#and the vocal admission of you wanting him (physically but also mentally and emotionally and psychologically) is a big part of his drive

[emmcfrxst]

jason todd swears like a sailor whenever you ride him. the visual of your body on top of his, the feeling of your hands on his chest and your cunt fluttering around him, the sweet sounds of your moans and mewls— everything about getting ridden makes jason’s dick hard and turns his brain to mush

[cougarforcenty]

hung the moon...

a/n: some of you may dislike the ending as its a bit of a cliffhanger. i couldn’t make up my mind. may write a second part to this one. feedback is glorious + nourishing fruit.

summary: noah + the new costar who hates him get stuck in a precarious situation. costar’s faceclaim is the beautiful zazie beetz.

word count: 2638

warnings: none

You couldn’t really place it. You didn’t know what it was about him, or the general idea of him, that you found so untoward and irritating. You had enough self-awareness to realize that it may be the complete makings of your own neurosis and natural distrust but you just couldn’t shake it.

Everyone positively loved him. He had the cast and crew practically eating out of his hands. The girls in hair and makeup laughed at all his silly, menial jokes. The director showered him with compliments and tempered direction. Your co-stars would retell stories from the nights you went to bed early about some stupid prank he pulled on someone.

All in all, it seemed like you were the only one not fully on the Noah Centineo train.

But really, that was completely okay with you. You didn’t have the time or energy or mental capacity to be sucked into the false charm of another male co-star.

Been there, done that, didn’t even get a t-shirt.

At this point, you wanted to focus on your craft; wanted to truly harness your emotive propensities. You wanted to give a stellar performance and then get onto the next set, with a completely new group of people and hopefully not be cast alongside the world’s next biggest heartthrob.

You hope that your reticence with him isn’t coming off in your scenes together. You try to play it off as how your character would organically feel in a situation of love triangle proportions. You watch the dailies and can see that slight sheened veneer you put on when your characters are entangled. Whether emotionally or physically, or in the most difficult of spaces when both were required.

You’d skipped out on the suggested bonding practices that predated production and have maybe said 5 words to him directly when not in character. Though he’s tried numerous times to bridge the gap.

You continued to tell yourself it wasn’t unprofessional, you were simply protecting yourself. You wondered if your faux indifference would make for awkward promo after the film’s end but hadn’t thought that far in advance.

You were an actress after all. You knew how to fake it so you weren’t actually that concerned.

But this was the first time on one of your only days off that the director wanted you to meet her at a new location prior to shooting there.

Your reverence for her work made the inconvenience well worth it. Even in the middle of a very chilly fall in New York.

While waiting for the elevator doors to open in a rickety old building, you see Noah approaching.

You hadn’t realized you had both been called for this specific task. You’re instantly annoyed and pull your jacket around yourself snuggly.

He looks just as surprised to see you but doesn’t say anything.

You wait for the elevator in complete silence which seems to be taking literal years to make it down to the first floor, the little illuminating button almost taunting you with its beaming.

Finally, the doors slowly open and you walk in, he follows you a few paces behind.

He casually leans against the opposite side of the elevator and watches you push the button for the 7th floor.

“You know what this is about?” Noah finally says loosely, you can feel the weight of his gaze on the side of your face.

You shake your head lightly.

“It’s cold today,” he offers.

He’s talking about the weather and you want to die. You want to just vanish into a million little pieces.

You hate talking about the weather. You hate small talk with a passion that rivals little else.

Small talk was a waste of energy and vocal undulations.

You offer no verbal response.

Suddenly, the elevator jolts, sending you toward the button panel and then immediately stills.

Your ears start to ring as you immediately realize what just happened. You can tell Noah is saying something but you can’t make it out.

“No… no, no…” you mutter as you hit the panel. You try the emergency button, nothing. Then you hit any button in a desperate attempt to get the elevator moving again.

You feel your stomach drop when nothing happens.

“Shit,” you kick the bottom of the door which causes a jolt of pain to shoot through your foot.

You remember he’s there when you feel his hands brushing yours away from the panel.

“Don’t do that, you’ll only jam it,” Noah explains, calmly.

You angle away from his touch.

“Don’t touch me,” you mutter. You almost think you said it in your head until you look at him and realize his expression has gone from concerned to confused.

“You’re right,” Noah admits quickly, he takes a step away from you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have touched you.”

Pain radiates from you booted foot.

“Fuck, that hurt,” you complain, attempting to put weight on your foot.

“Yeah, well elevator’s are made of steel,” Noah remarks as he takes out his phone. “No service.”

“Ugh,” you mutter as you squeeze your eyes shut against the ever impending reality of your current circumstance. You quickly glance at your phone. “Damnit!”

You repress the urge to throw it against the closed steel doors.

“What did I do to deserve this?” You demand to the unmoving metal.

