jason grace's biceps & i are like this 🤞 ︵ reader uses lipstick in the fic + est. relationship
“angel… are you sure?”
“oh, i’m so sure.”
you peer at jason, seated on the edge of your bed, through the mirror in front of you. he’s dumbfounded, quizzical, and—if you had to guess—probably questioning your sanity. yet, you notice how red his ears have gotten, and you let out a small laugh at the sight.
you get up from your knees in front of the mirror—not too many smudges, no other visible marks either—and make your way over to your vanity.
jason sighs as you rummage through the drawer. “i don't want to hurt you—really, i don't—and there's probably better ways to—”
“i’ll be fine, jay,” you reassure him. “i know you won't hurt me.”
“what if i do?”
“you won't. i know it. gods, where’d i put my…?”
when you finish your small quest for lipstick, you swipe a generous stripe across your lips to apply it, and carry it over to where he’s sitting.
“i just need something to post my gorgeous, hot, built, pretty, sight of a boyfriend for national boyfriend’s day,” you tell him, hand travelling to his jaw, “this’ll only be a few seconds. trust me.”
you give him a kiss, lips stained in shade 601, cherry, and you watch it tint his lips a gorgeous pink.
time to get on with it, you think.
“baby, can you roll your sleeves up for me? please?”
he tilts his head, then complies.
you swipe another swatch of lipstick on for good measure, then press your lips against his bicep. he lets out a small gasp, and the sound makes you rise to press another kiss to his lips.
you step back to admire your work—it marked!—and turn around to check it through the mirror. once you deem the shade’s visibility perfect, you kneel in front of the vanity once more.
“come down, sweets, behind me,” you say, patting the space between you and the bed—enough space for him to slink down at your back.
you grab your phone by the bottom of the mirror, opening the camera app as you do so.
“okay. can you put me in a headlock, baby? i need to check if it looks okay.”
and with a sigh, jason repositions himself.
“tap me once if you need it off, okay?” jason says. “especially if you start to feel like it's getting a bit tighter than comfortable.”
after an eager nod from you, he moves his arm. now, your chin is laying on the crook of his elbow and your cheeks are smushed against his bicep and tricep. the pressure against your neck is just right—you can't stop the small giggle that escapes your lips, nor the contented sigh that follows after.
i can stay here forever, you think, giddy at the squeeze of his arms against your face.
you check your phone once more. lighting? amazing. jason grace? absolutely perfect. his biceps? delectable. you adjust the zoom and focus, and then,
“alright—baby, eyes here—aaand, one, two—!”
snap! snap! snap!
the clock hits 11:09 as you browse through the different pictures you took—jay, baby, doesn't this look so cute?—and the clock strikes 11:11 when the picture with the caption “happy national boyfriends day, my sweet boy” finally posts.
you let out a content hum, leaning back against jason’s chest. you're scrolling through your phone when, suddenly, jason’s grip loosens.
“noo,” you whine, drawing out the last letter. your hands grip his arm, holding it in the same place it once was. “keep it here? please?”
and jason lets out a deep sigh. but, if there’s anything his red ears, flushed cheeks, and dilated eyes tell you—it’s that there’s no bite to it at all.
( 🌩️ )
“on second thought…” you trail off, lips pursed and eyes trained to your screen—the post, specifically.
“yes, angel?”
“i’m deleting this.”
“really? why?”
“i think the pics’d look better if you took your shirt off.”
-> © DEUXIOSE (2025). do not repost, republish, translate, or use any of my works to train AI.
