#at first I thought it was too vivid. but it's not so bad actually

[kuyatecallate]

Oh look it's my favourite highschool bullies-

#koopalings #my art #roy koopa #wendy koopa #a rare alliance I'm sure #swatched the colores from their paper mario forms #at first I thought it was too vivid. but it's not so bad actually #really wanna make a ref sheet so I can get the heights more consistent #just you wait soon as I finish my coursework it is JOEVER #KK1to8

[sooniebby]

I’m back…had a random thought when listening to men moaning and I just had to write it for y’all.. you know the drill, bottom male reader, reader is mentioned to have a cock

Smut fic—in which reader has the terrible experience of being able to read minds. It was fun at first when you first found out at age ten.. but then it just got bad because you couldn’t control it

Hearing your mom’s thoughts about your dad was traumatizing to say the least. As you grew older, you basically learned to tune people out by filling your head with your own thoughts. It usually works.

And it was your usual day in your philosophy class at the university you dreamed of going to.. and it was the usual in that you sat next to this random girl who slept the entire time. Which was good, you didn’t have to worry about her thoughts.

But much to your surprise, someone sat next to you. It was pretty shocking. This guy was “popular” in the sense he was handsome and everyone wanted to be near him.

He usually only sat next to his friends but today he was next to you..? Odd—but you didn’t care that much. You now had to focus on making sure his thoughts didn’t distract you from your professor..

But you did want to take a little peak—just to see what a guy like him would be thinking. At most, you expected him to be focused on taking notes

This guy… is he an actor, you thought to yourself. He looked to be paying attention but the only thing on his mind was sex.. with you.

And not just a fleeting glimpse of sex. it was.. wow, pretty graphic.

He was fantasizing about fucking you in an empty classroom. The classroom you two were in right now. You sprawled on the teacher’s desk, back arched with your legs being pushed towards you.

He was fucking you. Very harsh. He had a very vivid dream of how you’d look fucked out on the table—your moans filling the empty classroom.

His fantasy was solely on you. How you cried, how you arched your back, how you whined his name.. suddenly, he was holding tightly on your neck, lightly squeezing it while his thrusts began to practically knock your breath away.

“You sound so cute.. but you can be louder, yeah?” His fantasy self said to you, reaching down and slapping your ass which earned a scream. Which embarrassingly enough caused you to flinch in real life.

Okay, that’s enough..! You thought to yourself, looking away with a blush. Holy shit. This random guy… was dreaming about having sex with you?! But you guys didn’t even speak.. why.. did he like you?

You couldn’t help but glance over at him, trying hard to not let his thoughts flood your mind again. He was certainly hot—which made sense why a lot girls kept fangirling about him.. Black hair slicked back with gel, a nice nose, plump lips girls were jealous of, a lean body, cat-like eyes..

why was he into you?

He could have anyone.. but he’s thinking about you?

By accident, a slip of his thoughts flooded you again. He wasn’t thinking about sex anymore, he was actually focused on his notes. With a sigh, you decided to believe you were just going crazy and took a sip from your water bottle.

‘His mouth is so small.. would it actually be able to fit around my cock?’

You coughed heavily as water slipped out of your mouth. Much to your shock, the perverted guy handed you some tissues to wipe your mouth. You muttered a thank you, cleaning your chin and mouth.

Jesus, this guy is going to be the death of you.

‘He’s so cute…I hope he likes guys…’

You sighed, happy that he was finally thinking about you normally.

‘Ah.. what if it was my cum instead of water on his lips..? Oh, too much don’t wanna pop a boner in class.’

You could only cough once more in shock and cover your ears. Oh, you needed him away from you fast. But it seemed like he was going to actually start pursuing you soon..

But what you really wondered is if you could survive hearing his thoughts on a daily basis.. and by the embarrassing boner you were sporting right now

Yeah, you were going to be having boners in philosophy often.

‘Does he even like giving blowjobs..? Hope so.. it’d be hot cumming in his mouth..having it overflow.. oops, boner!’

This was going to be a long day…

My first ever one where the guy actually thinks and technically talks… :0! This was fun if you guys want, I’ll definitely expand on it. For now, Imma continue the roommate for tmmr <3

Yoga instructor is coming soon, can’t wait to have an actual fic for him, it’ll be in 2nd person!

Tag list: @nakedtoasterr @chill-guy-but-cooler @mello-life69 @kiiyoooo @the-ultimate-librarian @iwishtobeacrow (ask to added to my tag list to be tagged in all of my works :3)

#bottom male reader #uke male reader #oc x reader #smut drabble #smut ideas #mlm nsft #mlm ns/fw #x male reader #smut prompts

[yanderestarangel]

✧ 𑂴 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 | 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐓 X 𝐅𝐓𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐖: v!sex, dirty fantasies, sex dreams, v!sex, porn plot, praise kink, sex in the car, soft!dom mike, ftm reader, creampie.

Mike's concerns were never limited to just family and economic environments, not just capitalism and the concern of keeping his memory and taking care of the only person he had left - Abby - but also romantic parameters, and unfortunately he couldn't cope. get rid of such feelings... Feelings for you.

You were his coworker - always smiling and asking if he was okay or not, it made the security guard's day happier and more comforting, even if you were just being a polite person. Mike was a lonely man with several problems, and even though he was embarrassed, the only escape route he had were erotic dreams about you.

It all started involuntarily, with him going to sleep thinking about how you touched him that day - it was a simple touch on his hand at lunch, but enough for him to feel the heat of your skin transmit to him - Schmidt felt his member throb in his pants when thinking about what it would be like to touch his body, treating him gently, how he could be a little rough with you hitting his dick in your little hole while forcing you to look deep into his eyes giving him more motivation to continue hitting your body with his hips, he was already a hostage to his own desires.

"-Oh fuck..." he whispered, still in a state of deep sleep, sweat ran down his forehead while a hand went against his erection, instinctively while goosebumps formed on his skin. The image of your pussy, your body, your face, slowly riding and slobbering on his dick was too vivid-just a fantasy in his brain, but it was a fantasy he couldn't lie about that was pleasurable in every way.

The days passed more and more tortuously... Every touch, smile and conversation, every reverberation of your voice was enough for Mike's brain chemistry to change and everything to spin, his dick was pulsing in his pants and he needed some relief or simply asking you out - he didn't just want sex, but sex was also included in his intense and lustful passion for you - so, the man asked you to have a beer and take a walk around, a calm stroll through the monotonous small town night, no worries, no more fantasies, something real and invigorating; That was all Mike wanted.

His car was a hot and stuffy space, but the cold, bitter sip you took every moment from the beer bottle made your system cool a little. Mike seemed genuinely cheerful after a while, smiling widely and telling bad jokes that made you smile at his cute attempt to distract you from his poor choice of first date location... After all, even if he didn't make it clear, it was a date. Schmidt soon began to make you more comfortable with small respectful touches, some caresses on your thighs, cheeks or even a quick kiss on the forehead, while he leaned against the bench and looked at you with his black eyes, resting his face on his closed wrists.

"-You know... I always thought you were a pretty boy." Mike spoke in a husky voice filled with desire underlying whatever fear stood in the way of the advances he hadn't made. Then, everything was too fast for your brain to process - Mike above you, his hands were holding your thighs with your ankles resting on his shoulders, his thick, pulsing cock was moving in and out of your pussy, his hands were squeezing your soft flesh until that his fingertips were white - it was a way for the poor man to feel that you were actually real, not just another comforting dream he'll have as the months go by -

"-That's it... My boy is taking my cock so well... Damn (Y/N) you're so fucking tight." Mike moaned loudly as he removed his shaft from your core, only to rub it against your clit, making you moan his name even more - he slowly thrust back in making each movement count, making you arch your back for more fiction.

"-S-So fucking cute- oh fuck baby boy, do you know how much I dreamed about fucking you? How much I wanted that pussy wrapped around my dick?" He confesses between moans, he didn't really care anymore if what he said was dirty or immoral, he needed to let you know how much he wanted you. "-I just wanted to fuck you, turn you into mine, filled with my cum..."

Mike expected to see some sign of repulsion or disgust, but you just moaned and rubbed your own clit, looking for more of that forbidden and newly discovered pleasure. "-You always wanted this... deep down you knew I would never resist you." You wrapped your arms around him, holding on for dear life as he fucked you senseless.

He grabbed an arm, pulling your body closer to him as he continued to ravage your pussy relentlessly. His breathing became difficult and sweat ran from his forehead to his, mixing in an erotic dance. "-Fuck, beautiful boy, squeeze that little pussy on my dick- yes! Fuck exactly like that, good boy, such a good boy for me-!" You soon felt your cunt milking Mike to the last drop of sperm, feeling your walls close around him - He grunted loudly, spilling everything into your uterus.

"-Take it all, take my load like the good boy you are."

You soiled the antique leather seats beneath you, but he didn't care about the mess at that moment, just slowly pulling out of you and lowering himself between your legs, placing kisses on your aching pussy and leaking his cum.

"-You don't know how much I'm in love with you baby..." He looked deep into your eyes, and by the glow you saw in his orbs - he was obviously being sincere, the world stopped and it was just you and Mike that moment, and that was all he needed at the moment... You.

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

#yanderestarangel #mike fnaf #mike schmidt fnaf #fnaf mike #mike smut #mike schmidt #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x ftm reader #mike schmidt x male reader #male reader #ftm reader #tw smut #smut #mike schmidt headcanons #mike schmidt x you #ftm!reader #male reader x male character #male!reader #trans reader #transgender #mike schmidt fanfic #fnaf imagines #fanfiction #mike schmidt x y/n #not sfw #smut x reader #gay smut #fnaf movie #fnaf

[pricefieldsuperiority]

Yearning Allegations - Pt.2

Part 1 can be found here

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x reader

Genre: Friends to lovers slowburn

Summary: You've liked Paige for the longest time. Is there any chance she likes you too?

The first thing you do when you get back to your dorm is groan. Why the hell did you say that? Now she's gonna be worried about you, which is the last thing you'd want.

Annoyed with yourself, you kick off your shoes and throw your clothes into the corner before changing into an old oversized shirt you stole off Paige once when you slept over at hers. It's comforting, still smelling vaguely like her, and you curl up in your bed, plush bedcovers over your knees.

Earbuds in, you press play on Taylor Swift's newest album. Your taste in music was different from Paige's, preferring pop and rock, whereas she liked what you affectionately called "fuckboy music." Of course this was just a lighthearted inside joke, you also liked some of her music, like PartyNextDoor or The Weeknd.

You're halfway through the song 'Down Bad' when you hear a light knock at your door and a soft voice.

"Hey y/n? You good? Open up"

You open up the door to see Paige standing there with an unreadable expression, and then she just walks right in and drops onto your bed.

"Yeah, I'm all good" You say, hoping you sound reassuring. Can she tell you don't actually have a headache?

Paige doesn't say anything. She just seems to be studying you closely, and you nervously ramble on.

"You really didn't have to leave the party, sorry if I freaked you out or something"

You've said it all in a rush, and Paige just smiles a bit as she reaches out and tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear. You want to speak up and tease her to ease the tension until you look at her face.

Paige's expression is gentle, and you notice just how dilated her pupils are in the dim light of your room. Her irises are small, nothing but a vivid blue ring, and you smile at the sight. Her eyes are just so pretty, they've always reminded you of forget me nots, or a clear sky, and you're so busy pondering their exact shade match that you realize you forgot to speak.

"What?" Paige says, suddenly self-conscious.

You blink a few times.

"Nothing"

You turn away, grabbing your glass of water off the nightstand.

Paige is looking at you, head slightly cocked, brows knit quizzically. Your mouth feels dry despite the water, and you want her to stop looking at you like she's trying to figure you out.

"I swear I'm actually good, deadass. My head just really hurts. Probably chugged too many shots during that drinking game earlier. " You put down your cup and dramatically flop onto the bed, closing your eyes and then peeking one open to check if your explanation worked.

Paige finally relaxes and smirks at you,

"Pfft y/n you're such a light weight. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

You scoff and reply with a grumbled whatever I'm fine, pressing a hand to your head dramatically, and Paige props herself up against the wall, holding one arm out for you.

"Alright, alright, come here."

You smile at her, cuddling up to her side. Her perfume smells so good. It's a subtle vanilla. You settle on her chest as she holds you.

"Also- are you wearing my shirt?" Paige says, rather amused.

"Yeah? Why, do you want it back? I’ll give it to you later" You retort, with half a mind to take it off and playfully throw it at her. This is how it was between you two, at least when you weren't acting like an idiot.

"Nono it's fine, just thought it was... interesting"

Paige pulls you back in, hiding her grin with her hand.

You're fighting off sleep, but you still scoff in response, and she just strokes your hair gently as you drift off.

---

The next week, Paige is over at your dorm, playing Fortnite on call with KK and Ice as you play League of Legends.

"Ughhhhh!!"

Paige groans with frustration, putting down her controller as she loses another match. KK and Ice are bickering with each other over call, and you just smile at the familiar sounds.

You're busy fighting hard in League. Your team is technically losing, but you think you might be able to carry if you score a few more kills at the right time. You don't look up when Paige sits down next to you, headset and game abandoned, head resting over your shoulder to watch you play.

"Another loss, huh?" You say, grinning while you score another kill.

You don't need to turn around to see Paige's eyeroll.

"Yeah yeah, whatever. I just lost cause I was trolling too hard"

Paige is a bit of a sore loser (and dramatic) so you can't resist the urge to poke a little fun at her.

"That's what you get for being a Fortnite player, cringe as hell man”

Paige throws her hands up as she retorts back,

"Dude you're literally playing fuckin League of Legends right now, you can't talk"

You finally look away for a second to grin mischievously at her, one eyebrow cocked.

"Well, at least I'm good at League-"

Not more than 2 seconds pass before Paige sticks her whole hand in front of your screen during a team fight, causing your character to die. You end up losing the game, considering the enemy team was already way ahead.

"What the hell, Paige!"

You whine, and she just grins evily in response.

"HA, what were you saying about winning??-"

You don't allow her to finish that sentence because you shove her over, standing up from the chair and knocking her onto your bed.

"Hey!"

Paige shouts as you start tickling her sides, absolutely going in. You've got a knee on her leg to make sure she doesn't wiggle away from you.

"Yeah, so who's losing now-" You laugh, her cussing at you, trying to pull your hands away.

After a few minutes, Paige pushes you over, and now it's a full-blown battle. Your hands scramble to find her weak spots before she can find yours, and you note how her loose t shirt has risen up, a bit of her stomach out as she kneels over. You seize the opportunity and tickle just under the hem of her shirt, fingers hitting bare skin.

Paige's face blushes a deep pink as she feels your hands go up her shirt, and she grabs one of your wrists, pinning it to the bed.

"Paige!" You can't get your wrist free from underneath her, she's stupidly strong. You can't even move away because she's sitting on you now, using her free hand to tickle your neck and side mercilessly.

"I think you're the one losing!" Paige says triumphantly, enjoying the sight of you squealing.

You sneak your other hand unpinned hand into her waist, tickling her side, and she curses, grabbing that hand and pinning it too.

Breathing heavy, you're both flush against each other, her body leaning over yours, and for a second, you swear you see her eyes flicker down to your lips.

You stop moving entirely, admiring her from your position beneath her, trying to mentally engrave the way the light highlighted the honey streaks in her hair into your memory. Your eyes dart down once to her slightly parted lips before glancing up to her eyes, the expression in them unreadable.

"I- I won!" Paige gets off you in a hurry, moving away quickly to smooth her shirt down in your bedroom mirror.

"Yeah yeah whatever" You say back, hoping she didn't hear the shake in your voice. You press the back of your hands to your cheeks. They're warm.

Paige doesn't stay long after that, saying she needs to get some homework done, and you just sit alone in your bedroom after she's left, playing back the moments to yourself.

What the hell was that?

---

Authors Note: Thank you guys so much for the love on the first chapter <3. Paige and y/n gamer losers, this is true.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn #wlw #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #fanfic #friends to lovers #slow burn #Spotify

[nyxyxx]

Godly Desires - Part 3

The Diluc chapter woohoo (he may be a little ooc but thats cuz im very inexperienced at writing him) The yandere stuff will gradually get more intense as the story goes on but for now its super super mild. I. II. III. IV.

Warnings: This story contains yandere content and religious themes

-3-

"A friendly drink"

-

You had just arrived with Diluc at Dawn Winery, and you couldn't help but notice the glances you got from all of the workers as you walked past them. Something about it seemed odd, but you didn't have enough time to figure out what was wrong. You trailed after Diluc as he led you into his office, and shut the door behind him.

"Please, sit," he said, watching you awkwardly stand by the chairs. You nodded and hesitantly sat down on the cushioned seat, and you couldn't even believe how comfy the seat was. Well, you had just been spending all of your time in the wild outdoors so having a nice chair to sit in was very unusual.

Diluc walked over to his chair, on the other side of the desk, and sat down. He pulled a bottle out from underneath his desk. "It's grape juice, is that alright?" He asked, suddenly nervous. He didn't want to give you a bad first impression, although it was already a little messy because of what happened down by the lake.

"Oh sure. I don't mind." You answered. The corners of his lips rose ever so slightly, and he opened the bottle of grape juice. You were engrossed in the way he carefully held the wine glass, gentle but firm, and the charming way he poured the juice into the glass. Something about it was surreal. Elegant even. He had an air of nobility around him life that.

However on his part, what he noticed was completely different. He felt that his hands were too shaky. That he was taking too long to pour the glass, and the silence that hung in the air was becoming thicker. He could barely breathe at the prospect that you were even here, in his home, sharing a drink with him. It was unbelievable, really.

Once he was finished, he handed the glass over to you, and you took it from his hand, your fingertips gently brushing against his. The tips of his ears turned a very light pink, but he was lucky that you hadn't been paying attention to that.

He hated that he felt so nervous. He should be elegant and charming, and leave a very good impression on you, so that maybe, just maybe you might see him favorably. He despised how weak he felt, but it was only natural for him to be nervous in the presence of a being like you.

"Mm...thank you" You said, as you took a sip of the grape juice. It was sweet, but not too sweet, and had a little bit of sourness to it. It was refreshing and cold, but made you feel warm. Out in the wild, you had occasionally found fruits and just drank the juice from them, but this was a little different.

"Please, there is no need to thank me, it is my honor," He said, taking a sip from his glass. You thought he was just being a gentleman, but in truth he was all euphoric on the inside.

In the silence, your mind began to wander. You started to doubt more and more if this was actually a dream or not. Of course it had to be, because this place wasn't real. Diluc wasn't real. That should be the case, but yet, you felt like you've been here for such a long time already. When were you going to wake up from this dream?

You thought it strange how real everything feels, from the cold water, to the rich taste of the grape juice, to the hunger and thirst you had experienced, it was all so vivid. Could this really be a dream? You've heard that it is possible for people to experience very real sensations in their dreams, but you never thought it would be as convincing as this.

Well anyway, there was no point in worrying about the details. You had no idea how long this dream was going to last, so in the meantime you might as well have fun with it. After all, there was no harm in having fun in a dream right?

The glass in your hands was now empty, the juice all gone. "Thank you for the drink, but I should probably get going now," you said, rising from your seat. You already missed the softness of the chair. You looked at Diluc, who sat their blankly staring at his empty glass. Shrugging, you began to walk towards the door, only to stop upon hearing his voice.

"You should stay the night here. It is already getting dark outside. It will be dangerous." He said, quickly rising from his chair. He walked over to you carefully, and smiled. He was just trying to be considerate.

"I mean, is that really okay? I don't mean to impose..." You trailed off, while that was true, you also did feel a little bit awkward about the situation.

"I assure you, it is not a big deal. I'll have a guest room arranged for you." He said, without waiting for your answer. "Then you can leave first thing in the morning." but please allow me just a bit more time to be near you, is what he didn't say out loud. You simply sighed and agreed. It would in fact be easier just to stay here until morning. Then you could find your way to Mondstadt without it being the middle of the night.

-

Taglist: @justyoureader; @mmeatt; @iamapotatoe; @clavichordcleffa; @yu-ulda; @c3rtifiedsimp; @eravariety

#genshin sagau #sagau cult au #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #cw yandere #genshin cult au #genshin impact x reader #sagau #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere diluc x reader #yandere diluc

[moremaybank]

touch starved reader and jj is actually sending me 🫣

-͟͟͞☆ touch starved!reader with jj…

warnings none, i don't think but let me know

jj masterlist

Being touch starved always left you with an ache that nothing could soothe. At times, you found yourself hugging your frame into your own arms, rubbing your hands up and down on your thighs or your upper arms, anything, really. But nothing seemed to work.

Until you started dating JJ.

Even before the two of you had gotten together, he would find small ways to touch you, to spread lightning bolts through your skin from his own.

You still remember the first time he did so. His palm laid upon your shoulder, and he gave it a tight squeeze in greeting. Your body had gone rigid and you stood there in shock, wondering if your longing had gotten so bad that your vivid imagination had transformed into full on hallucinations.

Your reactions didn't go unnoticed by him either. At first, he thought he'd overstepped. But then he realized that you hadn't scrunched your shoulder up or moved away in disgust. You were just...surprised. So the next time he saw you, he decided to try something else. Brushing over your cheek with his thumb, claiming you had a shed eyelash there. Then grabbing your hand in his casually as the two of you walked somewhere. He'd sling an arm around you pulling you close. Then he stepped it up to a hug that had spread goosebumps over your flesh. Your arms wrapped around him, reciprocating the embrace albeit reluctantly. But the minute you'd leaned into it, you knew there was no one else on earth that could recreate that feeling of safety. Of protection and warmth and domesticity.

