THAT!?!!?! YOUR KIND WORDS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME!!!!!!

THATS IT GET YOUR OC DOODLED!!!!!!

[chloecherrysip]

Mario watching his and Luigi's commercial in Punch-Out Pizzeria

[gojonanami]

Sab, why am I so tempted to re-read Prof Geto for the 3rd time every time I see you reblog it?? Not sure if I'll be able to resist the temptation–

(ily and i hope you're doing well <3!!)

ness!!! omg I love you 😭🥹 I’m glad you love prof geto so much that you reread it? blows my mind 🥹💕

I love you moreeee - I hope you’re doing well too!! 🥹💕

[cosmicbash]

cosmic, where have you been 💔💔

trapped in an endless cycle of back to back life events 💔💔💔

Some good, alot of bad, but I'm hanging in here I swear! Sorry for my absence!

With everything going on I've been really overwhelmed and also left with a lot of time to sit down and reflect/think on what I want to be doing content wise.

Obviously I love just creating, anything, art, fics, livestreams, community. But what I'm creating is also a big question mark for me right now. With how my life is going I really need to start doubling down and getting serious if I want to actually pursue it as a career. Or at least as something that I can have some sort of gain from so it takes a little bit of pressure off my everyday life and I don't have to feel guilty about pursuing haha 😅😅

It's hard. because honestly I could care less 90% of the time because just having people be happy and excited to see my works is all the exchange I ever really need or want. Bit the other 10% of the time it's me staring at other people who are making some sort of living off it and feeling depressed.

I have alot of people around me constantly pushing me forward too, telling me If I just sit down and try I could more than likely be successful. Which is great! but also added pressure because realistically I know it would mean changing my content away from Emgk. Something I have a lot of guilt at the thought of, especially now with how small the shrinking the community seems to have become. The idea of jumping ship (haha) to keep myself afloat seems horrifically wrong.

Buttttttt of course there is also a big side of me that feels tired and desperate to focus on more fandoms or my own ocs more. To spread my wings a bit and get out of my very VERY comfortable spot I've made for myself here. Other fandoms are full of very unforgiving critics or drama starters and that's intimidating to say at the least

So, it's a heavy decision I've been weighing. I know I don't have to fully abandon the ship, and honestly I doubt I could, I've kind of etched myself into the wall as one of THE emgk shippers at this point 😂 But the whole thing has had me stuck. Sitting in a sort of limbo with the content I already have in process being poked and prodded but not quite finished because I'm just not sure.

I'm rambling now like I usually do, and I'm sure it doesn't all make much sense, but ahhhh, I don't want everyone in the dark forever or worried I've disappeared of the face of the net.

To end it on a good note!!! I will say that I recently found out I'm pregnant with my second kiddo finally after a long bit of trying so! That's very exciting!! And one of the few good events to come out of late ☺️

[peachesofteal]

Seeing the masterlist reblogs hits like a serotonin boost straight to the brain

Totally got distracted but it’s going up now 🩵

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

is there any name you go by? because saying poorly drawn mdzs every time is a mouthful ngl

(you're so cool btw your blog sparks joy)

I do, but nobody uses it. People have been coming up with funnier and more creative names, so I’m leaving it up to the whims of the people. I have a list that grows everyday.

[losersimonriley]

Hello Alex!

I wanted to spread some positivity to people I follow in the ghoap/cod fandom so this is for you:

I like how authentic you are and how unabashedly gay you are. So keep at it gay boy (affectionate)

Also it's great that you reblog a lot of ghoap art that I would have never otherwise.

And good luck on continuing to write your fic

You’re the sweetest thing in the world for sending these ;-; truly a treasured, positive force in the fandom.

I LOVE scrolling through the ghoap tags because I’d miss a lot of gems if I didn’t go hunting! I hate for people’s art and works to get buried from lack of reblogging so I do try my best to spread the bounties of our dear community 💚 And thank you for the well wishes on writing my fic! It may be driving me insane but it makes me so excited that I’ll get to share it (hopefully in the coming months!)

Also please put keep at it gay boy on my gravestone

[spifal]

MY BELOVEDS!!!

@krystal-twi @emo-and-confused @samathekittycat @kiiraes @lil-lite-in-the-darkness @helpicant-stop @lab-labrava @yidpunk @sunbeamsystem @anaussiefan @gog-urt @ekuboo @moonlightink7 @shandycandy278 @mobpsycho100fan @fardf150 @drunkwalkhme @gaiussaidno @astronomical-bagel @dogin8 @peaked-in-third-grade @recycledcactus @ori-stole-the-cheese-again @wallowaffles @tempperi @gaiussaidno @soon-ded @mitknnen @theoin-ghosttown @kleprer