“Someone will notice the elevator isn’t working,” Noah reasons gently. He’s retreated back to his corner.

“In this damn near deserted building?”

“Right.”

Silence looms as you attempt to slow your racing heart by pulling some deep breaths.

“How are you so calm?” You accuse.

He shrugs. He’s studying you. The way he sometimes did. The way he did when you were on set, or running lines with someone else or at dinner with the entire cast. You’ve caught him quietly contemplating some aspect of you and always immediately acted as if you didn’t see it.

You had a feeling he was always trying to silently figure you out.

But you weren’t budging. You refused to fall for whatever guise he operated under.

“I just don’t feel the need to freak out,” he offers simply. “It’ll start working again.”

You huff and continue to glare at the elevator panel.

Of course the universe would conspire to have you stuck in an elevator with this man. That’s exactly what type of track you were on personally.

Even if your professional life was flourishing, your personal life and emotional safety weren’t necessarily corresponding.

“I can take a look at your foot if you want,” Noah offered loosely.

“Does that line typically work for you?”

“Don’t really have much occasion to use it,” he countered without missing a beat. “Can’t say that I’ve seen many women kick steel elevator doors.”

“You aren’t a doctor,” you exclaim. “You wouldn’t even know what to look for. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

You silently stare at the doors, willing the elevator to start back up again. You really need to get out of there.

“Hey, listen… if I ever did or said something to offend you, I’m really sorry,” he offers evenly.

You still can’t look at him but you feel momentarily bad until you realize that this softness, this unending affable posturing that he seemed to be angling at wasn’t gonna work on you.

You’ve been a sucker before and those days were long gone.

“You didn’t offend me, Noah,” you begin carefully. Your anxiety still looming at the reality of this enclosed space. “I just don’t buy it.”

“I’m sorry, what? What don’t you buy?”

“Your whole schtick. The act,” you respond. “The effortlessly charming ‘nice guy.’ The internet’s boyfriend. Maybe everyone else eats it up, but I see right through it.”

There’s silence on the tail end of your claim. You almost want to look at his expression after your admission but feel it better to keep your attention outward.

Then you hear a small chuckle and you’re instantly infuriated.

“When did you become an expert on ‘schtick’s’?” He questions. “Is it a class you can take?”

“Fuck you-”

He completely bypasses that remark.

“Do you typically so easily pass judgment on people without knowing them or is that a specific distinction I get the privilege of.”

“I don’t need to know you to be able to peep your whole game,” you retort.

You finally do look at him. His arms and legs crossed, leaning against the elevator. The way he’s holding his body reminds you of the easy posture of someone who looks like he’s lying down while upright. Utterly relaxed. His gaze is unflinching.

“There is no game,” Noah corrects. “I’m not the way I am for any type of personal gain.”

You laugh now. You think that maybe mirroring his own reactions will somehow allow you to calm down and make you less unnerved by his own ease. Because all it’s actually doing is making you more irritated.

“No gain? Besides everyone thinking you hung the moon, right? Okay.”

“You’re wrong,” he offers simply.

“That’s doubtful.”

“It’s actually unfortunate that you’ve relied so heavily on this narrative that’s a complete fabrication,” Noah responds. “Because if you hadn’t, then maybe we’d actually be friends or at least civil and you wouldn’t be standing in a stalled elevator seething because of some misguided hatred.”

“Oh my God,” you lament loudly, turning back to the elevator and banging on the door. “Let me out of here!”

“That won’t help.”

“Please stop talking.”

“Sure.”

He goes silent and the silence is almost worse than hearing his incessant gabbing.

You feel a well of emotion come up dissimilar to the anger and terror you’d been trying to mask since the elevator stopped.

“You men are the fucking worst,” you mutter, not even to him directly but you know he hears you.

“What’s his name?”

“Who?”

“Whoever has you out here distrusting complete strangers,” Noah ponders.

“Names, plural. Your kind are real winners,” you remark, taking a deep breath in an attempt to try and subside some of the sadness creeping in.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. You are also not a complete stranger. You have a very public persona.”

“As do you,” Noah reminds you. “Or one that’s been crafted around your relationship at least, but unlike you, I don’t necessarily believe it.”

You prickle at that. Just the mention of your ex sends you to another realm you can’t really occupy in such close quarters. You feel like the elevator is much too small for all the vitriol you hold for him and your memories.  

“I’m not talking to Disney channel’s wonder child about any of this.”

“You’re mean,” he observes lightly. But he doesn’t actually seem offended. Which is weird to you.

Were you trying to break him? Trying to rile him? What were you actually doing besides internally screaming for something?

“But maybe not as much as I originally thought,” Noah continues thoughtfully. “If I’m honest, it sort of hurt my feelings that you were so kind to everyone else. I tried not to take it personally. But more than mean I think you’re hurt.”