And now that you were dating him, things couldn't have been better. He'd always been touchy, especially when it came to you, but embarking on a relationship with him had only opened the door to a million possibilities. You'd told him how touch starved you'd been before you met him. How you so desperately needed that comfort but had never found it in the arms of anyone but yourself. His eyes popped out of their sockets, and his heart stopped, because, who could ever treat his girl that way? His sweet, loving, kindhearted girl whose smile started his day, and whose spirit alone provided him with the sort of home he himself had always vied for?

He couldn't stand for the neglect you'd been facing all that time. So he vowed to make up for it. And, boy, did he excel at it.

Every time he greeted you, you were met with a million kisses pressed all over your face. His hands cupping your cheeks, resting on the junctions where your shoulders met your neck. Smoothing down the curves of your waist, down to your hips. Long hugs, squeezes when his hand laid on your thigh, holding your hand and kissing the back of it as he drove. Absentmindedly trailing his digits up and down your lower legs when they rested on his lap. Random massages, pulling you extra close when you cuddled, even in his sleep. If your body ever strayed away from his in slumber, he'd always find you. It was his only mission in life that felt necessary. Meaningful.

During moments of passion, his hands don't abandon you once. It's as if he's trying to stain his prints onto you forever. His fingers weave through your hair, his palms tighten their grip on you as if you'll slip away. They're constantly pulling you closer, keeping you stuck to his skin. He knows the intimacy means everything to you, but it means everything to him too. If he could superglue himself to you, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank headcanon #jj maybank headcanons #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank brainrot #jj maybank brain rot #jj obx #jj outer banks #obx #obx x reader #obx x you #obx smut #obx imagine #obx headcanon #obx blurb #obx brainrot #outer banks #outer banks x reader #outer banks x you #outer banks smut #outer banks imagine #outer banks headcanon #outer banks headcanons #outer banks blurb #outer banks brainrot #rudy pankow

[unclewaynemunson]

More often than not, it doesn't work out.

Robin first learned that lesson with Vickie, when she thought she found the love of her life but ended up breaking things off because the way in which Vickie mirrored her anxiety back to her enhanced it tenfold and it turned out to be completely exhausting to keep up with that after the first wave of butterflies had died down.

After Vickie, there was Laura. Laura, with whom it seemed to work out until she told Robin that she couldn't bear keeping up with her weird, unsettling and way too vivid nightmares about Russian spies and monsters from fantasy stories every other night.

After Laura, there was Julia. Julia, who was amazing for four whole months until she told Robin with tears in her eyes that she couldn't tolerate the cheating anymore. It didn't matter how often Robin told her that sleeping with someone didn't necessarily mean sleeping with someone, that Steve was like a brother to her – and that the whole thing was utterly ridiculous in the first place because Robin was very much a lesbian. Needless to say, it didn't work out.

Then, there was Amy. Amy, who, like a cruel twist of fate, actually cheated on Robin. It was only a one-time thing, a drunken kiss during some stupid party, but it was enough to damage Robin's trust in her irreparably. So it didn't work out.

Up until then, she had chalked it up to a string of bad luck or maybe bad taste. But after Louise (who brought up the nightmares again), Valerie (who wanted some adventure in the bedroom and had to guide Robin through a panic attack filled with inexplicable flashbacks when she tried tying her to the bedframe), and Mathilde (who made a problem of Robin's regular 3am calls with Steve when neither of them could sleep), she starts to wonder if it wouldn't be more probable that it is herself who is the problem instead of this whole list of girls.

“Don't you dare say that about yourself,” says Nancy with fire in her voice when Robin finally dares to voice that thought out loud.

They're both lying down on Nancy's brand new couch, a pair of legs dangling over each side and their heads right next to each other in the middle. Except for that couch, the living room is still empty. Boxes are piled up everywhere, still waiting to be unpacked, but they can wait a little longer.

Robin is happy to have Nancy at her side again. It's been a while: college and differing career paths kept them separated through the majority of their friendship. But now Nancy has found her way back to Indiana, only half an hour away from where Robin has been living with Steve and Eddie ever since Mathilde broke up with her a few months ago.

She hasn't really been dating anyone since, and now that Nancy is also living in Indianapolis, she wonders if she'll ever feel the need to. No girl would ever be able to compare to Nancy Wheeler, after all; Robin knew that much as soon as she saw Nancy stepping out of the U-Haul wearing pastel-pink dungarees, with all grown-out curls cascading over her back and a thick layer of eyeliner around her beautiful doe eyes.

“Well, it could be true,” Robin presses on.

“No it can't!” Nancy says it in such an indignant tone that it makes Robin snort skeptically.

“I'm serious, Rob.” It sounds stern. “I know you and I know it's not true. It's not your fault.”

“You're seriously telling me I've been dating seven girls over the past seven years, and none of it worked out, and it's all because of them? All those relationships were wildly different; I'm the one consistent factor in all of them, Nance.”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean you're the problem.” Nancy says it like it's obvious. “Maybe the problem is that you've been picking girls who all have one single thing in common, and that is that they never wanted to make the effort to really listen to you.”

"Huh." Robin closes her eyes for a second, taking her time to let those words sink in. She never thought about it that way. “You think so?”

“Yeah. Mathilde was a bitch anyway,” Nancy says matter-of-factly. “I mean, did she ever ask you to explain why you've been feeling the need to call Steve in the middle of the night lately?”

Robin shrugs. “That's a bit difficult to explain, isn't it?” she points out.

“That's what I'm saying,” says Nancy. “It's exactly why you keep picking out those kind of girls. Because if you're with someone who will actually listen to your story, you're gonna have a problem. Right?”

And, well, shit. It's not like Robin asked for a free therapy session here, but... Nancy is right. Of course she is. She always is.

Robin turns her head to the side, exchanging her view on the white ceiling for a much better one: Nancy's face, so close to her own that she can take in every little detail. The elegant slope of her nose, the wing of her eyeliner, the freckles on her cheeks, her perfect lips... Her face in this en-profile position is mesmerizing. It's not the first time that the thought comes to Robin's mind that Nancy looks like someone who should be in old paintings.

“Do you think you'll ever try to find someone who listens to you?” Nancy asks.

Robin tries to imagine that scenario; it's difficult. Not just because she doesn't really know how that would work in the first place, but mostly because she doesn't actually want to.

“Nah,” she says, trying to make it sound casual instead of really fucking sad.

“Why not?”

Because nobody can ever compare to you anyway, she thinks. But she bites her tongue and shrugs, turning her head back to the ceiling.

“That would be way too complicated, wouldn't it?”

Nancy shuffles and sighs; Robin feels her breath tickle against her cheek.

“I guess,” she mumbles.

“How did you do it?” Robin asks.

Nancy's dating history is not as tumultuous as Robin's. After things ended between her and Jonathan, she had been solo for a while. Then, there had been Ben, and then Kurt, and then it had again been just Nancy for a long time.

“Did what?”

“Did you ever find a way to tell Kurt about all the shit?”

“Nope.” It doesn't exactly sound like she tried very hard.

“Why not?”

“Because I did the same thing you did,” Nancy says. “Chose the wrong people to do that with. So I didn't have to think about it.”

That doesn't feel completely fair to Robin; Nancy had been with her boyfriends longer than Robin had been able to keep even one of her girlfriends around.

“I liked Kurt, he was nice,” she remarks in an attempt to point out the difference without being too blunt about it.

Nancy sighs. “Yeah, he was nice, but he wasn't... Right. I knew that from the beginning. Same with Ben. Even with Jonathan, in a way. Or Steve, even though I was too young to realize it.”

“What do you mean, not right?”

“Boys.”

“Wha-” Robin turns her head sideways so fast that she's lucky she doesn't pull a muscle.

She sees how Nancy's eyes drop from the ceiling and slowly find their way to Robin's face.

“Took me a while to figure that one out,” she says quietly. “But yeah.”

Robin wishes they were lying in a different position; one that would have made it possible for her to take Nancy's hand and squeeze it gently, or to wrap an arm around her, or to pull her in for a hug.

“Thank you for telling me.”

A soft smile is tugging at Nancy's lips. She looks at Robin like she wants to say something, then looks back up to the ceiling again, and Robin copies her movement, biting her own tongue again in order to give Nancy the time and space she clearly needs right now.

Usually, Robin struggles with silences; she'll feel words pile up inside of her until her need to fill the empty space will take over and she'll inevitably start rambling. But this one actually feels comfortable. She wishes that they could keep lying side-by-side on this couch for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, they can't, though. There's still way too much work to be done. So Nancy hauls her to her feet and soon, the couch gets company of a coffee table, a couple of cozy armchairs, a bookcase, a TV... There are boxes filled with books, kitchen appliances, picture frames, video tapes, clothes; there are closets that need to get assembled and a heavy bedframe that they can barely get to where they need it.

It feels like it will never end, but after two long days of hauling furniture around, the apartment starts to look like a home. A home for which Robin gets a spare key. It rests cold and shiny against the palm of her hand, where Nancy has dropped it, and it makes her realize how real it is that Nancy is finally living close to her again.

Nancy's couch becomes just as much of a home for Robin as her own living room. It's where the two of them share stories, tell secrets, laugh loudly, cry ugly... It's where they watch movies until deep in the night, snuggled up to each other under a soft blanket. It's where they read books side-by-side on lazy Sunday afternoons. It's where they listen to music together and where they listen to what the other has to tell about their day or about anything that's on their minds. It's where Robin finally gets the courage to tell Nancy that nobody has ever listened to her the way Nancy does. It's where Nancy scoots closer towards her to press a kiss against her cheek, right before she finds Robin's lips and they share their first kiss, warm and homely and perfect.

More often than not, it doesn't work out. But once in a lifetime, it does. And once is exactly enough.

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #ronance #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #stranger things #fruity ficlet

[iamcalmdammit]

Nice to have a friend || [Simon "Ghost" Riley]

Note: I was so surprised that many of you wanted to read this stupid little thing. Read the notes for more after reading the whole thing.

Taglist: @untoldshortsofthefandoms @shoxji @atlantic-sugar @lujain420 @androgynoushellscape @actuallyanita

"What a coincidence, I knew a Simon Riley back when I was a kid," you noted with an adorable laugh after Price introduced the team to you.

Yes, that was me, Ghost was dying to tell you but his tongue was tied. That was the whole point of the mask, to keep his anonymity.

Seeing a familiar face from Manchester, someone he had fond memories of was a real serotonin boost for the rest of the week. You changed a lot since he had last seen you. Back in the day you used to be a pink-loving little girl who went to ballet classes after school, always the one to try and deescalate the fights between the boys.

Every time he laid his eyes on you and noted how far you'd come, his heart was filled with warmth. He was proud of you. Your sense of humor had matured over the years, but you could easily draw a smile on his face with your comments, you became strong and independent, and damn it, you were definitely easy on the eye too.

And this brought back memories, like the one from the first time he had actually talked to you after school. It was a cold, snowy day and he overheard you panicking about losing one of your gloves. He didn't want you to freeze to death on the way home so he decided to give you his gloves just in case. In return you asked him if he wanted to come over and play your brother's video games with you. From that day on, you occasionally met outside of school as well, and those were the happiest memories from his fucked up childhood.

"You seem to be really lost in your thoughts. What's up with you?" Soap asked him one day when the core team visited a bar after a mission.

Ghost let out a groan. He had noticed it before. The deep conversations you and Gaz were having more and more often, the little inside jokes no one but the two of you understood, and the lingering looks that strangely enraged him every single time. And now you were back at it again, staying within your own little bubble in the bar.

"Come on, Lt., you know you can trust me," the sergeant tried again after a minute or two. "Whatever it is, talking about it might be able to help."

He was right, but he had to be careful. "I think something's going on between those two," he said after a short while, as if he was just pointing out something quite obvious.

Soap looked over at you and Gaz. He even tilted his head to the side like a curious puppy as he tried to see what Ghost was trying to point out. "You think so? I haven't noticed anything unusual," he said.

Could it be that he was seeing more into the situation? "Maybe I'm wrong. I don't know." And with that, he dismissed the idea. It was nothing more but his surprisingly vivid imagination playing games with him. That was all.

Or was it?

Fuck.

When he was alone in bed, he always thought about you. It was strange, he wasn't the type to get fixated on women this much. But you… You were an exception. Every inch of his body was craving you, a primal need infesting his brain every time he thought of you. This led to times when his hand found its way under his jeans to end his suffering for the time being.

When he was away from you and didn't see more into certain situations, he often imagined what it would be like to have you around all the time. Seeing you walk around his shitty apartment in his shirt, having breakfast together, watching a movie with you in his arms, or him exploring your body over and over again, drawing one orgasm out of you after another.

It was bad. He was caught in a spiral and had no idea how to get out of it if you couldn't be his. Each passing day made it worse, he got lost in a fantasy world and was terrified to face you again. What if his instincts turned out to be right one day? What if he found out you were in a relationship with someone else, let alone with someone he knew very well?

And then the worst happened.

"I owe you a drink," Soap told him out of nowhere during their next mission. Ghost had absolutely no idea what he was talking about so he put down the weapon he had in his hand until then and gave him an expectant look. "You were right about Y/N and Gaz, those two are definitely together. I just caught a glimpse of Gaz having his tongue down her throat behind the building," he explained with a laugh.

But he couldn't laugh, not when every cell in his body wanted to scream. He had kept his distance so well in the past months that you barely talked to each other. This was a big mistake, he could see that now. Maybe if you knew the truth, if you knew he was that boy from your childhood, things would be different. You could be friends again, and once you were relaxed enough around him, he could try to see if you wanted more than that.

He couldn't even look you in the eye after Soap's announcement. If you asked him anything, he kept the number of his words to the bare minimum, and this didn't go unnoticed by you. "Do you have a problem with me?" you once asked him when you were left alone following a briefing.

How could you sound so sweet and innocent? How could he lie to you when you were looking at him like that? But he had to do it, he couldn't tell you that he was jealous. That he, despite being friends with Gaz, thought you made the wrong choice this time.

"No, I don't," he replied then walked away without another word.

Two days later Price stopped in front of him and watched him with a questioning look. He waited, hoping the Captain would get bored of this silent game and just tell him what he wanted. In the end he took a deep breath and asked, "Are you okay?"

Strange. "I am. Why?"

"Listen, Simon, I know the history of every member of this team. I know you and Y/N went to the same school at the same time back in the day. Did you know her back then?" he asked seriously, although Ghost could see the hint of a smile on his lips.

Was he about to scold him or praise him? He wasn't entirely sure. "I did. Why?"

"You've been different lately, especially when she's around. I'm not saying you've been making mistakes because it wouldn't be true, but maybe you should consider telling her the truth. There's tension between you and I'm not sure that's good for the team in the long run."

And Price was right. If he kept himself isolated for much longer, if he kept letting his fantasies take over his unwind-time, then he would soon be in serious trouble on the field. And not just him, but everyone else he worked with. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

But despite the initial drive to do as Price advised, it actually took him a month to finally man up and talk to you. Even then he hesitated, wondering exactly how and when to approach you, preferably without any other member of the team around. Then the opportunity arrived near the end of the mission when he found you alone in a room.

"Can we talk?" he asked you after he knocked on the doorframe. You looked surprised at first. It was understandable, after all you had talked around a total of fifteen minutes in the past months. Ghost gulped loudly and closed the door after you nodded. "I'll make it quick. There's something I need to tell you."

He stopped and you waited. "Okay?"

Breathe in. Breathe out. It wasn't that hard. "When I was a kid, there was a girl in school," he began. "One day she lost her gloves and I gave her mine so her hands wouldn't freeze off in the middle of the winter cold. I think that's when we became friends."

Your eyes narrowed. Your breath caught in your throat. At that moment, you knew the truth. "Simon?" you whispered his name quietly.

He nodded in response, a delicate smile creeping on his lips under the mask as he watched you. A part of him hoped you would be excited, that you would wrap your arms around him to pull him into a tight hug. But his imagination failed him, your reaction was quite the opposite. You buried a hand on your hair and turned your back to him as you tried to process the news.

Then, after what felt like an eternity to Ghost, you finally turned back to him. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Your voice was fused with anger and he honestly couldn't blame you. "I prefer anonymity these days," he replied, pointing at his skull mask.

"Why now?"

Because I can't stop thinking about you and it's getting awkward and also affects my performance in the team. Fuck. He couldn't tell you that. "Price gave me a pep talk. He thinks it would be better for the both of us if I was honest with you." Well, this was true. He did say that.

"Great. Now I know. Is there anything else?" you asked, your voice unusually cold.

There was nothing left to say. He could've asked you about Gaz, whether you were truly in love with him or only had fun during missions, but he kept his mouth shut. You were mad. He didn't want to make things even worse. So he walked away and decided to focus on the rest of this mission instead.

You avoided him from this point on. While until now it had been him who did that, now the tables turned and you were the one who didn't want to talk to him unless it was absolutely necessary. Months passed like that and he was beginning to worry that things would never be okay with you.

Then things slowly began to change. You began to ask him how he was, sometimes asked for his opinion, and generally acted nicer around him. At first he thought it was just his raging imagination playing games again, but no. You were really warming up to him.

"Wanna go out for a drink?" you asked him one day.

Ghost wanted to say yes, but it wasn't the right time for that. "We're working."

You nonchalantly waved your hand at him. "Nah, I checked with the Cap, he's okay with it if we don't stay long and don't get too drunk," you explained with a playful grin. "So, what do you say?"

Nodding, he followed you out to the car that parked in front of the temporary base. Friends. You had to be friends again first. But it was a start, he could definitely work with that.

#sorry no happy end for our boy #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty #modern warfare #modern warfare ii

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 8 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. 

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); smut (!!); unprotected sex (p in v); vivid recollection of forgotten childhood trauma; feelings of betrayal; jealousy; anxiety; panic attacks; mentions of therapy; mentions of an absent parent; sam is an idiot; abandonment issues; light mention of being under the influence of weed (lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 16.6k+

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: much to my disdain, this chapter has to be chopped in half. :((( ugh. the last part of this chapter has been a mf monster to write, and since i already finished up this entire first half today (a little more than half, actually), i figured i might as well post it. so, without further ado, here is the first part of chapter 8. . .

thank u to my girls @joshym & @alwaysonthemend for putting up w my ass. you two are the realest aaaand ilysm 😭

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

-🌼🌼🌼-

Two Weeks Later

Friday, August 26, 2022

The wound-up ball of tension in your tummy was about to let loose. 

His thrusts were getting desperate, his heavy breaths were mixing with yours. And you couldn’t help but look between you, where your bodies met. . . it made your heart beat even more rapidly in your chest, seeing you connected in such a way. It looked so right. You felt full. You felt whole. In your drug-induced haze, your thoughts couldn’t help but wander as you thought of the final step to feeling close to him. 

Fuck.

As soon as the thought entered your brain, you had to throw your head back in ecstasy. It was almost too much to imagine. 

Your mind was so fucking cloudy– nothing sounded better in that moment than to feel him fully.

You wanted it. Needed it. And you knew this time might very well be the last. And you had to feel him in that way. Just once. You’d get a Plan-fucking-B in the morning. It was worth it to feel him in that way. 

Just this once. This one last time. It would be the perfect ending to this beautiful chapter of your life. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

Present Day

Saturday, August 13, 2022 

“Yeah. Not too bad,” you shook your head, as if it were nothing. But you knew your expression was still sunken and weird.

He studied your face for a bit after you’d spoken, his expression said he wanted you to say more. 

But you weren’t going to, and he knew it.

“What if I make you dinner, then we watch a movie or something?” He requested, his brow raising at the prospect. 

He’d do what now? Your tummy did somersaults at the idea of him taking care of you. . .and especially like that. Cooking for you?

Surely he had an ulterior motive. 

“What do you want in return?” You asked suspiciously, your tears evaporating as you squinted at him. 

“What do you mean?”

“You want sex after you cook me dinner or something? An even trade?”

He blanched at that, drawing his head back a bit to observe you. “Even trade?” He scoffed, scratching his chin. “What the fuck even happens inside that brain of yours, y/n?”

Going into defense mode, you placed your hands on your hips to square up. “I’m still learning you, Jake. I don’t know what to expect from you.”

“The worst, per usual,” he said, rolling his eyes and flicking at the tip of his nose with his index. “Your favorite thing to assume about me is the worst. Always.”

“Not true,” you scoffed, flushing. He wasn’t wrong. . .you were regularly unfair towards him. But. . . “You haven’t exactly been trustworthy the entire time I’ve known you. Think back.”

“I don’t have to. I know I was an asshole and I wish like hell that I could take it back,” he revealed, sending earnest eyes your way, swiping a sweet thumb across your cheek, taking time to appreciate your left cheekbone. Then, he moved to bashfully tuck his hair behind his ears, taking a moment to untie the hair tie from his finger to pull his hair into a bun. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

You got momentarily sidetracked by watching the action of him pulling his hair up, suddenly wanting nothing more than to run your fingers through it, just as you liked to do.

Then you noticed him, waiting for a response as you drew your eyes from him. 

Clearing your throat, you refocused your thoughts. “Don’t worry about it,” you brushed off, not wanting to harp on it for too long, for fear of putting your foot in your mouth. “It’s whatever. Really.”

“No, it’s not. I wasn’t kind to you at the beginning, and I’m sorry,” he continued, looking you directly in the eye, showing sincerity in his deep brown irises. “I was going through a lot and took it out on you and that wasn’t fair.”

Nodding, you took the bait. “You’re right. It wasn’t fair. But,” you walked a couple steps forward, closer to him. Then, reaching a hand out, you held the side of his face. Suddenly, it didn’t matter what an ass he’d been before. He’d proven that he wasn’t truly like that. And you understood hurt feelings making a person act irrationally. “I get it. I’ve been through some shit, too, and I reacted in ways I shouldn’t have.” Smirking, you looked past him and thought back to your therapy sessions from years ago, reciting a few of your counselor’s words that’d stuck with you. “‘All that matters is that you see it, own it, and then grow from it.’ That’s what my therapist always told me when I was a kid, anyway.”

Swiveling your eyes back up to see his expression, your heart skipped a beat. His eyes had softened significantly at your vulnerability, seeming to take your words in. His eyebrows dipped and lips tilted in concentration. 

It always took you by surprise just how much his eyes showed his emotions. And how interested he always seemed in the things you would say.

“Very wise words,” was his response before he reached out to grip your bicep, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Then he was moving towards the kitchen, calling back to you. “I’m gonna go make some stir fry. Chicken?”

You watched him leave, wanting to follow him wherever he went. 

But you didn’t. 

After responding in agreement to his suggestion, you made your way to the bathroom to take a quick shower and wind down before dinner.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The next morning, you woke up, curled in a fluffy pallet of blankets on the floor. 

Both of you, still in sweats. You, in a t-shirt, him, wearing no shirt (fuck yeah). 

No sex had happened the night before. Jake’d thought it would be a good idea to do dinner and a movie, but you’d had the bright idea to make a pile of blankets to lay on to watch the movies. And, of course, you’d let yourself fall asleep next to him. 

And. . . As much as you knew you shouldn’t admit it, it was fucking wonderful just falling asleep next to him. The act was so domestic that it should scare you. . . But all it did was make you want more. 

More you couldn’t have. 

But for now, you’d pretend you could.

Your head was resting on the same pillow as Jake’s, abandoning yours in your sleep for the sake of being closer to him. 

Though, rather than pulling yourself away, you did the complete opposite. You rolled onto your belly and wrapped yourself around him, one arm over his abdomen, a hand splayed on his chest and one of your legs tangled between his.

You knew it wasn’t a good idea to let yourself feel so tied to him in the midst of your sadness. It completely abandoned the idea of not being emotionally dependent on him. . .

But you also weren’t so oblivious to not see that you’d broken a few rules already. 

And, after your anxiety attack (because that’s exactly what it had been) last night, you decided it was better to just let yourself have this time with him now and not worry too much about the rules.

Rather than stressing about making sure you were following every fucking rule, you figured it would be worth it to appreciate the time you still did have with him. Because this wasn’t going to last forever, you felt it was a good idea to make the most of it while you could. 

It was going to be gone soon (too soon), and you weren’t going to take for granted the time you had left.

So, when you woke up, instead of immediately initiating sex, you took time to admire him. 

You propped your chin on the hand you’d put on his chest. Trying to memorize every freckle on his handsome face, tilted to the side, perfect for your line of sight. You studied him . . .his features, sharp, yet delicate. His tanned skin was perfectly sunkissed from spending the day in the sun at Sam’s AirBnb. His pretty lips, partially open like always. . . 

You’d learned that he didn’t snore a bunch. But, every now and then, like this morning, he’d let out the occasional, slight snore in his sleep. 

Usually, snoring of any kind annoyed you. Elsie was the worst snorer in the history of all mankind, and it always aggravated you. And any man you’d ever slept with who did it was always immediately woken up and kicked out of your bed.

But when Jake did it, it was nothing but endearing to you. It was something that he did that just made him him. 

You pressed your body closer to his- he was so warm. It felt so overwhelmingly natural to be so close to him.

You watched the way his eyes fluttered behind his eyelids as he slept, wondering what he dreamt about. Did he dream? And were they vivid like yours? 

Then, you absentmindedly ran a thumb lightly against his cheek, mesmerized by how soft his skin felt beneath your fingertips. 

Just as your pointer finger went to trace the cupid’s bow on his upper lip, he started stirring, showing telling signs of waking up. You stopped yourself before he could possibly wake up with your damn finger on his lip. 

Don’t want him to think I’m a fucking weirdo, you thought, resting your hand, again, on his chest. And I definitely don’t want him to know I was watching him sleep either. That would be embarrassing as hell.

This time, you laid your cheek on top of it, deciding to feign sleep for the duration of time it would take for him to wake up.

Not too long after, you felt a big breath lift your hand, then you heard his voice. 

“I know when you’re watching me,” he commented, his voice deep from just having woken up. 

You didn’t say anything, just lifted your head, an apologetic look on your face as you opened one eye at him in defeat. 

He had a soft smile resting on his lips.

“It’s cute,” he said, reassuring you, sitting up a bit underneath you to lean his head against the couch, balancing on an elbow. He reached a hand up to come gently through your hair with his fingers. 

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

He shook his head, his face thoughtful as he continued to look at you. “Not at all,” he replied. Then, a smirk grew on his lips. “The morning after we fell asleep in your bed—.”

“What?”

He raised a brow, as if to say ‘really?’ “When you fell asleep on the couch, I got you to lay down and try to sleep. Then, you yelled at me from your room—effectively freaking me out, by the way—and then asked me to sleep with you?”

You blushed, feeling stupid that you momentarily forgot. “Oh. Yeah.”

He raised his brows with a hum, the same grin appearing on his lips again. “I watched you the morning after. You slept later than me that morning, and I was so glad you did,” he watched his movements as he tucked a lock of bed-head hair behind your ear. 

“Why?” 

“Because you look so fucking ethereal when you sleep,” he said. “Not that you don’t all the time. . .but when you sleep? Dammit, you just look so peaceful. And I love that you feel that peace in those moments. Not all of the stress.”

It was your turn to hum in response, completely caught off guard by his kind words. You didn’t know why it still did surprise you to hear him say such things. It wasn’t out of character to hear sweet things leave his mouth, but it still felt like a gentle surprise anytime he did say something like that.

Then, something in your heart told you to open up. Let him in. 

And so, without considering anything else, you did. 

“You know, I don’t always sleep peacefully,” you commented, your hand now tracing circles on his chest. “That’s a sort of new thing. Good dreams. Peaceful sleep.”

His brow raised, questioning your words. 

“I haven’t always been able to sleep so well,” you started, apprehensively. But when his hand kept combing through your hair, and his eyes opened up to learn more, you decided it was safe. He was safe. You could share this. “There are things that happened in my past that caused a hell of a lot of pain, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve carried those painful things into my sleep with me. They’ve haunted me. Another thing my childhood therapist confirmed. The trauma caused me to have restless, terrible sleep.” You paused, remembering some of the nights you were too scared to be alone, sobbing and screaming in your bed, crying for help. Your eyes naturally watered at the memories, your voice wet with your next words. “Some fucking terrifying nightmares.”

You sniffled, trying to alleviate the oncoming tears. You didn’t want to cry in front of him two days in a row. But, here you were. Jake brushed more hair behind your ear, then put that arm behind his head to lean up. The other strong arm wrapped protectively around your waist. He massaged shapes with his thumb, into the hip he held. 

Your eyes closed on their own, relishing the feeling of him reacting so gently to you. 

They reopened when you heard him clear his throat. His deep chocolate irises were shadowed with concern. “You don’t have to talk about it,” he pointed out, continuing to rub your waist. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to tell me anything that may hurt you.”

You considered his words for a few seconds, but ultimately decided what you wanted to do.

“I want to tell you.”

“Okay. I want to listen.”

You’d only ever opened up about all of this to Elsie (because she was there), and then Josh when you became his friend. But the urge to tell Jake about all of it was far too overwhelming to ignore. It felt as though you had to tell him. 

“Where do I even begin?” You pondered aloud. “What do you want to know?”

He hummed, smooshing his lips together in thought for a few seconds, squinting his eyes in thought as he peered up to the ceiling. You tapped your fingers against his chest, waiting for his input. 

“When did the bad dreams start? Can you pinpoint an age or anything?”

“After my mom left,” you replied, curling further into his body. 

He accepted your motion, encompassing you, keeping you close. 

“How old were you?” 

“I was ten. Left me sitting on the front porch as she left in a string of curse words. . . Blaming Els and me for all of it,” you stared into the space just past his head, thinking back on it. You felt brave revisiting it at this moment, for whatever reason. “I can’t recall everything she said that day or before, but what I do remember both from that day and before that day. . .,” you stopped, your face flinching a bit at the dark thoughts. “. . . It’s not good.”

Your skin crawled, and you weren’t liking the feeling. Needing to center yourself, you decided to look at him again to gauge his reaction. 

His face was rather relaxed, keeping a consistent air of calm to support you through your responses. “You doing okay?” He questioned, checking in. His brows dipped in concern for a moment, waiting for you.

Your lips lifted, back in the moment with him. 

This is the present time. He is what’s happening. The past is the past and I’m bigger than it, you recited. 

Some of the words were those advised by your childhood therapist. Truthfully, the lady had had some wise words. Jake’d been right when he’d come to that conclusion the night before.

A quiet, content smile was on your face when you responded. “Yeah. I promise. I want to tell you this.”

“Okay,” he replied, his voice quiet like your smile. “Who did you live with after?”

“My grandparents,” you said. “And Elsie.”

“Stayed with them until. . .?”

“Until I moved out to go to school at Pratt. When I moved here.”

“And you’re going to school for. . .?”

You grinned, appreciating his variation of questions. “Majoring in writing,” you groaned as the last word fell from your mouth. “And minoring in music.”

“Don’t like writing anymore?”

You sat on that for a second, then answered. “It’s not that I don’t like it. . . It’s that it’s not my passion,” you paused your motion on his chest and reached down to grab his hand that held your body. You lifted it up from under the fluffy blanket that covered you both. Holding his hand, you traced his calloused fingertips. “I admire how you went after your passion when you had the chance. I wish I’d gone after my own.”

He watched you, seeming to measure your words. “And yours is music, too.”

“Mhm. . . But not playing it,” you added. “Just listening to it– studying it. Learning more about it. I love writing, but I breathe those melodies.”

He smiled in response to that. “Me too. And I like that you feel that way, too,” he commented, letting your fingers play with his. “But who’s to say you couldn’t combine the two? Become a music journalist? A lyricist?”

For some reason, you’d never considered the latter. But it felt as though a fresh breath of air had been breathed into you. “I’ve never thought of being a lyricist, but that sounds. . .”

“Incredible?” He smiled. 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I wonder how you get a job like that, though.”

You let go of his hand to fold both of yours on his chest, your chin on top of them. He moved his hand to encircle your waist again. “I’ll help you find something,” he assured. Your belly buzzed. The idea of him helping you with something so personal to you . . . it made you feel everything all at once. “Somewhere. You live in New York City. . .I’m sure the possibilities are endless.”

“I’m sure you’re correct,” you agreed, admiring the way his breaths would lift your chin, the way his bicep flexed as he moved the bent arm behind his head. 

A comfortable silence crept over the two of you, him so obviously watching you– admiring you. It couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. 

His next words confirmed it. 

“Even in the grayness of this morning, you shine so bright,” he said, almost absentmindedly. “You fucking glow, y/n. You’re just brilliant.”

Not sure what to even begin to say to that, all you could utter was, “Thank you.” The sound of tears in your throat, behind your response, was a surprise, though. 

“Has no one ever told you?”

“Well, Josh says sweet things like that. And Elsie is great at encouraging me, too. . . But hearing you say something like that. . . those words. It just feels good. I don’t know,” you shook your head, a tear falling to meet his tanned chest. “And no one has ever said those exact words to me, no.”

“You are all of that and more, my lo—,” he cleared his throat. “You are so many things wrapped in one, y/n. So many fantastic things.”

“Stop,” you sniffed, for the second time that morning. More tears fell onto his chest. “You don’t have to say things like that. I promise I’ll still want to have sex with you if you don’t,” you laughed, wiping your leftover tears. The words sounded funny (true, but still funny) as they left your mouth. 

“I want to tell you those things,” he said, firm in his response. “You deserve to hear those good things. Sex or not.”

“Thank you,” again, was all you could say. 

“But the sex is pretty good,” he smirked as he said the words, his eyes glinting mischievously as he skirted a hand up the back of your shirt, skating fingers along your bare back. His eyes found yours when he got closer to your shoulders. “No bra?”

“You know I don’t wear one when I sleep.”

“So I’m assuming you knew we were gonna fall asleep out here?” 

“Mhm.”

“And you still let it happen?”

I did. . . And even though I shouldn’t, I keep breaking all of my own stupid rules, you thought in defeat.

“Wanted it to,” you remarked.

He hummed, watching you with a curious look in his beautiful eyes. You knew he was most probably thinking the same thing as you. 

But, all he said next was, “Can I ask you more questions?”

“Yeah,” you whispered in the quietness of the morning. The rumbling of thunder outside, followed by the pitter-patter of rain droplets against the living room window made goosebumps grow on your skin. “Nothing better than a quiet, rainy morning.”

“You are correct,” he replied in an approving tone. “So. . .your mother. . . Is it okay if I ask about her?”

“Yes,” your lips quirked. “I’ve already told you as much, silly.”

“I know, I know. . . It’s just a lot, I’m sure.”

You nodded to confirm. “It is. But I want to share this with you.”

“Thank you.”

“For trauma dumping?” You giggled. 

“For trusting me,” he said, serious in his reply. His eyes flicked to every inch of your face, taking you in. His hand, now massaging the tension from your neck. 

Miraculous that he just seemed to know the place where your tension settled. 

Not that it wasn’t a common place for tension to reside. But you wondered if he’d noticed you favoring the bottom of your neck during tense situations, over time.

Your heart hammered at the intimacy of the moment. You were so close to just leaning up and kissing him, but you didn’t want to cut conversation short. It was too enjoyable for you. 

It felt so freeing.

Trying to bring you both back to the topic at hand, you inquired. “What was your question about my mom?”

“Oh, yes,” he refocused, his hand now moving up to massage the roots at the base of your head. More goosebumps grew at the sensation. “Do you still talk to her?”

“Uh, no. Haven’t even seen the woman since she left. She hurt me so bad back then. . .I’ve kind of closed off the fact that she even exists,” you said. “She wouldn’t want to hear from me anyway.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It’s true. I’m just glad for the family I do still have,” you paused, deciding if you wanted to tack on the other words you were thinking. There was no reason not to, you’d already bared so much to him in a span of minutes. “Glad I have those people who want me.”

“I want you,” he wrapped a hand at the back of your neck, cupping the back of your head as one thumb rubbed over your pulse point. His eyes bore into yours, begging you to understand the words.

The next few moments were quiet and filled with everything left unsaid. What it was that remained unsaid, you didn’t know. Or maybe you did know.

He eventually let go, clearing his throat to show he was moving on. “Does Elsie feel the same? Closed off and all that?”

You blinked a couple times before responding. 

“Y-yeah. Pretty much. She and I are on the same wavelength about 98 percent of the time.”

“Imagine 100 percent of the time,” he blew out a breath, his eyes getting big as he stared off. 

“Twin life?”

He looked back at you, a grin on his pretty lips. “Twin life,” he confirmed. Pensiveness painted his features, then he spoke again. “Speaking of . . . Did you meet Josh at the record store?”

“Yes,” you responded. “Almost 4 years ago.”

“I’m jealous.”

“That I had that time with Josh while you missed him so bad?”

“Psh,” he said, rolling his eyes. “No. I’ve spent enough time with that fucker through the years,” he snickered, winking at you. “I’m jealous that he got all that time with you. Getting to know you while I was in Illinois, wasting away.”

Your tummy lit up with butterflies again. But you treaded carefully with this topic. You didn’t need him making any assumptions about Josh again.

There was no reason for him to be jealous. And honestly, you wanted to show him as much.  

“Well, you shouldn’t get too jealous,” you said, moving from laying down. You positioned your legs on either side of his hips, then sat your ass on the tops of his thighs, opening yourself up to him. 

He took in a sharp breath, and smoothed his hands over the tops of your thighs, then slipped his hands past the waistband of your sweats, giving your ass a generous squeeze.

“Why’s that?” He asked, his brow lifting in question. He brought himself up a little more, leaning against the couch. As he moved to sit up, he used his hands on your ass to push your crotch against his hardening cock. 

The wet arousal in your panties pressed against you. You gasped at the feeling. 

His lip curled to show his top row of perfectly straight, white teeth. 

So fucking handsome.

“Well,” you ground your hips against him, his head lolling back momentarily. He got back by bucking up into you, just the slightest bit. It caused a breathy moan to leave your lips. “He will never have me like this, for one,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his face closer to your chest. “I only want you like this, Jake.”

Fuck. That felt so genuine slipping from your lips. And you wouldn’t tell him this (you could barely admit it to yourself), but you really did only want him. Like, in general. Out of all other men, he was the only one you craved. 

When did that even happen?! Your incredulous thoughts could have taken over had he not effectively distracted you.

He moved his hands up under your shirt, abandoning your ass. His eyes were glued to your hardening nipples as his thumbs pressed into your tummy, massaging your hot skin. 

It was getting harder and harder to believe there’d been a time that you would have stopped this—out of fear and a bunch of shit. Leaving him on his own, and you sulking, feeling conflicted as hell.

Though, these days, you couldn’t leave him. 

There was nothing that could pull you away from him in moments like these.

(And that was a scary thought you could consider later.)

Your body was drawn to him, putty under his touch. Bending down the slightest bit, you curled your hands comfortably in his ever-growing locks. Your nose nestled into the part of his hair right behind his ear. One of your favorite parts of his body was that little crook behind his ear. You didn’t know why. . . 

But dammit— he always smelled so delicious. His cologne held hints of sandalwood and amber. . . And something so delectably Jake.

And God, you loved his hair. The citrusy smell of his shampoo. The softness of the locks. The length.

Fuck, the length.

Silly as it may’ve been, you were so glad he was growing it out. The longer it got, the more his heat scale increased. And at this point, he was getting dangerously hot.

His cock nudged against you, leaving nothing to the imagination underneath the layers of clothing. Anytime you’d move your hips to entice him, his cock throbbed beneath you, making your panties more and more uncomfortable with how wet they were. 

You felt his hands flatten, traveling up your tummy slowly. But just as he was about to touch your breasts, he switched directions, running his calloused fingertips down your back instead. 

“Asshole,” you whispered in his ear. You didn’t even have to look at him to know he was smirking. 

The little raspy laugh beneath you gave him away.

Your skin grew goosebumps at the sensation of his rough fingertips making soft shapes on your back. 

But you wanted his hands headed back in the direction they were before. 

Your nipples were blatantly expanding the fabric of your t-shirt, begging for him. 

And, when you pulled away to observe his face, he was already waiting for you, his eyes burning into yours, all the way down to your heart. 

Though. . .he didn’t stay there for long. He let his gaze travel back down to your breasts, his pupils dilated, filling his iris almost completely black. 

He looked hungry and your hips were moving of their own accord at that point. Every bit of him you got was making you need more, more, more. 

“I love your fucking tits,” he growled, wrapping one strong arm behind your back and effectively placing you beneath him. 

Your breath momentarily left your lungs, making you release a huge sigh as he arranged you so your back laid nicely against the soft blankets and pillows. 

“What do you like about them?”

He groaned, smoothing his hand up your stomach again. His hand cupped the underside of one breast. You sighed at finally feeling his hands where you wanted them.

“I love that they’re yours,” he started, reaching his thumb to rub and pinch at your left nipple. “I love that the color of your nipples is the same color as your pretty lips,” he lifted your shirt the slightest bit, sucking one bud into his mouth, kissing it like he would your mouth. Then, he replaced his mouth with his hand, squeezing your breast as you arched into his touch. 

Finally, he connected his mouth with yours, his bottom lip slipping between your lips to deepen it just a bit. You moaned into his mouth as he did yours. Then, he pulled away, leaning on his forearm. Switching between tits with one hand, he cupped the bottom of each, moving his hand under them enough to watch them jiggle. “And I love watching them bounce as I’m fucking you.”

“Shit, Jake,” you moaned, pushing yourself further into his hand. You were aching for him to be inside of you. “Fuck me so you can see what you like, baby.”

He sat up, slipped his sweats (there having been no underwear underneath, apparently) down his thighs, thick cock springing free. The sight made your belly swirl and your center wet with need. 

Once he was completely naked, he repositioned above you. 

But your skin was itching with the feeling of still being clothed. You needed to feel his warm skin against your own.

“Move,” you motioned for him to back up. You sat up as he took the hint, sitting back on his knees beside you.

His eyebrows wrinkled and his eyes grew worried. “Where are you go—?”

But he went silent as the t-shirt left your body and your bare chest flashed at him. And as you stripped yourself of the shirt, your boobs bounced a little, just as he liked. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, reaching for himself. You watched, your throat tightening, as he looked down at his shaft, his mouth falling open, just slightly, as he gave himself a couple of short, quick pumps. 

Dear God.

But he seemed dissatisfied.

And when you’d normally stop him and tell him to let you do it instead, you didn’t this time. 

But it seemed he still wanted your help.

You just sat in awe as he stretched his hand out to you. You were still as a statue as he gripped your chin, pulling it down the slightest bit. You followed his lead and opened your mouth more with his gesture. Then, you watched as he moved the hand, palm open, in front of your mouth. 

“Spit for me, baby,” he nodded at the hand in front of you. 

You didn’t argue, doing as you were told, heart racing as you spit in his hand. 

After you’d done what he wanted, he wrapped the hand around the base of his thick cock, giving himself a few long strokes from his skilled hand.