“Please do me a favor and don’t ever fix your mouth in an attempt to psychoanalyze me again.”

You look up at the elevators mirrored ceiling and let out a primal scream. Once it’s out, you bend over, bracing yourself with your hands against your knees, just praying that the elevator will start working.

You silently count to 10 with your eyes squeezed shut. When you open them there’s no change.

You feel worse.

“We’re gonna die in here,” you say desperately.

“We will not die in here,” Noah assures you.

“What do you know?”

“It’s a shame our characters don’t hate each other,” Noah offers thoughtfully. “You’d have a head start.”

“You’re not important enough to hate, Noah,” you exclaim bitterly.

“Ouch.”

You feel yourself vacillating between anger, fear, sadness, and panic. All emotions you don’t want anywhere near this man you’ve kept at an arm's length.

“Will you stop looking at me?” You’ve felt his eyes on you intermittently the entire time and the longer that continues, the more unnerved you become.

“Where else am I supposed to look?”

You can tell he’s trying to be playful. Which is maddening and also a bit sweet because you momentarily forget you’re freaking out.

“Anywhere else.”

“I’m looking at you because you’re trembling,” Noah offers gently.

“It’s fucking freezing.”

“Hey, look at me,” Noah requests after a moment. It takes you a full 7 seconds to bring yourself to do as he says.

His gaze is so gentle and innocent, you almost feel like you’ll burst into tears just looking at him.

“I will not hurt you.”

Those words hit you with every ounce of sincerity they are uttered alongside.

You instantly believe him and you’re pissed about it.

He straightens and walks toward you. Which is only about two paces in that elevator. His hand’s tentatively on your shoulder and it’s only then when you physically feel just how much you are shaking.

“Is this okay?”

You nod your head wordlessly. He outstretches his other arm and with the most subtle movements, wraps you into a light hug.

You lean against him instantly, your body finally being cued to relax for the first time since the elevator stalled. Your hands come up and grasp the sides of his jacket, your ear against his chest.

He tightens his arms around you as you sink further into his warmth.

“Your heart is racing,” he mutters.

“Anxiety,” you sigh. “How are you so warm?”

“I don’t know, I just run hot.”

Being in his arms feels so good. You want to believe it’s just his body heat and the lack of your own but it’s something else. Something that pulls at the pit of your stomach and knaws at your conscious.

If someone would have told you, even 12 hours ago, that Noah would be holding you in this moment, you would have laughed in their face.

Maybe you were wrong about him.

That realization makes your heart drop and all the myriad of emotions that well up in you are steeped in regret and embarrassment.

He’s being so sweet to you and you’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass.

You feel your eyes burn with tears as you wrap your arms completely around him beneath his jacket.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you,” you mutter. You attempt to school your tears but they won’t be reasoned with.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” you exclaim against his chest, your voice breaking. “I have such a shitty track record with charming men, I just clammed up. I didn’t even get to know you on a basic human level and that’s so embarrassing. I’m so sorry.”

The tears are flowing now and you feel absolutely mortified.

He pulls back briefly just to peer into your face. He wordlessly wipes away your tears and envelops you back into his arms. This only makes you cry harder.

Where did this deep generosity come from? Why was he so willing to freely give it?

“Shhhh,” Noah offers, resting his cheek against the top of your head. “It’s okay.”

“It’s so fucked up,” you cry into his chest. You don’t know where these tears are even coming from, or why you feel safe enough to unload them with him in this moment.

There’s a lot there that you haven’t even begun to speak of.

He’s back to wiping your tears away and his eyes look like the most delectable mixture of honey and amber and you feel certain you’re in the Twilight zone because all you want to do is kiss him as your eyes flick toward his mouth.

But you wouldn’t dare… it feels like too big a stretch and you aren’t that brave.

[deeeepsteep]

So the last few days have been rough - my uncle died and I’ve spent Thursday to Saturday in a funeral home, and the mood was just so bleak; I’ve been in a bit of a funk lately so it really didn’t help me, mentally and emotionally speaking

But after the burial on Saturday I had a concert to go to - I bought my ticket a few months ago so I couldn’t just waste it, and my family was okay with me going so I went. I had a friend who was on the fence about going to the show (It was The Menzingers concert in Toronto) but decided not to because he was going through shit of his own, which is fine, and I’ve been to shows alone before so I didn’t mind anyway.

I get there earlier than expected and I found myself waiting outside the venue with people who had VIP/meet and greet tickets; they paid a little extra to see the band perform an exclusive acoustic set, they get a signed 7-inch of their new singles, and they get to meet the band. They also get to go into the venue early, which is a plus because it was -2 degrees Celsius outside. I didn’t have any of that - I only had a general admission ticket - so I was forced to stay outside as I watched these VIPers go in early, which I envied.