Though, as soon as he threw his head back with one particularly generous, tight-fisted move, you decided that it was officially past time to get naked.

You made quick work of your sweats, his eyes flicking up to watch you pull them off in a flurry. Then you hooked your fingers into your soaked underwear, getting them off as fast as possible.

You wanted to be the one to please, rather than his hand. 

You were growing jealous of the fist, as it held his pretty dick the way your pussy was aching to. 

When you were finally just as bare as he was, you laid on your back again. You spread one leg wide to open up for him, keeping the other flat, against your heap of blankets. In this position, he’d be able to see the bottom curve of your ass, your full breasts, and your slick pussy.

He didn’t see you, though, as he’d gone to focus on pleasuring himself, eyebrows drawn and whimpering a bit as he continued to watch his hand work at a steady pace. 

“Jake,” you called quietly, urging him to look at you and come to you. 

As soon as his name left your mouth, he looked up from where he was watching himself work his cock. After one hungry once-over from his dark eyes, he bit his lip.

“You ready?” You asked, slowly spreading both legs a little more for him, reaching two fingers to slide through your wet folds, shivering at the feeling of finally being touched. 

“Want me to eat your sweet pussy, baby?” He questioned, his voice a velvety rasp. 

Ready to please, his hand left his thick cock in order to move the short distance it took to be closer to you. 

“I want that pretty dick inside of me,” you responded, your voice exuding all of the need you felt running through your veins. “Now.”

And in a flash, he was on top of you again. His tip, damp from your saliva, nudged its way to the place it knew so well. 

Before any more words could be spoken, he pushed inside of you in one swift take. The two of you sighed in unison, relief flashing over his face, as you were sure it did yours, too.

He leaned both forearms on either side of your head, keeping his handsome face close to yours as he fucked you, thick cock stretching you well with each deliberate, hard thrust. 

His eyes were trained on your heaving tits, doing just what he wanted them to.

“I was starting to get jealous—,” you paused, whining with one particular snap of his hips, his dick hitting your secret spot. “Of-of that hand,” you said, your voice shaking on the words. 

His forehead was beaded with sweat already, ever-energetic in his pursuits—whether it be playing music or in the bedroom. 

“Don’t be,” he responded, pinning you with a stern look from his eyes, tone firm. “Your pussy feels better than anything else.”

The telling sounds of your bodies connecting only added to the ecstasy of the moment.

“Took-took y-you too long to get the hint,” you panted. 

“It was a few seconds,” he said, rocking his hips extra hard with the last word. 

Your toes curled with a moan. 

“Still too long.”

“Impatient.”

“No, I just know what I want,” you grabbed the back of his neck, bringing his mouth to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues fighting to lick further into the other’s open mouth. 

With one final swipe of his tongue against your teeth, he pulled away. “You’re high maintenance.”

You were suddenly self-conscious, overcome with a feeling that you weren’t good enough for him. That you annoyed him.

You covered it up with a defensive, haughty tone. “So?”

“I fucking love it.”

Oh.

Your body opened up at that, seemingly on its own. You bent your knees, spreading your thighs even more, letting him sink deeper. 

You grabbed at his biceps, gripping them to give yourself some sort of grounding as he started giving all he had, each thrust of his harder than the one before it. 

It was painful and delicious all at once. 

Fuck he felt so good.

The way he filled you was unlike any man before him. He fit so fucking well, and your center never failed to grip him just right.

“I also love the way your pussy feels,” he said, breathing heavily. “You like how I feel?”

You grinned, feeling drunk on him. Your belly clenched, simultaneous to your center with each rock of his hips. Sighing, you let your hands move to hold onto his strong shoulders. 

“You feel so fucking perfect,” you sighed, looking down to where your bodies met. It was almost too much. When you went to look up, something caught your attention from the corner of your eye. You squeezed his shoulder. “Jake.”

A concerned look painting his features, he stopped, checking you. “What? What’s wrong?”

You smiled softly, cupping his cheek, rolling your hips once, needing the pressure of him moving inside of you. “Nothing at all,” you went to tuck his hair behind one of his ears, reassuring. “Just got an idea.”

He picked up his movements: languid strokes, this time, making you forget about everything besides him momentarily. “And what is that?”

You kept on when you could find the words. “I—uhhh,” you moaned, your eyes rolling back in your head as he moved to lay his belly against yours, knowing the friction would be perfect for your swollen, throbbing clit. “I want to pl—oh!,” you sucked in a breath, seeing stars for a moment. Once you were able, you continued. “Wanna play a record.”

“Right now?” He grunted, making one hard rock of his hips into yours. 

Your toes curled, still feeling the softness of his tummy on your tender bundle of nerves as his tip repeatedly hit your secret spot. “Yeah.”

He came to a slow stop, eyes trained on yours. He stayed there, watching you with an unspoken question in his eyes, eyebrows furrowing like they did when he thought deeply. 

“Is that okay?” You asked, trying to break him from his reverie, nervous you’d freaked him out with the odd request. 

“Y-yeah,” he shook his head, hair effectively falling from where you’d tucked it. “That sounds incredible, actually.”

Butterflies let loose in the pit of your stomach. Of course he’d like the idea. He loved music just the same as you did. 

He pulled out, and you instantly missed him. But you watched him lazily, dreamily as he stood up smoothly, and walked to the shelf of records (now a mixture of his and yours, of course). “Which one?” He wondered aloud.

You sat up on your elbows and watched him as he thumbed through the records, appreciating the view. “You pick and I’ll let you know if I like.”

As he searched through the albums, you let your mind wander with your eyes.

His body was a work of art. 

His thighs, muscular, from the way they flexed when he’d move his body with his guitar on stage. 

The perfectly round ass that was undoubtedly gifted to him by the body gods. 

And those broad shoulders that were strong to match his equally strong personality.

When he turned a bit towards you, his eyes quickly scanning the back of a vinyl, your eyes instantly found his straining dick. His tip, still swollen from being pulled mid-sex. Your clit thrummed and twitched, seeing how it now glistened from your dripping pussy. Dammit you needed him to hurry. 

But most of all, damn this idea for taking him away from you.

Once he turned to you fully, an Aretha Franklin vinyl in hand, you found his eyes. They were questioning, but you looked away from them to admire your most favorite parts of his body. 

His toned pecs and his solid stomach— fuck.

There were truly no words for the way he was built— pecs naturally firm and rounded with lean muscle. 

And his stomach— just a little soft and the perfect finish to it all, complimenting him just right— finishing out his sturdy, powerful stature. 

His aura was compelling. He was utterly beautiful, with his sparkling brown eyes, flowing chestnut locks, and sharp features. And the way he was built matched so well with how he carried himself. Without even trying, he could control any room he was in. 

He was honestly what all of your dreams were made of. . . And in moments like these, you wished more than anything that he was yours. 

But he wasn’t. 

And that bitter thought helped to snap you out of your trance, finally looking at him to answer. 

He was smirking, knowingly. “I love your body, too, Beautiful.”

You flushed, rolling your eyes to play off the way his words made your heart flutter. Glancing briefly at the record, squinting to truly recognize it, you nodded at the choice. “Aretha is always a yes.”

“Agreed.”

He turned to put it on the Crosley, and as soon as the needle hummed against the record, making its wonderful crackling sound, you knew you’d made the right choice. 

The sound added to the bliss you were already feeling on this quiet, rainy morning.

The combination of watching him walk back to you, with some of the most incredible music backing him. . . Shit.

“I hope you don’t mind. I skipped past the first few,” he said as he came back to you, falling to his knees beside you. 

You smiled up at him. “Perfectly fine. This is the best song on the entire record anyway.” 

“I think so, too,” he said, eyes lifting with a grin.

When he went to lean over you to pick up where you left off, you scooted over, motioning for him to lay down instead. 

Without question, he did as you wanted, and as Aretha sang of a man making her feel like a natural woman, you sank onto him, letting him stretch you so well. 

The look on his face when you fucked him was one of your favorite sights. He always watched you so closely. . .whether it be your face, your breasts, your ass, or your pussy that wrapped around him, so tight. He’d scrunch his brows and let his mouth open a bit with certain movements of your hips, and bite his lip at other times. . . 

But, in moments like this one, when one hand would be holding your face while the other gripped your hip, a small, close-mouthed smile on his soft, plush lips. . . His emotion-filled eyes, boring into yours . . .

Your world tipped slightly on its axis when he’d do shit like that. Moments like this made a whole lot of gray in what should have been a strictly black and white situation. 

And, as you listened to the soulful voice flowing quietly from the record player, your thoughts drifted further. . .

When my soul was in the lost and found,

You came along to claim it.

I didn't know just what was wrong with me,

Till your kiss helped me name it.

This song perfectly summed up how you felt about this man. The same man who had been the bane of your existence so recently was now a light on your darkest days.

And, as you watched him, his hips beginning to move on their own, making you feel complete and right. . . You truly couldn’t imagine your life without him. 

And not just because of the sex. It was him. Having him around made you feel . . . whole.

Without evening knowing or trying, he’d been helping you find missing pieces to your puzzle. 

Hidden pieces of your soul that you hadn’t seen in a long time. Some good. Some bad. But all you. 

Pieces you’d forgotten even existed. 

And by just being near you, he made you feel authentic in a way you’d never felt with another man. 

As you rode him, leaning down on your forearms to get close to his face, you gave him a long kiss. A kiss that you hoped said thank you. . . Because, truly, you were so grateful for him. 

But as you separated your lips from his and pressed your perspired forehead to his own, you looked into the deep pools of his eyes that held so much. And you knew you had to say the words out loud.

“Thank you,” you whispered, hoping he’d understand as you felt new tears cloud your vision. Your hips were moving on their own, matching the slow rocking of his hips. You were holding onto him, keeping rhythm with the song as you had this moment.

He held your gaze, a secret smile forming in his eyes as he spoke. “Thank you.”

You studied him seriously, the feeling in his eyes seeming to match your own. Both of you stayed there for a minute, taking the other in. 

You kissed him once more. And, rather than continuing the conversation, you focused on finding a release for you both. 

Just as another favorite of yours came on. 

The opening chorus resonated with you just like every time you’d heard it before, but this time it was different—better—as he laid underneath you, holding you. . . Staring at you with eyes that held the motherfucking world.

Like the sweet morning dew, 

I took one look at you,

And it was plain to see you were my destiny.

With my arms open wide, I threw away my pride.

Feeling everything all at once, you spread your legs wide, thighs stretching out on top of his to get as close as you could to him. Then you bent your legs at the knees, and leaned toward him, laying on top of him and nuzzling into that sweet spot behind his ear. You made yourself comfortable as you knew this would be your undoing. 

It always was from this position. 

And this song was just feeding into the emotions coursing through your heart, intensifying all of it at once.

Your favorite way to finish was in this exact position, and you knew at that moment, that it would take you no time. 

Fucking him at that moment felt extremely dissimilar to all of your times before. The damned music was untying every string you’d used to close up your fragile heart. 

While lost in your sudden wave of thought, he took over, knowing all the moves. He’d grown familiar with this position, just as you had. He knew your body. What you liked. 

He grabbed a hip and a handful of your ass, and moved your body down forcefully to meet him while also thrusting his hips up. 

The contrast of motion and the tugging at your heart helped every piece of you to get the much needed stimulation. And fuck if it didn’t make your thighs shake.

You whined, your toes curling as, simultaneously, his tip hit your g-spot and your clit nudged against the lower part of his tummy. 

“Jakey,” you moaned. 

“I know,” he breathed hotly, not letting up on his motions in the slightest. “I can fucking feel you pulse around me, baby.”

“You like it?” You sighed, still next to his ear, needing to hear the affirmation from him.

“Best fucking feeling in the whole world.”

Your tummy lurched at that, butterflies fluttered their wings. 

That’s how you feel for me, too, you thought.

And with one more strategic move of his hips, you saw stars. You felt every nerve ending light up. Your skin felt like static.

“Oooohhh,” you moaned, your body shaking. 

He groaned, whining a bit. “Y/n—I’m—.”

You felt far away as he tapped your hip, sinking into all things Jake, Jake, Jake.

You jostled back to reality right as he lifted you off of him, depositing you as carefully and quickly as he could on the covers next to you both in no time.

Just as you laid down, he was instantly on his knees, warm seed spilling onto your tummy, right where he’d placed you. 

You blinked and shook your head, registering what’d almost happened. Your thoughts were flying— going crazy. 

“Fuck,” he said, flopping down next to you as he slid a hand down his face. “That was a close one.”

“Yeah,” was all you could mutter, your heart beating hard against your chest.

Before much more could be said, he sealed the interaction with a slow, sure kiss and got up to fix you both breakfast.

Now that you’d had his cooking the night prior, you were really looking forward to the breakfast. You’d learned the man was extremely gifted in culinary— just as he was in music. 

But, even as the bacon crackled and the vanilla-laced smell of fresh waffles wafted in through the open layout of the apartment, you weren’t really thinking about his cooking. 

No; inside your mind, you were swirling back and forth with how close you’d felt to him. How sex was starting to feel so effortless and all-encompassing with him. . . And that coupled with how much you’d been feeling in the moment?

It was obvious he’d carved a place in your heart.

A big one.

But you’d worry about that later. 

Because. . .what was clawing at you more was one particular thought. 

You now had a nagging curiosity of what it might feel like to have him actually finish inside of you. 

How in the hell had you let it come to this?

-🌼🌼🌼-

Every year, it was tradition to have a family dinner at your grandparents’ house to celebrate a new year of school. 

But this year, on a whim, you decided to make it a little different. . . You acted on impulse and invited Jake to it. 

To your surprise (and excitement), he’d agreed with no hesitation.

And before the annoying voice in your head could say anything, you reassured it that him coming with you wasn’t a couple-y thing. 

Not at all.

You’d had time to think back on the way you’d started cracking during sex the other morning. 

And you had already started the process of tying your heart back up, protecting yourself from a whirlwind of unnecessary, surely unreciprocated emotion.

He liked having sex with you, that was it. And it could be that way for you, too. It had to be.

The flash of feelings you’d felt during sex a few mornings back honestly meant nothing— you chalked it up to just being caught up in the moment. You had simply gotten far too ahead of yourself.

As you got ready that night, you thought back on the few times your grandma and grandpa had asked about your roommate. You were sure you’d only thought to invite him, because you’d been subconsciously thinking it would appease your wondering grandparents. 

You also just really enjoyed spending time with him. That much you could come to terms with. And, admittedly, you really wanted him to meet your grandparents.

Of course, you were a little nervous at the prospect of him meeting your them (more your judgmental grandfather than your grandma). But, nonetheless, you were really looking forward to having him there with you. 

And, the cherry on top: Elsie would be there to alleviate any weird tension your grandparents may add. . . So, truly, it was the ideal time to have him come meet them. 

At 5:00, thirty minutes before it was time to leave, he still wasn’t home. You knew he had a few lessons today, but he’d assured you that he would be home on time. 

Though, you couldn’t help feeling nervous that maybe he’d regretted saying yes, and he was going to run late on purpose just to get out of going to dinner. 

Before your thoughts could get too crazy, you got a text from him. 

Jake, 5:10 p.m.: so I’m still working with this fuckin client :( 

But at the sight of the text, your stomach sank. 

I knew it, you thought, downhearted. He’s gonna try to get out of it.

Then, another text came through.

Jake, 5:11 p.m.: and I think it’s the time of day

Jake, 5:11 p.m.: but I’ve had like 3 Ubers in a row cancel on me for my scheduled time

He’s really pulling out all the stops, you thought, feeling your chest tighten, anger coming into play. Just say you don’t want to go.

While you were sulking, you noticed one more text pop up in its gray bubble. 

Jake, 5:12 p.m.: I hate to ask you to do this 

Here it comes.

Jake, 5:12 p.m.: but can you pick me up on your way to your grandparents house? I really don’t wanna miss it

You could’ve sighed with relief. In fact, you did. Watching the screen for a few more seconds, you contemplated waiting a bit to respond. Play the classic ‘hard-to-get’ and ‘make-sure-he-knows-I-don’t-take-this-too-seriously-game’ and keep him on the line. . .

But you couldn’t wait. And probably too quickly, you texted back. 

You, 5:13 p.m.: I’d be happy to. I’ll be there soon. Just send me the address.

And within five minutes, the address was sent as you were scooping Stevie some fresh food in her dish. And as soon as you saw it, you were making your way out the door, hurriedly making your way to the car. 

Why am I so anxious to see him when I literally just saw him this morning? You thought, as you started the car, hearing your soul music playlist take over the car’s stereo. Calm the fuck down, y/n.

But you couldn’t help it as you pulled quickly out of the parking lot, buzzing with excitement at the thought of seeing him again.

-🌼🌼🌼- 

When you pulled up to his client’s house, you suddenly saw the appeal of the private lessons. You were sure he got paid good fucking bucks to give lessons to whoever it was that lived in this mansion of a place. 

You were busy admiring the giant home, when you felt your stomach flutter at the sight of him, carrying his acoustic guitar case. 

Though, your gaze didn’t stay on him for long as you caught sight of the beautiful woman with flowing, jet-black locks, walking out of the door behind him, her pristine black dress. Her full ass, big tits, and small waist accentuated perfectly in the outfit. You saw her blatantly checking him out and saying something as she followed behind him. 

Whatever it was she was saying, it made him laugh. Truly laugh. His dimples were showing and his mouth was open wide, then he said something back. 

But he was seemingly oblivious to her glances at his ass as he continued walking ahead of her. The perfectly straight, gleaming white smile on her glowing caramel skin was wide with whatever he said and whatever it was that she was saying in return. 

Your blood was boiling. And it just got worse as you watched her come up behind him and lightly grab his bicep, turning him gently to face her. 

For a few brief seconds, you watched in terror, afraid that you were about to witness a kiss between him and this woman. 

Thankfully, you didn’t. 

But what you did see still made tears climb up your throat. 

You watched him sit his case down, and then saw an extremely genuine, heartfelt hug take place between the two. It wasn’t a quick, friendly side hug, it was a full-on hug. She was grasping him tightly, holding the back of his head as she clung to him. Her eyes closed as she continued speaking over his shoulder.

At one moment, her mouth closed and you saw just how beautifully shaped and plush her soft lips were. She was strikingly gorgeous. Everything about her. 

Was this her house? Was he giving her lessons? Or did she have a kid that he was giving lessons to? 

Whatever the case may have been, you had to swallow back every tear that was threatening to escape as he started walking toward you, case in hand again. 

She stayed on the sidewalk, watching him walk down the steps to the curb where you’d pulled up. 

Right as he got to your car, he turned around to wave at her once more. 

And then, what you heard him say through the closed door made your heart fall to the very pit of your stomach.

“It’s my favorite part of the day!” He laughed heartily, before finally opening the door to the backseat. 

His favorite part of the day? Was it being with her? Fuck.

You turned to face the front of the car, gathering yourself as you stared out the windshield. You were so embarrassed. For a variety of reasons. 

Your hands shook as you held tightly to the steering wheel. 

The back door shut, and you prepared yourself for him being close to you by clearing your throat and reminding yourself of a few important things.

We are not together. I don’t love him. God no I don’t, you shook your head at the idea of that. And he can be with whomever he pleases. It’s none of my business. 

But when he opened the door to the car, all thoughts from before vanished. The musings from your self-mantra and your worries of the girl had dissipated as soon as he spoke in his ever-raspy, sweet tone. 

“Hi, beautiful.”

You glanced over at him, a tight smile on your lips working to mask any worry that there may have been. Working to convince him and yourself that things were okay. 

You couldn’t help but ask. “Is she a client or does she have a child taking lessons?”

He ran a hand through his hair, scratching his nose. “Oh, she’s the client,” he said, his smile matching his tone as he spoke of her. “She’s doing really well. I’m proud of her progress.”

The next question slipped from your lips out of pure curiosity, nothing more. “Does she live in that giant house all by herself?”

“Yep. Single. No kids,” he affirmed. “Crazy, huh? Oh! I almost forgot,” he reached over the armrest and into the backseat to click open his case and get something from it. 

His proximity to you was overwhelming, the intoxicating smell of sandalwood and amber infiltrating your senses.

Please want me more than you might want her, you pleaded silently. 

When he was sitting in his seat again, he lifted to reach into his back pocket, getting his wallet out.

“What did you almost forget?” You inquired, trying to mask your ridiculous thoughts with a plain tone.

“This,” he held up a guitar pick, before opening his wallet to put it inside. “My lucky pick. I always use it at my lessons. Forgot to put it back in my wallet today. Got carried away talking to her.”

Fuck. 

Then, without meaning to, you caught his gaze. The a/c blowing against your hair and face, cooling you off from your distressing thoughts.

But your bearings were almost lost again with the sincerity you found in his eyes, and with the hand that fell to squeeze your thigh as he leaned over the console to kiss your cheek. 

Closing your eyes momentarily, you turned your attention back to the road right before you put the car in drive.

We are not together. Everything is fine. Whatever we are— it’s fine. Stop worrying, you chanted all of this internally as you increased the volume on Victoria Monet, gearing up for your playlist to serenade you for the duration of the drive. Drown out your ridiculous train of thought.

“I actually like this,” Jake commented, his hand still on your thigh. His thumb sweeped wide circles on your inner thigh, burning through your jeans. “What’s it called?”

Coming to the stop sign at the end of the street, you waited for the car on your right to go as you responded. 

“We Might Even Be Falling In Love,” was your simple response, right before you took your turn at the four way stop.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The car ride to your grandparents’ was slightly tense at first, but eventually you got over it as Jake started making his regular small talk. He was the same as always. Anytime you talked with him, he reminded you of his brother with how intent and caring he was about every word that left your mouth. 

But, for you, it meant more coming from him than it did Josh.

Jake was just. . .special to you. And you wanted to be special to him.

It was a relief. And by the time you pulled up to the quaint, familiar house, everything felt the same as it always did. You were feeling better. . he was him and things felt normal. Felt okay. 

As you walked up to the front door, him following you closely behind, you felt comfortable. And when you entered the house, it felt so good to have Jake in tow, the never-changing atmosphere of the home combining perfectly with having him near. 

You were giddy with the fact that he was there.

And it just continued to get better as the night wore on. 

Both of your grandparents greeted Jake with open arms, real welcoming smiles adorned their wrinkling faces. Your chest, warm with contentment as you watched the three of them interact. Jake, continuing the theme of coming out of his shell, as he made smooth conversation with your people. 

As you’d been standing in the entryway chatting, Elsie’d rounded the corner from the kitchen. And to your delighted surprise, Josh had been in tow behind her. 

You knew they’d decided to take it to the next level after the night at the bowling alley. They were becoming the power couple. So it made sense that he’d be here tonight, too.

Everything was absolutely perfect. Elsie and Josh being there made the ideal mix of people for Jake’s first time meeting your family. 

Then dinner came.

“Joshua, I will never get over how sweet it was for you to make the drive to us with Elsie a few weeks ago,” your grandmother commented as she poked some salad with her fork. “Didn’t leave her alone on that late night drive.”

“She is in good hands with you,” your grandfather agreed, making sure to catch Josh’s eyes to emphasize his words. 

“I’m lucky to have her,” Josh smiled in response, kissing Elsie’s cheek. 

Everything was going great, conversation flowing until your grandmother spoke next.

“Y/n, honey, how long have you been seeing Jake?” 

Your eyes stayed trained on your plate, suddenly feeling all eyes on you. You heard Jake clear his throat from where he sat next to you. Fuck. Of course she’d ask this. Assume that you two were dating.

To your relief, Elsie started speaking for you. 

“Grandma, they aren’t together,” she said, covering smoothly with a giggle to top it off, trying to alleviate any tension.

You took that as your cue to look up, monitoring the situation. 

“Oh,” your Grandma responded, a little smile on her face as she put an aged, perfectly manicured hand to her forehead. “Silly old me. I guess I just assumed because you were here together tonight, sis,” she looked at you, her eyes apologetic. 

“You sure act like it,” your Grandpa chimed in, motioning with his fork at you two sitting next to each other. 

“Howard, quit,” your Grandmother defended. 

At your Grandpa’s comment, you finally found your voice. 

“Elsie’s right. We are not together,” you stated, leaving no room for argument. “He’s just my roommate.”

“Harsh, kid,” your Grandfather interjected. “Not even a friend?”

“I guess,” you shrugged, looking over at Jake who seemed to be trying his best to stay focused on his plate, dodging any involvement in the conversation. “But mostly just my roommate.”

For some reason, the awkward air persisted, hanging in the air around you. 

Your words felt wrong. You knew you were friends (and more than that), but you didn’t want to get too mushy, for fear of being questioned further. You were trying your best to diffuse the tension, fixing it so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

You were so fearful of somehow exposing your current predicament—especially to those in the room. You hadn’t even told Elsie of your whole ‘fuck buddy’ situation. Shockingly. 

She’d known about you two having sex that first time. . . But you had never told her anything further than that.

Honestly, you’d been too focused on Jake the past few weeks to even think to inform her. It was something that only you and Jake shared and you mostly liked it that way. 

You also didn’t want to tell her because you were positive she’d question the situation. Make you admit things you didn’t want to. Things you couldn’t admit. Push you to say too much. You didn’t need her to make it anything more than what it was. 

It was your little secret. And you intended on keeping it that way. 

Josh swooped in seamlessly, taking over the conversation with talks of all things music and film. 

Eventually, Jake tuned in to the music talk. He’d stayed quiet for longer than you’d anticipated . . . surely feeling the awkwardness of the initial question with you. But he’d played it off well. 

And as you watched him interact with your grandparents, the version of him that you witnessed made your heart flutter. Your senses were filled with all kinds of happiness. 

Eventually, you, the twins, and your Grandpa had migrated to the living room as Elsie and your Grandma went to prepare dessert.

You sat there, across the room from him. You, on the couch, him on the ottoman next to your Grandpa’s chair. Why he’d sat so far away from you, you didn’t know – but you didn’t care. You just enjoyed watching him talk. 

The way he got along with your Grandpa made you light up with joy considerably. 

Your Grandfather was a hard nut to crack. Not to compare the two, but you wouldn’t ever put it past Josh to get through to your Grandpa (because Josh was, quite possibly, the easiest person in the world to talk to). So seeing his easy talk with your Grandpa was expected. 

But Jake? Jake was just a quieter person by nature. Not in a bad way, by any means. . . He just was. You liked him that way. He was thoughtful and kept parts of himself hidden. . . revealed more of himself the more he trusted someone. You really liked him for all of his ways. 

But the way he was bonding with your Grandpa? It was just astonishing. 

By just being himself, Jake was making your Grandpa open up more than ever.

You’d never seen your Grandpa this way.

As you watched the three of them, Jake’s efforts to connect with your Grandfather honestly seemed to flow more smoothly than the other twin’s. 

Josh had even ended up leaving the conversation, going to join your Grandma and Elsie in the kitchen, as the other two seemed to be venturing into their own conversation. Neither Jake nor your Grandpa needed a buffer. But you’d stayed anyhow, too intrigued by them to want to leave. 

And, you just really liked being where Jake was. He made you feel so calm and happy.

You also just couldn’t miss out on the moment in front of you. . .you’d never seen your Grandpa talk so animatedly.

The way he talked about music with Jake was shocking to you, as you didn’t know he loved music to the depths that you did. 

But apparently, Jake knew how to bring out that side of him. The smiles exchanged with the topic of conversation were exhilarating— so joy-filled.

Then, to your complete shock, your Grandpa brought up how he’d played guitar for years before your mother had been born. 

“You played guitar, Grandpa?!” You couldn’t help but ask, as you quite literally sat on the edge of the crisp, floral sofa. “How come you never told us?!”

“Well, I never really felt the need to revisit that part of my life,” he said, sighing. “You two girls didn’t need to be privy to that. It’s all in the past.”

You shook your head. “I love that about you, Grandpa. . . I wish you would’ve told me.”

He just looked at you with his eyes, so much behind them, left unsaid and filled to the brim with an unnamed emotion. A sad smile came to sit on his face.

“Did you have a favorite to play?” Jake asked, looking at him. 

“I did. I feel like all of us do.”

“Yeah. That’s the truth,” Jake grinned, nodding. “Do you still have your favorite one?”

“I sure do,” he looked at your roommate, a big grin spanning his usually-sunken cheeks. “I’ll show ya.”

Jake offered to go get it for him as he watched the old man try to stand. But when he was finally on his feet, he waved him off. 

“Nah, son. It’ll be good for me to get up and around to get her.”  

As he left to grab it, you waited for Jake to turn to you. But, he didn’t. 

Instead, he just looked at all of the photos on the walls rather than anywhere in your direction. The living room was so quiet, you literally heard every breath he took as he looked at the pictures of you and Elsie as children. 

You cleared your throat, trying to get a reaction from him.

He kept looking around the living room, not paying you any mind.

It was awkward.

Why was he avoiding looking at you? You weren’t used to him acting in such a way anymore. 

Unable to take it any longer, you cleared your throat again, harsher this time. 

But he still ignored it.

“Jake,” you sharply stated his name, irritation seeping through your tone at his behavior.

When he finally looked at you and you met his eyes, he looked distant. But after watching you for a long minute, his eyes started lightening a bit, seeming to come back to himself just a little. 

You tentatively grinned at him and shook your head. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked quietly, your eyes searching his face. 

“Nothing,” he stated, his voice sounding far away, jaw clenching.

“Jake.”

He just ran a quick, stiff hand through his hair, looking ahead of him for a few seconds and then back at you. 

You didn’t tear your focus from him, trailing your eyes past his face and watching his Adam's apple bob in his throat. 

When you looked back into his eyes, your heart beat rapidly as his eyes seemed to sink into your own. He was observing you so intently, your nerves sparking to life under his attention. You shivered a little under his stare. His gaze was dark, something hiding behind his amber-brown irises. 

You felt vulnerable and stark naked.

Instead of shying away, you kept your eyes on him. And the more you studied him—challenged him—an urge started creeping from below the surface. You watched him swivel further to face you.

You let your eyes drift again. Down his body, where his legs were spread. 

And just as you were about to take him somewhere private to talk, maybe even offer him a tour of your childhood bedroom. . .

Your Grandpa reappeared. Jake’s eyes quickly averted from yours, growing huge at the gorgeous white guitar your Grandfather had in tow. 

“A White Falcon?!” Jake asked in astonishment, his eyes growing bigger the closer it came. “Holy sh— wow.”

Your grandpa gave a belly laugh, handing this hidden, prized possession over to the long haired man. “You can say it, son. Holy shit is right. She’s a beauty.”

“A 1960. . .?”

“She’s a ‘67,” your Grandpa replied, admiring the nearly spotless guitar. The gold accents practically sparkled under the yellow glow of your Grandmother’s lamps. “A rare one.”

“You’ve got that right,” Jake said, inspecting the relic. “These are worth thousands these days. Especially in a condition like this,” he commented. “But I’m glad you kept it. I would have, too.”

Your Grandpa made his go-to clicking sound with his cheek. He seemed to be agreeing and disagreeing. (Normal behavior for the aging man.) “I debated getting rid of her a few times here and there. . .but ultimately, I decided she was far too precious to me for me to ever give her up.”

You couldn’t help but feel every single emotion you’d been (uselessly) working to bury, rise to the surface. He had you completely enraptured. . . he was driving you crazy.

Back to observing him and your Grandfather, you lost yourself in thought at the man in front of you. He’d done the impossible. Not only had he started cracking your hard shell, he’d brought out something you’d never seen in your Grandpa. He had helped you to discover this bright side of your Grandpa that you’d doubted for years even existed.

An easygoing, free-minded person that had apparently been lurking below the surface your entire life. 

But it made sense that Jake had been able to do it.

He really had done it for you, too. You’d trusted him with countless things. Your emotions. Your body. Your home. Your TV shows. Your cat.

Jake held the guitar so delicately. But his hands were simultaneously strong and purposeful, making sure to protect the guitar. It was so similar to how he handled you. 

The thought made your blood feel hot in your veins and your legs weak. You crossed your legs, watching his hands hold the keepsake just right. 

The rest of the words exchanged were technical terms about the original price, what it’s currently worth, how it played. . . 

But you weren’t really focused on all of the technicalities as you observed Jake’s fingers on the body of the guitar. How intensely he stared at the instrument as he kept steady conversation, his voice, deep and raspy. . .

You didn’t want to expose yourself with how entranced you were by him at that moment. 

So, you decided you needed to escape as soon as possible. 

“I’m going to search my room for something,” you said, glancing at Jake— who, yet again, wasn’t acknowledging you speaking. What the fuck? “I’ll be back shortly.”

Your Grandpa acknowledged you, giving a little wink before going back to his discussion with Jake.  

-🌼🌼🌼-

Once you’d walked the couple of short hallways to get to your childhood bedroom, you sort of regretted using your bedroom as the excuse to get away.

You hesitated to open the door for a few long moments. 

You hadn’t been back to this room since that day in the car where Elsie had brought up the parts of your childhood that you’d forgotten. 

If you were being honest with yourself, it was intimidating to stand before the door as memories flooded back. 

There was the unnecessary screaming at your sister, coming back to you first. And as you thought back on that, you outwardly cringed at the words you now remembered saying to her. Terrible, hateful, completely untrue things. 

Then, you saw yourself throwing objects. Only ever at Elsie. With her being the person you felt safest with, naturally she was also the person punished most. In particular, a dent in the wall, adjacent to the door, reminded you of this. It was something that your grandparents and Elsie had always dismissed, saying it had ‘always been there.’ 

How in the hell had you blocked these things so intensely? Looking back on it now, it seemed as if those things had happened almost as soon as you’d moved in with your grandparents. 

To be fair, you had been very young and very recently grieved by the things which had occurred at your mother’s house.

Had it been a bad case of disassociation which had made you lose these fragments of time? 

Trauma-induced memory loss? 

Your childhood counselor had used the terms. You remembered that. 

Based on what you could vaguely rehash from those sessions, you probably had disassociated to protect yourself from the dark things. 

Disregarding what happened after moving to your grandparents’, there were several other things you literally couldn’t remember from your time with your mom. Distant flickers of barely-there echoes from a much darker, secret life. 

You were apparently an extreme pro at blocking out anything that may hurt you, and times with your mom and the things you’d done as a child were just that. 

Your eyes tracked the old wooden door, contemplating opening it when you saw the hole at the bottom of it. 

Another thing that had ‘always been there.’ But, right then and there, you could recollect the moment it happened. Clear as day. 

You’d been home alone with Elsie. Something had happened that had you screaming at her. Throwing things at her. Chasing her. If you were seeing the memory correctly, you had even managed to hit her with something. She’d gotten scared and the place she’d thought to run and hide had been your room. She’d been so stricken by the incident, sobbing for you to ‘stop, please!’ But you hadn’t listened. When she’d escaped behind the door, she shut it and locked you out. It had angered you more, making you release every last bit of bottled emotion with several hard kicks to the bottom of the door, resulting in the obscurity that now faced you, taunting you.

Then your grandparents had returned home, observed the incident, and decided that you both needed to immediately start counseling.

Without even realizing it, you were beginning to choke on dry sobs. Your breaths were becoming short and hard to catch. You couldn’t breathe. 

Your vision was fuzzy as you held to the door frame to balance yourself. But seeing it as pointless, your body going limp, your arms shaking, you slid down the wall to the floor. Putting a hand to your chest, you focused on taking deeper breaths, working to count each one you released. 

You pinched your eyes shut and tried to think of something to calm you down. 

Long hair that smelled like citrus. Smooth, tanned skin, glowing in the sun. A kiss underwater. A hand smoothing over your cheek, catching your tears. Soul-filled eyes, like dark whiskey, watching you closely and carefully. A body around yours, protecting you in the most quiet and intimate moments. The smell of sandalwood and amber.

But, right now, that smell was more present than it just being a figment of your imaginings. 

You slowly opened your eyes, still focusing on breathing, to find him right there, next to you. 

He was crouched down, a hand on the wall next to you, using his body as a shield around you. 

Your eyes welled with tears at the sight of him. It was like he knew you needed him.

“You were gone for a bit longer than what seemed normal,” he said, worry evident in his words. “What’s going on?”

Tears were escaping down your cheeks steadily. He took his flannel off, clad in a black t-shirt underneath, collar torn (on purpose?). Then, started dabbing at your cheeks for a few moments with his flannel. Once finished, he handed it to you, for you to wipe at your face with it. 

“Nothing's going on,” you gasped on a breath, almost bringing the flannel to your face when you stopped. “I don’t want to get it dirty with my makeup, Jake,” you gasped, still trying to calm yourself. But the relentless crying was making it near impossible. 

“I don’t care,” he went from crouching, to sitting against the wall, right beside you. His shoulder was a couple inches from touching your own. You caught yourself naturally leaning into it. “I want to help you. Let me.”

You didn’t say anything in response to that, letting the heartfelt words hang in the air around you two, laying your head on his shoulder. Bringing his flannel up to your face, you closed your eyes at the wonderful smell of him that lingered on the shirt and wiped your face with the plaid material.

Keeping your eyes closed, you used his steady breathing as an aid, trying to breathe in time with him. Anytime his shoulder would lift your cheek with a breath, you took one, too. It worked well, your chest feeling less tight, the tears subsiding. 

After a bit, you heard him speak again. His voice, causing a comforting rumble against your cheek. “What happened, honey?”

Honey. Your heart lurched in your chest at the name.

You slowly pried your eyes open again, focusing on the light beige of the walls and the way the textured paint on the wall made a sort of pattern.

“Nothing,” you mumbled. You feared bringing up the details of the way you used to behave. The idea of saying anything was embarrassing. It was daunting to think of exposing yourself like that. “Stuff from the past that’s embarrassing and awful.”

“Nothing you do is embarrassing.”

“Wrong.”

He snickered, placing a hand on your thigh. His trusty black hair-tie, wrapped around his middle finger. You traced the long digit, his knuckle, and then picked at the hair tie, pulling at it to see the skin beneath the band. 

Before you could do any more to his hand, he removed it from your leg. You watched, your head still leaning on his shoulder as he took the black rubber band off. Suddenly, you were moving from his shoulder as his body shifted. Peering up curiously, he motioned for you to turn your head. You did so, and within seconds, your hair was pulled up and away from your hot face. 

You looked over your shoulder at him, growing goosebumps as his fingers lingered on the skin of your neck. “Thank you.”

Situating yourself in your position from before, you decided on a whim to wrap your hand underneath his arm. You continued until you were lacing your fingers through his, his calloused fingertips wrapping around to rest on the top of your hand. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” he started, voice low, as if keeping a secret. “But I’m here. I need you to know that. Whatever the case may be, I am here for you.”

“Thanks,” you hummed, squeezing his hand. “Jake?”

“Hm?”

“How did things change between us?”

He chuckled. “Well, it started when you walked into my bedroom the night of—.”

You shushed him, not able to hide your light giggle as you used your other palm to hit his hard chest. How was he able to turn things around so quickly for you? Your body felt so light and airy now, calm and at peace. The foggy memories weren’t so scary when he was with you.

“I mean. . .how are we like this now? Cordial?”

“We started trusting each other, I guess,” he said, all joking gone from his tone. 

“Yeah. . .,” you agreed. “And as silly as it is, I think you were onto something with mentioning the first night we. . .”

“I don’t think it’s silly, honestly. . . If we are being honest with ourselves, sex changes everything,” he stated, his thumb tapping a light beat against your hand. He was right. It truly did change things. For good or for bad, you didn’t know. 

“And those Aretha Franklin songs the other morning. . .,” he pushed a breath from his lips to follow his words.

You gasped. “You felt it too?” Finally looking up from his shoulder, you ignored the voice that was telling you to not give into the moment as you turned to him. Because when you looked up at him, his dark brown eyes were familiar, honest, and real. You couldn’t help but let them be your safe place. That was what they’d become. 

It can’t be this way forever. Stop while you’re ahead, the voice warned. Stop giving in.

But you kindly told it to fuck off as you swam in his irises.

“It was impossible not to. The music and the moment. . . ,” he grinned, a dimple presenting itself in his cheek. Then he raised a brow, turning his head a bit, keeping his eye on you. “But, don't forget. We’re just roommates.”

You flushed. “I had to say that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, hearing them from his mouth, you realized that your Grandpa had been right about your words being harsh. “Didn’t want anyone catching onto anything? I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he said, his smile not reaching his eyes, but still there. His eyes traveled the walls around you. You could tell his mind was still looming on how he’d found you in the hallway, only minutes ago. 

The column of his neck hypnotized you, the muscles that flexed beneath the flesh so strong and sure. You were aching to put your lips on the skin, then his eyes found yours, caught you watching him, yet again. He lifted a brow, eyes flickering to your lips, staring at your mouth as you licked to wet them. 

When he bit his lip, it was over.

You couldn’t help it. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart was racing. . .

Without even worrying about getting caught, you angled yourself towards him until your lips met his in a kiss. You had to be near him. Needed to be closer, closer, closer. 

He gave it back, matching the force behind your kisses.

It continued like that for a few short moments, but right before you could slip your tongue between his lips, he placed a hand to your cheek, gentle as he held your face steady, pulling back to study your features.

He waited for you to speak. You both knew why he’d put a stop to it. 

And as if to drive the point home, Josh’s laugh echoed through the entire house— a blatant reminder of why you couldn’t do this here.

You looked down to see where he was situating himself in his black skinny jeans, your skin heating all the more. 

As much as you wanted to leave at that instant, you didn’t want to seem abrupt or strange by doing that. You knew it would be best to eat dessert and then leave. 

You tucked a couple of loose strands, having fallen from your makeshift ponytail, behind your ears. Then, you asked. “Wanna eat some pie and then get out of here?” 

“Sounds perfect.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

Laying in his bed later that night, sweaty limbs pressed together and chests heaving, your head resting on his chest as he twirled fingers in your hair, now loose around your shoulders. . . You decided to tell him.

“Earlier tonight, when you found me,” you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for your next words. “I was trying to recover from a panic attack.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you said, pausing. As much as you wanted to look at him when you told him the next part, you decided it would be easier to keep your eyes on his SG, sitting on its stand across his bedroom. “I get them sometimes.”

“Why?” He asked, voice light and calm. 

“Different things. . . tonight, it was because I started having these extremely vivid flashbacks from my childhood.”

“About your mom?”

“Not necessarily— not this time,” you cleared your throat as tears pricked at your eyes. It hurt to think about the nasty, younger version of yourself. “This time, it was more about what I used to do when I was younger.” Tears were falling on his chest, your chest was tight as they kept coming, his skin prickling in their wake. “I–I’m sor–sorry.”

“Why, baby?” His voice settled your nerves. Warm. Soft. Him. 

“I hate that you have to see me cry,” you sniffled, wiping at the tears on his chest. But instead of letting you continue, he held your hand there, so you could feel the stable beating of his heart. 

“If crying is what it takes to heal, I’m here to listen to you as you wade through it.”