Then, this guy comes out of nowhere and he says he has an extra VIP ticket, and if anyone wanted to go with him. He had a friend who bailed and he didn’t want this extra ticket to go to waste. There were two other girls waiting with me who didn’t have VIP, but they were together so they unfortunately couldn’t go since he only has one ticket...which leaves me. I agreed to go, mostly because I was fucking freezing and wanted to go inside, but also...well I get all the VIP perks without having to pay for it, so why not???

But I also couldn’t help but be a little skeptical because we all know men are trash, so I couldn’t help but think that this guy only asked me to go because he has some kind of sinister ulterior motive. We go inside together, we listen to the acoustic set, and then we take a picture with the band. Security only allowed us to use one phone so we used mine, and he cleverly told me that I needed his number so I can text him our photos - and I felt like I didn’t have a choice with this so he gave it to me and I texted him them the photos. After buying some merch and receiving our free autographed vinyl he buys me a drink, which makes me even more skeptical. He asks me questions about my job, about Toronto (He’s not from the city), just menial things, and I keep thinking to myself that I hope to God I didn’t just agree to something I know I’m going to regret later.

There’s about an hour before the first act comes on so I head over to the stage so I can get a good spot - and I get one right by the barricade. He joins me, he buys us another around of beers, and we continue to talk. We talk about our tastes in music, podcasts, our jobs (He went to school for engineering and got into law school afterward so he’s a lawyer now...tbh I was impressed and I knew he wasn’t lying because he was wearing the iron ring on his pinky finger and he talked extensively about his interest in legal ownership and stuff) our dogs, his kid, just general conversation when you’re trying to get to know someone better. When the two opening acts finish their sets we discuss our opinions of them (They were two bands, one called Daddy Issues and another called Tiny Moving Parts; both were pretty impressive and we both agreed that we were gonna try listening to them later). When The Menzingers finally came on we jumped around together and shouted every lyric until our vocal chords were raw. They played all of my favourite songs, both old and new; it was an amazing set and an amazing show.

But the concert eventually came to the end and I was nervous about this because even though this guy was super nice and we had really good rapport I still thought that he was gonna ask me if I wanted to hang out or something afterward, which I really didn’t want to do because A: I’m aroace af at the moment and I don’t possess the capacity to even THINK about feeling romantically or physically attracted to anyone, and B: Men are trash.

He turns to me and tells me that he had a great time, much better than he thought because he anticipated going to this show alone, and that he was grateful to have met me. He went on to say that all he really wanted was to have a friend to enjoy the show with, and someone he could talk to about one of his favourite bands. I told him that I was really grateful for this chance encounter, and he said he felt the same way, and that he hopes we bump into each other again someday. We hugged, said goodbye, and I never saw him again. He never texted or called me either.

I’ve been to a lot of concerts in my lifetime, but I think this has to be the best one I’ve ever been to - not just because the music was great and I got a front row spot to one of my favourite bands, but because of that weird chance meeting with some stranger whom I mistakenly thought was looking for a concert companion he could take home, when in reality he just wanted to enjoy the music with a fellow fan. I feel really bad making all of those assumptions now, but he really made my night and he gave me a little bit more hope for humanity at just the right time, right when I was starting to think that there’s no such thing as a good person.

Anyways that was my experience with The Menzingers and this guy - his name was Phil - and how it made me realize that there are tiny little pockets of good in this terrible world, and even though things are shit most of the time every once in awhile something really good happens...and I think those little moments are worth searching for, even if it takes us awhile to find them.

I doubt I’ll ever see Phil again but I hope he knows how thankful I am that I met him. He probably has no idea about the impact he made on me yesterday but thanks to him I feel a lot better than I have in weeks, and he restored my faith in humanity and gave me another reason to love The Menzingers lmao

Thanks Phil, you a real MVP

[readerinsertrepository]

op hiding this in the tags is a crime actually.

#won’t stop swearing. moans loud. keeps calling you pet names and praising you. waxes poetry about how pretty you look riding his cock.#the thought of it alone makes him feral. has made him hard on patrol more than once (he becomes even more brutal towards the criminals when#he’s in this mindset. he’s fighting off the adrenaline that the thought of you naked above him is making him feel)#he has come home early more than once with blood on his clothes and his dick hard in his pants telling you he needs you#he still needs clear vocally expressed consent before he does so much as breathe you in because as wound up as he may be he can’t stay hard#and aroused if you don’t want him back. your consent is crucial to him and he makes sure to ask for it multiple times even during sex#because nothing matters more to him than knowing you’re as into whatever you’re doing as he is#and the vocal admission of you wanting him (physically but also mentally and emotionally and psychologically) is a big part of his drive

jason todd swears like a sailor whenever you ride him. the visual of your body on top of his, the feeling of your hands on his chest and your cunt fluttering around him, the sweet sounds of your moans and mewls— everything about getting ridden makes jason’s dick hard and turns his brain to mush