This time, you were crying from his words and the way his skin felt against your own. He was your safety. He was here. He was real.

He was here to help. Let him.

“Okay,” you breathed, trying to settle your breaths, focusing on the way his heart beat rhythmically under your hand. 

So, you opened up. You told him about everything that Elsie had reminded you of that day in the car; told him what seeing the door had done to you – and everything that had reared its ugly head all at once tonight.

“Wow,” he let out a deep breath in response. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. I was such a fucking demon,” you muttered sadly, your heart breaking as the images and sounds were once again coming back. “And I can’t escape it.”

“Why can’t you?”

You wrinkled your brows, resituating to lean on your arm beside him. His eyes followed you, open and honest and Jake. “I caused severe trauma for others– just like my mom did. I made mistakes that I can never take back.”

“You said you were ten?” He asked. You nodded. “You were a child.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “But you need to give yourself some grace.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re human.”

“But so were the people I hurt.”

“Who would you say you hurt most?”

“Els.”

“And has she forgiven you?”

“I think so,” you muttered, remembering Elsie that day in the car.

“I’ve moved on. Anytime you did any of that stuff, I moved on as soon as you’d done it.”

“You were in pain and somehow, I just knew it. . . I knew then it wouldn’t be fair for me to hold something against you that you probably didn’t mean. I knew the only reason you were acting that way was because someone else had hurt you. It wasn’t all your fault. It was mostly mom’s. You just didn’t know how to react to it.” 

“Then you need to forgive yourself,” he said, moving some tresses of hair behind your shoulders to be able to put an open palm to your chest, right where your heart laid beneath the flesh. “Your heart is beautiful. That’s what matters. Always has been, always will be,” he gave you one kiss, deep enough to emphasize the words. It left you dizzy as he went back to his spot, never letting his hand leave your chest. “I just want you to understand that people make mistakes,” he smiled, reassuring. “I’ve made a shit ton.”

You chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, both of you sharing a knowing laugh. 

“But," you started, feeling the need to encourage him as well. "That wasn’t you. You were hurting.”

“So were you, back then,” he reasoned, his voice soft. 

“I guess,” you relented slightly. “Elsie told me a lot of this, too, but I just couldn’t believe her. It’s hard to see the good in myself from back then, though, knowing all of the horrific things I did,” you stated simply. You held his hand to your chest as you laid on your back, not wanting him to move it. “I just can’t shake how I let myself forget it so easily. I’ve gone all these years not truly knowing who I was– who I am.”

“Have you ever considered going to therapy again?”

“No,” your heart beat faster at the prospect.

He could feel it, and reacted as such. He came closer to you, his chest and stomach pressing into you, more skin-to-skin to help calm you. “Would you consider it?”

“I don’t know,” you looked down at your hand and his, still over your heart. “Depends, I guess.”

He hummed. “Okay,” he answered, relenting from the hard questions. “How about you work on forgiving yourself and I’ll look into different types of therapy? Let you know what I come across?”

Your heart slowed down, the tiniest smile lifting your lips. Your hand gripped his. Your anchor. Your safety. “Alright.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

A couple days later, you sat on your couch, mesmerized by Jake, who was sitting next to you. 

Well, kind of. He was on the cushion at the opposite end of the sofa as you. 

All you wanted was to be closer to him, but you knew you couldn’t do that. Honestly, you weren’t sure you could trust yourself.

These days, if he was close enough for you to touch him, you were going to be touching him. Whether it be rubbing his shoulders, playing with his continuously growing hair, or laying on top of him (sometimes naked, sometimes not).

But you were appreciating your vantage point tonight. Watching closely as he played through some new songs with Josh. Josh would sing, and Jake would play the same thing. Jake would play, then Josh would sing it verbatim. 

It was interesting to watch them, bouncing off of each other creatively like that. 

Twin telepathy at its finest.

You were stuck in a trance, trying your damnedest to give equal attention to Josh, so as not to raise any suspicion. But it was getting harder and harder to resist watching Jake– being near him, day by day. 

Trying to find other things to focus on, your eyes floated across the room, observing all of the men around you. They’d all been growing their hair out as well. And, normally, a guy growing his hair out was not a huge deal. 

But with these guys? It seemed to you, it was a visual for their changing life. The longer their hair got, the more it was obvious that they were moving onto a new stage of life.

They were becoming rockstars. Truly.

Not only were they making music day in and day out, playing it live every week, preparing for a humongous music festival that would feature many huge bands. . . they were looking more and more like it, too. 

But they were still your boys. 

Never changing.

Sam’s ever-nasally voice interrupted your rambling thoughts, as if on cue. You smiled in his direction, pointing your attention to him. 

“Jake,” he started, excited as he looked intently at his phone screen.

“What, Sam?” He responded with a slight growl to say his younger brother’s name. “Can’t you tell I’m creatively processing?”

Danny let out one loud laugh, his eyes sparkling with a laugh. Josh joined in momentarily, then went back to humming

“Oh, fuck off, Jake,” he rolled his eyes, a smile still adorning his baby face. He trotted his lanky legs over to the couch, sitting between you and your roommate. “Look at this picture of Maya,” he angled the phone so it was right in front of Jake, but turned just right so you couldn’t see it. 

You giggled at Jake having to pull away from the bright screen to get a better look. “God, Sam,” he said, annoyed, grabbing the phone out of Sam’s hand. “Turn your fucking brightness down.”

“Don’t tell me how to live my life, Jacob,” he responded, flipping his hair and rolling his eyes. He turned in your direction for support, throwing a thumb behind him at Jake. “He’s annoying.”

You were still laughing as you asked your question. “Who’s Maya?”

“Jake hasn’t told you about Maya?!” He wondered aloud, his voice raising a decibel or two. 

“No, I haven’t, Sam,” Jake said, his tone clipped, holding the phone tighter in his firm grip, long fingers flexing around the device. “Shut the fuck up.”

Your brows drew in at his behavior. Now you were dying to know who Maya was and why he was suddenly acting so weird about her.

“I ask again, who is Maya?”

“She’s asking Jake,” Sam stated, as if he’d won. “I’m telling her.”

“Sam–.”

“Maya is Jake’s super hot client that he used to fuck. When he first moved here,” Sam clarified. “Still does, I think. I mean, who wouldn’t?!” Then he laughed, hitting Jake’s stiff arm with the back of his hand.

He was doing what, now? 

Chancing a look at the man in question, you noticed he was angry.

Seething was a better term. 

You could tell as he gripped the neck of his guitar, his chest rising with constricted breaths, nose flaring, staring at Josh, who was simply shaking his head in return. 

Sam took his phone from Jake’s hand, gaining it with some effort. But getting it in his grasp anyway. Right as he’d done so, the hand Jake’d been holding it in clenched to a fist, his jaw tightening. The hand on the neck became dangerously tight.

“Sammy. . .,” Josh tried intervening. His eyes jumped back and forth between each brother, desperate for there to be peace. 

Social cues apparently off, Sam was still smiling wide. 

“This is Maya,” he said, flashing the phone in front of your face, holding it there for you to get a good, long look. 

No. Couldn’t be.

The air left your chest, your vision zeroing in on the bright screen of the phone, everything else blurry around you as your head suddenly felt extremely light, body heavy. 

Surely not. . .

You squinted, taking a closer look at the phone before you jumped to any sort of conclusion. 

But the house behind her, as well as her long, dark black hair. . . 

You knew you were correct in your assumption of who it was. 

The joy that the youngest brother exuded was the exact opposite of how you were feeling. The giant stone that had fallen to sit at the bottom of your stomach was suddenly weighing you to the couch. 

You nodded at the screen, pushing the device away from you, hands shaking slightly. “You really do need to turn your brightness down, Sam,” you said, clearing your throat as it got painfully tight.

Play it cool, play it cool.

You were working so hard to hide your emotions. A small smile twitched at your lips. The tears in your throat made them wobble a tiny bit. 

Stop it, y/n.

Jake’s voice cut through, directly to your ears.  “It meant nothing—.” 

You didn’t look at him, only focusing back on Sam as he spoke. You tried hard to keep your eyes wide and clear of anything concerning.

“He still sees her for lessons,” he said, wiggling his brows. “What happens at guitar lessons, stays at guitar lessons,” he elbowed Jake’s arm, tense as the muscle in his bicep flexed, fist still bunched. “Am I right, brother?!”

Sam was the only one smiling in the room. 

The room was tense, Sam tucking his phone back into the pocket of his silky, vibrant button down. He pushed his sunglasses further into his hair.

You were frozen, not even daring to look up at Jake’s face. You studied your hands, then grabbed your phone off of the coffee table to pretend you were checking it. The frenzied emotions in your gut were not trustworthy. If you looked at him, you were sure you’d fall apart.

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like they’re still fucking, you tried to reassure yourself. Right?!

But then, you thought about him taking a while at her house. All of his excuses were adding up. 

Had three Ubers really canceled? Or had he just been too busy fucking her and lost track of time?

It made sense, considering the way she’d watched him leave. The hug. 

And what he’d said to her right before he got in the car. Talking about his ‘favorite part of his day’ . . . Fuck. Your chest hurt, the words making so much more sense now. . .

His favorite part of the day. . . 

Your vision got cloudy. What were you? Sad? Angry? Both? You couldn’t fucking tell.

You just needed to get out of the room. 

As you stood up from your spot, your legs wobbled a bit, your mind scrambling for the first excuse that could come to it. “I’ve gotta pee.”

Still not looking at Jake, you walked as fast as you could to the bathroom. 

The last thing you heard before shutting the door to the bathroom was Danny’s voice, trying to break the air-right atmosphere.

“How about dinner?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: uh oh. . .

alsoooo, you'll notice that we haven't even gotten to the scene from the sneak peek yet. . . all of that will come to you in part 2. . . see you again soon, loves ;)

send in your thoughts!! i love hearing from you <3

thank you for being the best readers in the world!!! love you all so much!

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

Taglist: @joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssloud71, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend, @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee

Fill this form out if you'd like to join my taglist!

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #jake fic #jake kiszka #covet #my fics

[luna0713hunter]

Some night,sleep comes easily to you.

On those nights,you don't need to do much;just the comfort of your bed,and a warm cup of tea is enough to lull you to sleep. On those nights,your dreams are vivid;a sound of laughter and a sunny sky. Everything seems easy on those nights.

But right now,as you lay in your bed and stare up at the ceiling in the dark,you wished it was one of those nights as well. But as the clock blinks and shows you the slightly too bright digits of 2:00 AM,and the several empty cups of tea,you know you wont get any sleep that night. And on the nights you can't sleep,dark thoughts always swarm your mind.

You turn your head away from the ceiling,only to bury it in the pillow by your head;and when you take a deep breath,the familiar scent of lavender makes you slightly dizzy.

Gods above,you miss Izana so bad.

Your boyfriend had texted you a few hours ago that he would be late,so you should head to bed first. But both of you knew that was impossible;ever since you two started going out, sleeping without one another was an impossible task. Ever since you experienced how it feels to have Izana's arm wrapped around your waist,your legs intertwined,and him whispering silly things in your ear only to make you giggle,you stopped bothering to sleep alone.

With another sigh,you turn your face completely in his pillow and you will yourself to not cry;Izana had his own stuff to worry about,he didn't need your whining right now.

You're so lost in thoughts that when you hear the familiar hum of the engine,you think you're only imagining things;after all, your boyfriend wont be home until the dawn,and you doubt anyone is stupid enough to go after you.

But when you hear not one,but three gentle taps to your closed window,you immediately jump out of bed and rush toward it. With a slight grunt,you push the windows open and let out a surprised gasp.

"Hey there, princess." Izana's silver hair shines brightly under the faint moonlight,but his grin is more blinding than any light. He's holding small pebble, seemingly having them thrown at your window "care for a ride?"

With a excited squeal,you rush down the stairs;still in your oversized t-shirt and shorts as you burst through the front door.

Izana's grin widens as he spots you,and immediately opens his arms for you. He lets out a low whistle when he sees what you're wearing.

"is that mine, babygirl?"

You let out a breathless laugh when he presses a loud kiss to your cheek.

"want it back?"

"heck no," his response is immediate as he wraps his arms tighter around your waist, "if you take it off I literally might die. In fact," he lets go of you for a moment before shrugging his jacket off and wrapping it around your smaller form. His grin is lazy and his violet eyes are hazy as he speaks next,

"looking good there, Captain."

Your cheeks flush deep red and you slap his bicep playfully; earning a loud laughter from your boyfriend. Your eyes soften when you see how young Izana actually looks like this;free with small tears on the corner of his eyes. And suddenly, you're leaning in and kissing him on the lips.

Izana lets out a surprised noise,but immediately kisses you back. His lips taste like strawberry,and you're guessing he probably had those candies he loves so much.

When you finally part,both of your cheeks are flushed,and a silly smile rests on your lips. Izana pecks your lips one last time before giving you the extra helmet he got for you when you started dating.

"ready to go, princess?"

You wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze once

"lets go, pretty boy."

And even on the nights where you cant sleep, you'll be ok.

For my lovely @milky-aeons

#izana kurokawa #izana x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #izana kurokawa x reader

[prof-ramses]

Hollow Sorrows Trailer Breakdown LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOO

Obviously, if you don't want spoilers, scroll away. If you've already seen the trailer, LET'S GO!!!

So when we first see possessed Patty, she looks mostly normal, you can't even see her demon teeth through the mask yet. John and Jack probably only came in since they heard a scream and/or struggle coming from the morgue.

So we get a shot of the boys being too chaotic, something Gregor points out and what will likely cause the "bad character development" Pelo ahs mentioned.

Also, since it's 100% what Pelo would do, Costume Bob is the guy in the HF suit. Mark my words.

The scene with the hatz is really interesting to me, since Skid and Pump just annoys Roy for a moment and leave. I think this might be all we get of the hatzgang this time, similar to how Frank only had a brief Appearance in Tender Treats. If my theory that episode 7 will focus on Roy is true, this little scene will be very interesting to dissect when the full episode drops.

We actually get out first proper glimpse at a new character and I think this old man is the very last character in the line up teaser

And there's also a pretty good chance he Roy's grandfather and given the way he reacts to the boys antics here, I can definitely see him being a another reasons Roy's the way he is.

If he actually is Roy's grandpa, then @crossover-enthusiast and I's Roy discussions are going to get really fun pretty soon.

Here, Skid is clearly holding a framed photo, meaning this will almost certainly be the first time his father is brought up directly.

Also, yeah, with Pump's line about "hangover spooky month", it seems my theory about Lila in this episode was at least half right.

Yet more proof that the boys' absent parents will be more of a focus. The trailer as a whole gives me some ideas regarding the Wonder parents, but I feel they're best saved for another time.

The boys get into trouble with the cops and I have 2 theories regarding when, either Gregor tries to get them sent home before going to the hospital, but they talk their way out of it, or they actually do get sent home at the end of the episode.

John's expression here immediately makes we think that something Skid or Pump said reminded him of his daughter. Another plot thread that has yet to be directly acknowledged.

Ignacio watches Gregor lead the boys away, maybe he lives down the street from Skid and Lila to keep an eye on them for the cult?

Either way, I'm surprised his appearance won't take place in the hospital as I previously predicted.

"I will be your guide. And I know your parents would be proud of you."

There's something undeniably sinister about this line, but how sinister hinges on whether Gregor is a cultist or ex-cultist. Whatever the case may be, he definitely knows more about or sees more in the boys than he lets on.

A great title card, and thought the blood everywhere is definitely concerning, I don't think there's anything to really say here, just wanted to get a screenshot of it.

And it would appear the character I've referred to as the cat lady will have the unenviable role of a hapless victim to the episode's villain. But honestly, I'm more surprised by her being at the hospital in the first place and why that never occurred to me before.

The actual progression of Patty's possession confirms to she's possessed by something other than Moloch. And what seals it for me is, fittingly, the eyes. The white of her eyes becomes a more vivid yellow, yet her pupil snot only don't form Moloch's typical spirals, but they're a more vivid shade of baby blue, a color that has never had any significance in the series before. Moloch will mostly be trapped in Dexter before eventually possessing Gregor, I will die on this hill.

AND THE FUGGIN' RELEASE DATE!!!

Alright, that's all, only a month now. We're so back!

#spooky month #spooky month 6 #spooky month theory #spooky month prediction #sm Patty #sm Skid #sm Pump #sm Gregor #sm Father Gregor #sm Costume Bob #sm Happy Fella #sm hatzgang #hatzgang #sm Roy #sm Ross #sm Robert #sm Mayor Evermore #sm Lila #sm Mr. Wonder #sm Skid'dad #sm Skidad #sm Pump's dad #sm Pump's mom #sm John #sm Jack #sm Ignacio #sm Moloch #sm theory #sm prediction

[1d1195]

Time Extra I

Read Time here

This was one of the first stories I wrote when I came back from my hiatus a couple years ago. I thought about it every day for years when I was really not feeling my best and finally put it on paper. There are, what I think, some pretty intense trigger warnings on the other parts of the series--it's pretty different than my other happy fluffy writing. This is not going to be too sad though--there is a vague mention of the previous parts so read with caution but it won't be anything vivid. It's fluffy stuff based on this ask.

~2.6k words

I hope you like it :)

Everything was completely perfect. After so many years of feeling distraught and lost, Harry thought it was a miracle—no, that she was a miracle—that he could feel so happy, so complete.

Which was why it was terrifying to imagine that he could ruin it all.

Over the two years since they reunited, they didn’t talk much about the actual day once they moved past it. She would hear from her ex-fiancé’s family now and again. She would run into them at the store or something. Most were pretty kind to her overall, but she could feel the contempt in their voices. It didn’t bother her completely—it was just frustrating that she knew they would neverunderstand.

Harry still went to his regularly scheduled therapy appointment. She did as well. They both worked, they both lived together, everything was easy. They danced in the kitchen and watched Niall play his guitar at open mic nights.

Everything was completely perfect. After so many years of feeling distraught and lost, Harry thought it was a miracle—no, that she was a miracle—that he could feel so happy, so complete.

Which was why it was terrifying to imagine that he could ruin it all.

There was a plan. A big to do. He was going to have her family, his family, their friends all in the same place. He was going to tell her how much he loved her and that he never wanted to be away from her ever. The way time had separated them only to bring them back together had to mean something.

Harry was terrified.

Maybe it was just some sort of savior’s complex. She always said he saved her that day. He didn’t see how it was possible. There was no saving he did. He did the drowning, he ruined her day, he made her pass out, he made her scared and feel sick to her stomach.

Sometimes, when Harry was having a bad day, he would think about what her life would be like if he hadn’t called her. He imagined it would be very much the same as it was with him, but she would maybe have a baby to take care of by then. She would make dinner for her husband. There would be a pile of laundry to fold on the sofa and a new episode of her show playing on the TV. It would be normal.

But it was normal in their lives as well.

There were days they argued—nothing major, but the world didn’t end the way Harry thought it would. She slept soundly beside him and reached blindly for him if they separated at night. Her baking skills never ceased to amaze him. On days that he didn’t even realize he was struggling a little more than others, he arrived home to his favorite chocolate chip cookies (the ones that she put walnuts in because she knew Harry loved them) or those fudgy brownies that he could only eat one or he would get a stomachache. But they made him feel whole. Cared for.

She was there.

So of course, when he asked her to marry him it had to be perfect. It had to be special. It needed to be the most perfect moment of her life. The people who loved and adored her needed to be there and see how much Harry adored her. Very few people knew what happened that day. Most only knew that she found Harry again. They fell in love again—or as she liked to point out—they remembered they were in love.

Harry had stayed home unbeknownst to her. The final details of the plan needed to be taken care of and he was nothing if not thorough. As far as she knew, they were having a date night when she got home from work. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would set off some kind of alarm or spoil the surprise.

Harry was reading the speech he had on his phone—it had been memorized for over a year. He just needed to get the details in order. When she moved in, it felt so right. Part of him wished he had asked her right then.

You wanted red roses or pink ones? Niall texted.

Both.

Aren’t you a regular Casanova.

Proposing in front of everyone they knew seemed a little crazy now. Harry had left the restaurant after seeing the set-up, the little private table that would keep them out of sight of those waiting for her response. Now it was waiting. Waiting for her to get home, they would get ready, they would drive to the restaurant as boyfriend and girlfriend and hopefully return as an engaged couple.

Harry felt dizzy. If he messed up and it was less than perfect, less than what she deserved, he would lose his mind. She was his angel. Every single day. Each day he saw her and spoke to her. There was nothing, no one, more important than her. For a few moments he sat on the couch, his head tilted toward the ceiling, and he took those deep breaths that his therapist instructed him to take when he was feeling overwhelmed.

He thought about the first time he did them and she looked at him curiously when he turned his attention back to the show they were watching. “Are you alright?” She asked.

He felt embarrassed. “When m’feeling overwhelmed, m’therapist told me how t’breathe—”

She blinked. “Oh,” she interrupted. “Are you feeling overwhelmed about something I can help with?” She asked.

Of course she asked. The kindness that emanated from her was overwhelming in itself. “No, sometimes m’jus’ a little...” he shrugged.

She nodded understandingly. “I get that way too. Can you teach me?” She asked.

“Kitten,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. “M’sure y’know how t’do the deep breathing exercises.”

“Every doctor is different,” she shrugged. “Tell me,” she encouraged.

He knew she was trying to help bond with him over something she didn’t need to. Another way she could help take care of his addled brain. It was so sweet. He talked her through the steps, feeling awkward that he was explaining how to breathe to a professional that did this with her own patients every day.

“It’s supposed t’feel like a balloon is being inflated in your ribs,” he explained the metaphor his own doctor used with him.

“Oh, I like that,” she mumbled adding it to the back of her mind as she followed his instructions. “I’m sorry you’re feeling overwhelmed, baby,” she cooed softly, stroking his hair behind his ear. “Do you want tea or something?”

Harry smiled at the memory, eyes closed, face toward the ceiling. He heard the door open and in walked the angel. Her phone pressed to her ear, while she tilted her head to the side. Once she set her bag down, held the phone in her hand, she shook her head.

But when she made eye contact, she smiled at Harry, mouthing hi, and blowing a kiss with her free hand. Harry thought his heart would explode. “Mom, I just got home, and I’ve had a really long day,” she explained. “Can I call you tomorrow?” She asked. “Great. Love you too, bye.”

She put her phone on the counter and sighed deeply. “Every time I leave this apartment, I’m reminded why I never want to leave,” she grumbled.

Harry chuckled. “Everything okay with your mum?”

She nodded. “Fine, just going on and on about nonsense,” she rolled her eyes. “She’s meeting my sister for dinner and my sister did not offer to drive. It makes me immensely angry.”

“I see,” he frowned. “Where are they going?” He asked, wondering how much of the surprise her mum may have let slip.

“She didn’t say. I don’t care. It’s not like I can go drive her and pick her up myself,” she rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry. I had a tough day with some tough patients and I’m letting it dip into our date night,” the frustration on her face disappeared at the word date and a smile replaced it. “I’m looking forward to dinner and especially dessert. They have lava cake,” she said knowingly.

Harry already knew that of course. He was sure to tell the hostess that she would want one. “I know, kitten,” he smiled. It pained him to say the next sentence, but he had to. It wasn’t fair to her frustrated. “Y’know... if you’re not feeling well, we could stay in and—”

“Absolutely not,” she shook her head fiercely. “I just need to change and touch up my makeup. I need a nice date night,” she leaned over the couch, kissed him squarely on the mouth and then headed toward the bedroom.

Harry smirked, feeling at ease for a moment and listening to the sound of her hum as she fixed herself up for the night. His heart started pounding as the minutes ticked by. In less than three hours he would have a fiancée.

Or so he hoped.

The thought of her saying no hadn’t really occurred to him. They lived together, they loved each other, it seemed like a natural step in the relationship.

Right?

Suddenly the thoughts of inadequacy rushed through him and stuck to every crevice of his brain. Every thought was plagued with the notion of shortcomings. He wasn’t good enough for her. There were all the thoughts of her being trapped with him for nothing but ruining her original wedding day.

Maybe she didn’t even want to be married again. Maybe reliving the memory of the first time she tried getting married was something she never wanted to experience again. The idea that he would bring it up and make her sad made him nauseous.

“What time is our reservation?” She called.

“Six,” he cleared his throat trying to push the emotion out of his voice and mind, but it was next to impossible.

They would leave in twenty minutes.

She would say yes. Save him embarrassment. Wait to talk with him in private. They wouldn’t get married. She would move out. There wouldn't be a them anymore. Harry would—

“Do you think they’ll have bread?” Her voice was closer, Harry could hear her heels on the floor of the apartment echoing closer to him. “Or should I have a snack?” Her fingers were fiddling with the earring on her left ear then she opened the fridge to look inside, scanning the contents of leftovers, and cheese bites that she kept for emergencies such as the current one. “Are you hungry at all?” Harry’s stomach hurt so much but it wasn’t from hunger. She didn’t look at him to ask the question, focusing on the snacks too much to notice that he had left the couch. “I’m honestly starving—”

“Will you marry me?”

The room seemed to freeze. The moment of time suspended for who knew how long. Slowly, she half-closed the fridge door to get a visual of her boyfriend in front of her. Her dress was unzipped—she intended for Harry to zip her up once she found a suitable snack. Only one earring was in her ear. The bobby pin she had pinched between her teeth muffled her voice just a bit.

Harry was on the floor. Knelt all but two feet away from her, a little velvet box held out to her in his shaky hands, making the sparkling diamond twinkle in the kitchen light. The bobby pin fell from her lips and sounded like a bookshelf had fallen on the floor in contrast to the quietness of the moment.

“Harry,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, closing his eyes tightly to try and will the tears away. “I have this huge thing planned. All our friends and family are going t’be at the restaurant. It was supposed t’be a surprise because y’deserve everyone y’know and love t’be there but m’realizing y’might say no. Y’might—”

“Harry,” she repeated, her voice so gentle, but there was the sound of disapproval evident in just the tone of her voice.

“—not want t’get married. Not after last time. Maybe not t’me. M’sorry. I wanted it t’be perfect,” he whispered. “I had a whole speech planned ‘bout how much I love and adore you. How you’re m’favorite person on this earth and how I feel so completely safe and cared for and I want t’do that for you for the rest of our lives,” he paraphrased the monologue that he had memorized ages ago but suddenly couldn’t remember a word of it. “But you’ve had a long day and m’not going t’make it any easier asking in front of all of them if y’want t’say no. So, I have t’do it now. Will you marry me?” He repeated.

Her lips were parted just slightly. Her eyes shiny and beautiful. God, she never looked so beautiful. “Harry,” her voice was soft.

“If s’a no,” his voice cracked. “M’gonna say you’re sick. That I can’t in good conscience let y’go out when y’don’t feel well.”

“Harry Styles,” she whispered, a shake of her head. “Yes, isn’t an adequate enough word for what I want to say to you,” she promised.

His head snapped up again, he hadn’t realized he wasn’t looking at her while he rambled, terrified to see the rejection on her face. But that wasn’t rejection. Yes, he realized, wasn’t a word that meant rejection.

“You said yes,” he murmured.

“Did you honestly think I would say no?”

It was silent again. Like time suspended once more, he tried to remember if time was necessary to breathe. If there was something he was supposed to do or say. It took him that moment to realize he was memorizing every detail. Every skin cell on her pretty face, the way the air smelled, how the chill from the fridge was giving him goosebumps.

Without noticing it happened, he was standing. Harry’s face was in her neck, his arms around her waist and his nose inhaling her sweet scent. His eyes watered and he swallowed hard as he shook his head against her skin. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, Harry,” she giggled, teary as well. Her arms around him just as tightly and she kissed the side of his head buried in her neck.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed in her embrace, but she didn’t rush him. Eventually he pulled away from her. He grabbed the ring out of its cushion, dropping the little box to the floor beside her bobby pin, and slipped it on her fourth finger. She looked at it briefly. She had seen a diamond on that finger before but looking at this one now, the other one looked terrible in comparison. It wasn’t right.

This was right.

“I have t’take it back,” he whispered.

She smiled and nodded. “I know.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.”

“Can’t believe you thought I would say no,” she giggled.

He rolled his eyes. “You are so perfect, kitten. M’so in love with you. If something isn’t perfect for you...” he shook his head. “You deserve perfect.”

“I hope you know,” she wiggled her ring finger in front of his eyes. “That means you,” she promised.

This relieved, happy expression crossed his face and he felt so overwhelmed with happiness that he thought he would cry. “How much time do we have before we need t'leave?” He murmured to himself looking at the stove clock.

“Forever,” she shook her head with a smile. Cupped his face and leaned in for his sweet, pink lips. “We have all the time in the world.”

--

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#harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles blurbs #harry styles imagines #harry styles x y/n #one direction #one direction writing #time

[lees-chaotic-brain]

Hi Lee for the song event

Enchanted by Taylor Swift, Gojo, fluff

WC: 1.6k

CW: mention of beer (no active drinking), college au, reader is very me-coded sorry, reader is a bit of a nerd,

listen to this while reading

note: hi gigi!!!! thank you so much for sending in a request!! this was so cute 🥰 i also feel like this isn't my best work, but i think it's cute and i've spent too much time agonizing over it lmao

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Parties were never really your scene, but your best friend told you that you needed to leave your room from time to time, so here you were, at some random house party. The cool smoothness of the wall you were leaned against seeped through the thin top you were forced into as you chatted with a face you vaguely recognized from one of your lectures. 

Smiling idly, you nodded along to whatever they were saying, trying to block out the pounding music and sour scent of spilled beer. It was easy enough to pretend you were having fun, but internally you just wanted to be in your dorm reading a book or watching a movie. You knew your friends were right and that you did have to get out of your house sometimes, you just didn’t want that time to be now.

There I was again tonight Forcing laughter, faking smiles

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be social, or make new friends, to the contrary you actually wanted that very much. You just didn’t want to have to put in the work to make new friends because of the stress it caused you. You knew you were different from other people your age; more focused on your studies and happiest when you were alone, and it normally didn’t bother you.

No, it only began to make you feel bad in settings like this, where everyone else was mingling and laughing and you were glued to a wall, not even able to recall the name of the person talking to you. Shifting uncomfortably, you made up an excuse and escaped the train wreck of a conversation you were in, pushing your way through the crowd and out onto the back porch.

Taking a deep breath of night-chilled air, you could feel some of the stress and tension leave your frame. The wooden planks of the deck creaked as you made your way across them to lean against the railing, not noticing the man to your left until he spoke.

“Hello there. Come to steal my hiding spot?” You jumped, letting out a small yelp and clutching your chest. “Oh my god, don’t scare me like that! I…”

You looked up, and your voice trailed off. Vivid blue eyes met yours, a mop of fluffy white hair falling into a finely chiseled face. Of course. Of course you had to stumble across the finest man you had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on in your pursuit for peace and quiet. Because things can never be convenient when it comes to your life.

Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy Vanished when I saw your face

Maybe…maybe bumping into the handsome stranger wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to you tonight. At first when he introduced himself as Gojo Satoru, you didn't have high hopes. You’ve heard about Gojo. Everyone had. The most popular guy on campus, athletically talented with the good looks and effortless charm to match.. Of course you knew about the Gojo Satoru.

However, instead of idolizing him like everyone else, you had assumed he was a bit of an egotistical asshole who enjoyed playing with girls' hearts and thought himself better than all. Which is why you were pleasantly surprised when you found yourself enjoying his company.

For one, he was funny, with a witty sense of humor that had you cracking up more than once. You lost track of how long you stood there, shoulder to shoulder, engaging in humorous debate. But aside from his quick wit, he was also kind. Sure he had a bit of an ego (you weren’t wrong in that assumption) but he wasn’t a bad guy. 

Second of all, he was surprisingly intelligent, engaging you in banter about various academic topics. From analyzing the true meaning of Shakespeare’s plays to debating the nature of dark matter, you found that he was able to keep up with your somewhat nerdy interests. Honestly this might be the most interesting conversation outside of your lecture halls that you’ve had in a long time. Who would’ve expected it to be with your school’s resident pretty boy?

The playful conversation starts Counter all your quick remarks

As the party winds down, Gojo finds himself offering to walk you home. Conversation flows smoothly as you walk, your laughter floating through the crisp air, warming it with your invisible light.

“Look!” You point up at the sky, delight shining in your eyes. “The air is so clear tonight. You can see so many stars!”

And while you may be marveling at the sparking stars scattered across the night’s navy backdrop, or how full the moon was, as cheesy as it was, he found himself admiring you instead.

When he had left the party to get some air and escape the hordes of people whose expectations and demands suffocated him, the last thing he had expected was you. You who had stumbled out onto his back porch, your presence a refreshing breath of fresh air blowing away the stifling needs of others. 

So, yes. As cheesy as it was, he found himself admiring you, with your childlike delight in the mundane. Before tonight, the beauty of the night sky would never have crossed his mind, but now as he watches you, he thinks it must be the most beautiful thing in the world to make you light up like that.

Noticing that he got quiet, you turned to check on him and caught him staring at you. Suddenly shy, both of you quickly avert your eyes, faint pink brushing itself across your faces. You continue walking, this time in a heavy silence that speaks more than your mindless chatter.

By the time you finally let him know that you’ve arrived at your house and bid him goodnight he wishes you lived a little farther away, if only so he could spend a little while longer in your company.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home

The cracked white plaster of his ceiling looms above him as he lays sprawled on his bed, unable to get you out of his head. Most girls who he talked to merely liked him for his looks, his popularity, or his cocky personality. But you had been interested in him for his mind. His intelligence and quick wit. 

And he can’t get you out of his head. Surely someone like you has a boyfriend. Someone as caring, beautiful, sweet, intelligent, and funny as you must have people falling for you left and right. But if that was the case, why did you spend so much time talking to him tonight? Was it possible that you were single and he had a chance? 

Letting out a loud sigh, he rolled over and closed his eyes, attempting to fall asleep. He had never believed in love at first sight, but meeting you changed him in a fundamental way. Maybe he did believe in love at first sight, because if not, what else could he call the impact meeting you had on him? Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he would be able to see you again in his dreams.

The lingering question kept me up 2 AM, who do you love?

Cuddled into your stack of blankets and surrounded by your many pillows, you were unable to fall asleep, thoughts of Gojo Satoru plaguing you. He was just…not at all like you had expected. He was smart. And funny. And kind. And he actually paid attention to your rambling, responding and expressing interest unlike many others.

And maybe (just maybe you’re neither confirming nor denying it) you find him just a teensy bit attractive. As much as your mind screamed at you that you couldn’t fall for the first guy who shows even a hint of interest in you, your heart felt otherwise, hoping you would see him again.

Despite your assumptions, you had genuinely enjoyed spending time with him, and found yourself hoping that tonight was only the first of many such conversations and the start of a long friendship. Maybe even more than that if you were being honest. If only you were able to tell if he felt the same way…

This is me praying that This was the very first page Not where the story line ends

You start dating a couple weeks after your initial meeting, and several years later finds you laughing about the foolishness and insecurity of your younger selves.

When you bumped into him on campus the day after you met, you assumed it was some stroke of luck and worked up the guts to ask him for his number, not ready to let the opportunity to have him in your life escape you.

Little did you know the only reason he was there was he begged asked one of his friends to find out your schedule. From there your relationship continued similarly, each of you believing you were the only one who felt the pull between the two of you, and that the night you met didn’t hold the same significance for the other.

In fact, it wasn’t until your one year anniversary when you were reminiscing on your first meeting that you truly realized just how enchanted the other had been the first time you met.

I was enchanted to meet you

taglist: @ponderingmoonlight @arlerts-angel @m0k0k0 @pandora-ophelia-blog

#i feel a little iffy about the end but at this point wtv #if i really still hate it i'll change it but i don't think it's as bad as my mind is telling me lol #lee's brain writes #lee's brain writes: requests #lee's song fic event #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x y/n

[ceilidho]

Do you have any writing tips?? Like you write so GOOD

you could write shakespeare but could shakespeare write a great cod fic? I doubt it

first of all.....i am going to scream........second of all thnx u........

hmm i have some tips but tbh a lot of writing is just trial and error, like doing a bad job for a very long time until suddenly it's good. and these are just tips/rules that i follow; i don't think they're objectively the best tips in the world and they work for the way i like to write, but plenty of people have different styles and would maybe disagree with me, which is perfectly fine!

i really enjoy writing vivid sensory experiences, but i think to write a really immersive environment, you almost have to use words that seem unnatural. it's really difficult to evoke specific qualia in people so you have to do it in a roundabout way. this is really hard to describe and i'm doing a poor job here, but like for instance, here's something i wrote about a girl having trouble sleeping:

a bit of a play-by-play is fine (like "she went downstairs to get breakfast and went to the fridge and pulled out a carton of milk and then set it on the table" sort of thing), but it takes way too long to use that kind of narration all the time and it's not needed. if you find yourself describing the texture of like, their cereal, and it's not actually relevant to the plot, it's just extra writing for nothing.

this is work, but i think you really need to fall in love with words. learn new words, write down their definitions, group words together by their sounds so you know what sounds nice together, don't choose a word simply because it describes the thing you're talking about but also because the word itself feels dry/wet/elongated/or otherwise mirrors the content of what you're writing.

if you struggle with finishing things or get overwhelmed by long projects, set limits for yourself. only 500-1000 words a day or something like that, and then don't touch it after you hit your limit. it gives you some control over your anxiety imo but it also allows you to slowly chip away at your project.

read a lot. read so much. i have learned soooo much from reading other people's work and actually deeply respecting and appreciating how they write. this isn't the most recent thing i've learned but i've come to looooooooveeeee seeing something like ["Sure," he lied] in a story like OOOHHH it's so thrilling to be in on something that other characters aren't in on.

don't feel confined to a specific style of writing. some fics might call for a sparser style because it suits the tone of the story, but some fics might call for more purple prose, you know? and that's fine! you can play around with your writing and try different things. i feel like i have a pretty specific style, but even i eschew it sometimes when the mood feels right, like how superstore is NOT the same kind of fic as saltwater - saltwater was meant to be more introspective and lush, so the style reflects that, whereas superstore is supposed to be more direct and put you a little on edge.

anyway, just some thoughts!!! the thing to also remember is that nobody's doing it perfectly because everyone has a different style and a different way they want to tell stories. sometimes i'll find a really good writer and feel like briefly consumed by jealousy, but i can also write certain stories that they can't and vice versa. so don't beat yourself up while you're learning!!

[mychlapci]

I need to wifeify idw Prowl so bad… I almost don’t even care who does it, but I bet the Constructicons could do it entirely by accident. One drunken orgy and they’d be halfway there already! Prowl’s t-cog reconfiguring him just to be able to fit Long Haul or Bonecrusher’s huge spike inside, widening that trim little waist into a plush, mommy sway. Giving him a perfect, sexy hourglass of a figure just to be able to frag in the first place. The sight of a huge spike distending his belly would be enough to give Prowl his first overload, his horny subconscious giving his t-cog permission to align his nodes to maximize pleasure in his valve. His belly would swell a little with load after load as the whole team too turns fucking his valve, his aft, his mouth.

They’d worship his pretty titties the whole time, sucking, nipping, pinching them. It’d be enough to get them producing, between the forge rapidly filling with transfluid and the stimulation. He’d overload again as Scavenger drained them with his mouth, configuring and reconfiguring to produce more and more milk for the ‘baby’ with each successful draining. By the end of the night he’d look perfectly plush and fertile! But that wouldn’t be enough to change his mind.

No, that’d happen subconsciously, probably by accident through the gestalt bond. They’d fantasize or dream about Prowl as a soft, pretty wife after seeing him strung out on pleasure, and some of it would trickle through. Slowly warming him to the idea through worship and overloads without ever even meaning to. Until one day, Prowl buys a skirt. Just as a surprise, for a little kinky sex. Except it drives them all crazy, and they can’t stop overloading and praising and worshiping their good, pretty little mama. Sucking at his node under the skirt while they finger his needy, wet valve until he’s ready to beg for spike. Giving him so many orgasms he can’t see straight as he bounces on yet another spike, praising him for how beautiful and soft and perfect he is.

And suddenly it’s not a one-off kinky sex thing, it’s becoming increasingly common. They keep calling him their pretty wife, and it feels so good. Feels so good acting out their fantasies, feeding them dinner, wearing their little gifts, keeping their space in order. Ruling the roost, as it were, while the Constructicons drool over him. And now they can’t stop imagining him pregnant, tits swollen even further with milk and absolutely radiant with pleasure. Prowl finds himself masturbating to *their* fantasies in his office so frequently that he has to take time off, hands skimming over his own semi-flat belly. Semi-flat, of course, because they fuck him full of cum so often the little tummy never fully goes away. But he can’t help but wonder how good it would feel to actually get pregnant, if it feels this right to be soft and pretty and sweet to the team.

Surely they’d be willing to help him with his little problem…?

The constructicons need to turn Prowl into a pretty little mommy… their huge spikes widen his hips, their constant sucking on his titties makes them big and swollen, and he finds himself wearing that skirt, sometimes still crusted with transfluid, even when he's all by himself.

Prowl should ride their spikes like he’s lost his mind, finally broken and begging them to fuck him pregnant, to put a nice, fat baby into his forge. He was made for this, they know that.

I am seeing a vivid image of… Prowl with a pregnant belly, dutifully drinking his fuel, wearing his pretty skirt with someone’s hand snuck below and finger-fucking his pussy until he’s cumming himself stupid. Once they’re done, his valve stays fully naked under the skirt, lubricant cooling off and drying out… Maybe he eventually starts going to work wearing it, showing everyone how pretty of a wife he really is, getting off on the thought that if his skirt flipped, everyone would see his pregnant pussy underneath <3

Maybe he gains so much baby weight the skirt is just too small and most of his ass and valve are visible from the back anyways… brghh

#this ask almost made me crack btw i could not Stop thinking about it all week #valveplug #pregnancy mention #texty #weight gain kink #as a treat to myself

[yoon-kooks]

better than sex | myg | 1

🍑Pairing: Yoongi x Producer!Reader

🍑Genre: fluff, smut, studio!au

🍑Summary: As Min Yoongi’s studio neighbor and self-proclaimed nemesis, you’ve always seen him as someone who knew how to maintain a clean, well-put-together image without any careless slip-ups. But after nearly walking in on him with a hand around his cock, you gain a new perspective that leads to steamy fantasies in your bedroom and much-needed inspiration in the studio for Bangtan’s next album. A week before track submissions are due, you give Yoongi a taste of the dirty demo, and now the selfish bastard wants to claim it for his own solo album. In exchange, he offers to help you produce another Bangtan track by the end of the week. Your only condition is for this track to be better than the sexual fantasies that inspired its predecessor.

🍑Word Count: 4.7k

🍊Parts: 1 ◆ 2

🍑Warnings: yoongi touches boobs, masturbation (m/f), a lot more smut to come in future chapters

🍑A/N: this fic started as a shower thought🚿

As a songwriter and producer, you’re expected to create something out of nothing. You’re expected to turn a blank canvas into the next big hit—something unique, something that would never exist without you. But the thing is, nothing is truly ever spawned out of thin air. Like superheroes who save the world, every song has its own origin story.

This, of course, includes the final track you’ve been working on for Bangtan’s next album. As with many of your best tracks, inspiration hit you while you were showering at one in the morning. Sometimes the inspiration is a reflection of how good or bad your day went. Sometimes it’s sparked by the fruity dessert you just devoured, or the heated breakup you witnessed on your walk home. But not this one.

This one was lust. More specifically, it was the lust you felt after entering Genius Lab with pure intentions and leaving with the vivid mental image of Min Yoongi jerking off in his studio. You hadn’t caught him outright with his hand around his cock, but you certainly walked in before he had time to hide the evidence. You’d always thought him to be a man who never slips up, never shows any sign of weakness. 

But boy did he slip up.

One week ago

“Hey Piano Guy, can I borrow you for a sec?” You knock on the studio door next to yours. “I have a melody in my head right now, and I think it’d sound kinda sick on the piano.”

After 30 seconds, there’s still no response. You could always work it out on the piano by yourself, but it’s a lot easier with an extra set of hands. And besides, you don’t hate the idea of spending time with the handsome boy.

“Yoongi, please. Before I forget how it goes. My memory is fading, please.” Just as you raise your fist to pound on his door some more, it swings open. Yoongi leans against the doorframe with a hand in his pocket. The first thing he does is pinch down on the hem of your sleeve, coaxing you to lower your fist out of his face. You don’t think too much about how his forehead and cheeks are looking extra dewy today. He smells like his usual cedarwood cologne, so you don’t suppose he just finished working out, either.

“Isn’t it too early for you to be picking fights with me?” His voice is low and calm, almost like he’d just woken up. On most days, you probably would fight him—he’s the enemy, after all. Not like an actual enemy, though. Just someone who goes along with your banter and gives you something to look forward to at work. Unfortunately, there’s no time for his teasing when there’s a billion-dollar melody on the line.

“I’m not picking a fight with you.” As you correct him, you do a mental calculation of the space between Yoongi’s body and the opposite side of the doorframe. A tight fit, but it might be just enough room to weasel your way in. “I’m enlisting your help for a potential song idea.” 

He must’ve caught a glimpse of that mischievous sparkle in your eye because he’s quick to put his arm up across the entrance. “Don’t even think about it.” 

You frown, but it doesn’t last long. With a playful grin and fluttery eyelashes, you say, “C’mon, this could be the hook that wins Bangtan a Grammy.”

You notice his fingers slowly slipping against the doorframe. The ends of his lips curve upward ever so slightly. This barricade is coming down whether he likes it or not.

Yoongi looks behind him, combs his fingers through his hair, and lets out a sigh. “You need me? Like right now?”

It’s hard to tell if he’s genuinely trying to shoo you away or if he just wants you to admit that you enjoy being around him. Usually, it’s the latter. But he does seem a bit off today.

“I mean, I could ask Namjoon—”

“Five minutes,” Yoongi cuts you off, dragging you with him into his lair and mumbling to himself about “the things he does for you” and how “you act like you can’t figure it out yourself on the guitar.” You take a seat at the piano bench and pull the boy down right beside you. He supposedly only has a handful of minutes to spare in his busy schedule, and yet here he is, taking his sweet time warming up with some scales.

Either he doesn’t trust Namjoon’s piano skills, or someone’s a little jealous.

For as many times as you’ve watched Yoongi at the piano, it never gets old. His long fingers stroke each key so gracefully, yet with purpose. It takes way more than a few years of dedication and a genuine love of the instrument to be at his level. It’s mesmerizing.

“So what’s this Grammy award-winning banger you speak of?” he asks, creating his own piano version of Yet To Come. Oh right, the banger. How did it go again?

You search every inch of your brain, but instead of recalling the melody you felt so confident in, all you find are Yoongi’s piano covers of Bangtan songs. Well this is awkward.

“It… kind of disappeared from my memory,” you say in a hushed voice, still staring down at the keys. In your defense, Yoongi was a huge distraction with those dexterous piano fingers.

He stops mid-measure and shakes his head at you. “Tsk, tsk, Y/N.” Rather than annoyed, he’s amused. “So were you just using that as an excuse to infiltrate Genius Lab or what?”

You roll your eyes. Yoongi always acts like his studio is some sort of sacred chamber only accessible to those he deems worthy. Maybe you should set up your own high-tech security system for your studio so that you don’t get 20 weekly visits from him like an alley cat coming back for more table scraps.

“Bold assumption, but I only came here with the purest of intentions.” With a hmph, you slide your ass off the bench. Instead of heading for the door, you wander over to the side of his studio with all of the fancy producer equipment. You make yourself comfortable and spin around in his big cushy chair. It’s still radiating leftover heat from Yoongi’s own ass cheeks. “Were you in the middle of something just before I got here?”

The boy strides over, waiting for you to have your back to his desk. He steadies the chair with a strong hand so that you’re facing him and can’t spin around anymore. “That’s confidential information.”

“This chair is still warm, so you were obviously sitting here working on something. You might as well fess up.” You hug your knees to your chest and peer up at him with wonder. “Is it your solo album?”

He doesn’t answer you right away. It’s a yes-or-no question. There shouldn’t be anything to think about. Eventually, though, he shakes his head.

You try not to frown so he doesn’t see your disappointment. Ever since D-2, you’ve been patiently waiting for a solo album from him. Because you’d love to snag a spot on it as one of the producers he collaborates with. But Yoongi doesn’t need to know that right now.

“Can you at least give me a hint, then?” You hop out of the chair, scurry around the boy, and examine his desk. Not much is on it aside from his computer, a few MIDI controllers, and a black bottle of cologne. You wiggle the mouse around to wake the computer up, but the screen remains dark. “Seriously? You turned your computer off so I wouldn’t be able to snoop? Is that why it took you a decade to answer the door?”

“We all know how nosy you are. Like a curious kitten.” His voice comes from right behind you. With the clicks of several buttons, the computer screen flashes on, and he types his password in faster than you can decode it. He takes control of the mouse, but you don’t move out of the way. You can feel just how close his body is to yours, and the cedarwood is starting to drown your mind in mildly dangerous thoughts.

As Yoongi looks through his files for a track that’s “safe enough to show you,” your eyes lock onto the fancy black bottle of that intoxicating cologne. It looks expensive, sleek, and something you’d want to get your paws on. 

You scan the bottle for a brand, a name for the scent—anything that will help you get ahold of what’s on Yoongi’s body. But all you find on the front side of the bottle is a simple product description: Personal Moisturizer.

That’s definitely not cologne. 

You quickly turn back to the computer screen. An unfinished hip-hop track you’ve never heard before is playing in the background. You don’t even know when Yoongi pressed play. All you know is that you can’t exactly focus on music right now.

You’ve been in Yoongi’s studio plenty of times, and you’ve never seen this bottle sitting so casually on his desk like that. Probably because it’s normally stored away where curious kittens would never check. If it’s still lying around out in the open, then… 

Oh god. You’re so fucking oblivious.

No wonder he was trying to shoo you away. No wonder he looked like he’d just gone through an intense workout. No wonder his chair was still warm but his computer wasn’t on. He wasn’t in the middle of work when you knocked on the door. Min Yoongi was in the middle of jerking off, and you just entered his studio without a single clue.

Oh no. You can’t unsee it. It’s too vivid—the image of him panting, slumped in the same chair you were spinning around in like an idiot, hand around his hard wet cock. The long fingers that danced across the piano keys so elegantly were the same violent set of fingers that stroked him into a fervorous state where every ounce of his stoic demeanor had come undone. If his computer wasn’t on with porn plastered across the screen, you wonder who or what he was getting off to. 

A tiny, tiny part of you hopes it was you on his mind.

The funny thing is, you’ve never once even thought about him like that. Sure, the two of you have some flirty banter going on, but to you, he’s always been the kind of guy who’s more focused on his music than his sex life. And to be honest, it never actually occurred to you that Yoongi did in fact have a sex life. With that small bit of information, you feel like you’ve gained a whole new perspective. This is why they say curiosity killed the cat. It completely shattered the perfect, well-put-together image you had had of him all this time.

You’ll never see Min Yoongi the same way ever again.

When you return home that night, you aren’t thinking about the company meeting you have tomorrow morning, or what you should pack for lunch, or the award-winning melody that vanished into the abyss along with the rest of your rational thoughts.

You plop your body onto your bed and let yourself think of Yoongi. It’s probably a big mistake, but you can’t help it. 

He’s incredibly handsome, you’ve always thought so. And you admire the work he puts into each and every one of his tracks. Likewise, you know he respects you the same. After all, he lets you into his sacred studio more than anyone else. He couldn’t say no to you, even with a whole ass bottle of lube still out in the open.

The image of him with his fingers gripping tightly around his swollen cock haunts your mind once more. His head is thrown back, sweat running down his neck, and he’s out of breath. You want to know how he sounds when he’s overwhelmed with pleasure, when he’s lost all control. His voice is already so raspy, so low, and so goddamn hot. You want him to call you kitten again, but maybe without the “curious” part attached to it. Anything to hear his bedroom voice. A single moan from him might be enough to set you off. 

You unbutton your shorts and slip your fingers beneath the lace of your underwear. To your surprise, you’re already soaked in these erotic fantasies you never thought you’d be having about your studio neighbor. You’ve known the guy for two years, and it’s only now that you’re lusting after him? How did you have that much self-control for so long?

A gasp escapes your throat as you rub around your center. You squirm to your own touch as you apply more pressure and speed. Harder, faster. You love it, but it’s familiar and predictable, and it’s been a while since you’ve been pleasured by someone else’s hands. Your body aches for those long veiny fingers to play with you like a piano.

As the pleasure builds, you wonder how far Yoongi had gotten before you rudely interrupted him. It’d feel pretty shitty to be so close yet denied of it all because you decided to knock on his door right at that moment. If you had known what was truly going on behind that door, would you have still chosen music over lust? Or would you have thrown that Grammy away to learn what Min Yoongi tastes like when he’s overtaken by his deepest desires? 

In the end, it doesn’t really matter because you came out of his studio with neither.

After a rather underwhelming orgasm, you roll off your bed and drag your feet into the bathroom for a hot shower. 

You know you should stop while you’re still ahead. Fantasies need to remain fantasies and nothing more. Sex between you and Yoongi isn’t going to happen. It’s not worth sacrificing the music you need to be making with him instead of love. You hate that you were considering it for even a second.

But your irrational desires need an outlet.

As hot water trickles down your body, the steam clouds your thoughts. And in the haze, you long for something new and different. Now that you know what you know, you wish Yoongi would show you that other side of himself, the side he keeps hidden behind those studio doors. 

You want it so bad.

And that’s when it hits you.

It’s been a week since you visited Yoongi in his studio on that fateful morning. You’ve been hard at work, piecing together the final track for Bangtan’s album. The demo is nearly complete, and you’re actually super satisfied with how it’s turning out. The vibe is sensual, full of temptation, and far dirtier than any other track with your name on it. 

It only makes sense that the file name for this track is “sex.wav,” which will of course be changed before anyone else sees it. You’ve always had a bad habit of naming your track files based on the first thing that comes to mind, and it really shows where your head has been at this week.

Even Jimin, who helped you record the demo, asked if there was some sort of recent breakthrough in your sex life. When you told him no, he winked and said, “Yoongi is single, you know.” Sometimes you regret confiding in Jimin about your desire to make it onto Yoongi’s solo album because now he’s under the impression that you have some sort of crush on the rapper.

For the record, you don’t have feelings for Yoongi. It’d just be nice to fuck him once, get it out of your system, and the two of you will probably be back to the usual harmless banter that keeps you going every day.

You have to admit, though, your sexual urges came through when you needed them most. After losing the precious (and very wholesome) brain cells containing that award-winning melody, you were in desperate need of a new idea to go off of for that final track. Thanks to the hot and bothered part of your brain, you became super inspired and productive. 

For once in your music career, you’re actually a whole week ahead of schedule instead of just barely meeting deadlines at midnight. With the sex.wav demo near completion, you’ll have this week to relax and take time for yourself.

Thank you, Min Yoongi.

“Y/N, can I come in?” Speaking of the devil, Yoongi pops his head in the doorway. It’s his third visit to your studio this week, and it’s only Monday.

“Come, come,” you say, gesturing for him to hurry on in. You’re confident he’ll vibe with the track, and you’re excited to hear what he has to say about it.

“Jimin told me you guys finished recording the demo,” he says over your shoulder. He places a hand on top of your chair and leans his weight against it like he owns the place.

“We did.” You sit up tall in your chair with a healthy glow and hand the boy some headphones. “I might still go back and tweak a few things, but it’s pretty much done.”

You stare up at him shamelessly as he focuses all of his attention on your demo. Yoongi is the type of guy who doesn’t react or say much on his first listen. He’ll always listen with an open mind and give you his honest opinion once he’s had time to take it all in. That’s why he’s always one of the first people you show your work to.

When the demo ends, he doesn’t hit replay. Instead, he hangs the headphones around his neck and stares at your computer screen, deep in thought. You start to think he hated it so much that he can’t even give it a second listen and he’s trying to find the right words to tell you.

“Why did you name the file sex.wav?” Ah shit, he wasn’t supposed to see that. No one was.

“It’s sexy, isn’t it?” you say softly, starting to shrink in your chair. He still hasn’t said whether he likes it or not.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He drums his fingertips against your desk. You wonder if those fingers have touched any cock lately. “It’s different from your usual stuff.”

You just blink at him, unsure of how to react. Good different or bad different?

“Good different,” he clarifies, as if he’s read your mind. He’s still not giving you much to go off of, though. And you’re starting to get impatient.

Yoongi looks at you, opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it. You’ve never seen the boy so speechless.

“What?” you ask. If he doesn’t spit it out right now, you’re going to lose it.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Please.” It’s hard to read his straight face, but something’s definitely on his mind. You need to know what’s bothering him.

“Who inspired it?” he asks. Not what. Who. This must be his not-so-subtle way of asking who you’ve been sleeping with. It’s none of his business, really. And he knows it. That’s why he was so hesitant to ask in the first place.

“Are you sure you want to hear about all the guys I’ve had sex with?” You casually raise an eyebrow at him and watch closely for a reaction. Maybe it’ll make him jealous.

“It’s about all the sex you’ve ever had?” He looks like he’s not fully convinced. No, it’s actually about the sex you haven’t had. The good kind. The wild kind. The kind that ends with you all tangled in the sheets with Min Yoongi. But you can’t tell him that.

“I’m just fucking with you. I wish I could say I’ve had good enough sex to inspire this track.” You take a jab at yourself, but you really hope you aren’t coming across as lonely or needy for a man. 

Yoongi’s face relaxes a little more, still drumming those fingers against your desk. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

He doesn’t elaborate on that, nor do you ask him to.

“Can I have it?” he asks out of nowhere. Have what? Sex with you? “On my solo album?”

Oh.

“You want this track on your album?” Is the boy really tempting you with something you’ve waited so long for? Of course you want to scream yes, but… “You’d really steal from Bangtan to claim it as your own?”

“Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a selfish asshole,” he pouts. Since when did Min Yoongi ever pout? You’ve never seen this side of him either. It’s fascinating.

You bite your lip. “Yoongi, I’d be down, but the deadline is approaching and I’m going to be one track short if I give you this one.” 

“When’s the deadline?”

“Next Monday.”

The boy pulls out his phone and flicks his thumb across the screen. If you had to guess, he’s checking his schedule.

“I’ll help you produce another one for Bangtan,” he says so casually and confidently.

“Are you sure you’ll have time for that?” You don’t know Yoongi’s full schedule off the top of your head, but you do recall Jimin mentioning this week would be hectic for the group.

“I’ll make time.” All he does is shrug. “I should be free after 10 on most nights. Sunday, I can be in the studio by 6AM—”

“Yoongi.” You stop him before he can say anything else outrageous. Not that you’re being any more rational. You’re about to kiss your much-deserved week of freedom goodbye all for this boy with a pouty lip. “I’ll see what I can do, and you can pitch in. But please don’t overwork yourself for this.” You point at the screen, at the track he wants so badly.

He nods. “Thanks, Y/N.”

You want to ask Yoongi what he’ll give you in return for doing him this favor, but you aren’t really interested in anything from him aside from his company. And maybe sex. 

Instead, you ask, “May I ask why you want this track so badly?”

“Because I like it.” He pulls the headphones off his neck and hangs them around yours. There’s no way he fell in love with the track after listening to it only once. That’s unheard of for him. There must be another reason. “Oh, and I also heard you wanted a spot on my solo album.”

You’re going to kill Park Jimin.

“Right,” you say, spinning your chair around so that Yoongi can’t see the nasty texts you’re sending to his friend.

Y/N💅 [8:23PM] “fuck you park jimin”

Y/N💅 [8:23PM] “i thought we agreed not to tell my nemesis that id like to be on his solo album”

Jimin🍡 [8:24PM] “Yoongi’s your nemesis?”

Jimin🍡 [8:24PM] “I thought you had a raging boner for him🍆”

Y/N💅 [8:24PM] “i hate you btw”

“You have a raging boner for me?” You hear a mix of shock, amusement, and arrogance over your shoulder. But mostly arrogance. You lock your phone screen even though it’s already too late. You’ve been caught. Evidently, you aren’t the only nosy one here.

You swing your head around, practically nose to nose with your nemesis. He can probably feel the heat radiating from your cheeks. But you don’t back off. Instead, you glare. “Neither you nor Jimin know what you’re talking about.”

“I guess only you know then, Y/N.” Yoongi doesn’t back away either. He eyes your lips the way you eye a strawberry popsicle on the hottest day of the year. You make a conscious effort to not let your eyes do the same. You don’t need to be reminded of how perfectly plush his lips must feel against everything they touch.

But if he wants to play this game with you, you’ll play along. And you won’t lose.

You lean in closer and graze your cheek against his. In a hushed voice, you say, “Do you want to know who really inspired that track?”

He nods against your skin. Your lips tickle his ear.

“I was visiting a friend last week, and I left his place with a new perspective. I thought, maybe this guy wasn’t just the grumpy asshole workaholic I knew him to be. Maybe he’d been hiding this dirty, sexed-up side of himself the whole time.” You pause for dramatic effect. “Do you want to know why I thought this?”

He nods again.

“You forgot to hide your personal moisturizer before I walked into your studio.” You finally lean back to see the look on his face. His pupils are huge, his lips are parted, but he doesn’t necessarily look embarrassed for someone who was practically caught with his hands in his pants.

In fact, the more time he spends thinking about it, the more he realizes what your story says about you. “So what you’re saying is that you do in fact have a raging boner for me and I was your inspiration for that sex track? I’m honored.”

You hate that he’s such a good listener who knows how to dissect every word you say.

“Would y’all quit saying I have a raging boner?” You roll your eyes, but it does feel oddly satisfying when Yoongi and Jimin treat you like one of the guys.

“What should I call it then?” Yoongi chuckles. He doesn’t do it often, but you like it when he laughs. “Horny eyes? Unfulfilled sexual desires? A wet p—”

You get up and give him a light shove against the desk. He’s still got a smirk on his face as you pin him there. “Call it a severe distaste for your bullshit,” you say sweetly with a handful of his shirt in your fist. 

A strong hand cups your chin. He leans in close enough for you to smell the minty lip balm you always see him applying. You want to taste it. “Admit it,” he says, “You like my bullshit.”

You feel each of his words against your lips. By the time he reached “bullshit,” you’d already pressed your lips into his. He doesn’t fight it. You taste the mint, then his tongue.

His hands start to wander along your curves. He finds the bare skin between your crop top and high-waisted shorts and works his way up your ribs. You hope he can’t feel the goosebumps when his thumbs sneak into your bra and flirt with the sides of your breasts. You just want him to keep exploring and familiarizing himself with your body. 

In the next moment, he has you pinned in with your ass on top of the desk. In front of you is not the grumpy idol boy you’ve maintained a clean, professional relationship with for the past two years. The Yoongi standing here between your thighs is an irresistible temptation. He’s your fantasy turned reality. And maybe he wants you as much as you want him. 

But before you can loop your limbs around him and lasso him in for more, he steps back and points his thumb at the door. “I have to get back to my studio.”

No, he doesn’t. He’s just playing hard to get. And you hate him for it.

“To work or to jerk off?” you call out as he walks further and further away from you.

“Work, of course,” he sings. You don’t believe him. He’s a liar and a tease. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Y/N. To work on the new track.”

You almost forgot about that replacement track. After all, Yoongi’s hands and lips were pretty big distractions that you once again fell victim to. But regardless of the hold he thinks he has on you now, you still want to establish strict criteria for the song you’ll be working on with him. Only one thing comes to your flustered mind.

“Wait, Yoongi.” You wait for him to turn back around in the doorway. There’s still a hint of a smile lingering on his face. He probably thinks you’re calling him back for some more studio mischief. Too bad he’s wrong. “I have one condition for that new track.”

“Go on.”

“It has to be better than the sex track I’m giving you for your solo album.” You kick your legs back and forth—the same legs that could’ve been squeezing Yoongi’s waist in a heated makeout session right about now. “Way better.”

You won’t accept anything less from the man.

“So it has to be better than your cute little erotic fantasies of me?” Yoongi puts a hand up. Then he’s gone. “Shouldn’t be an issue.”

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