#Index Trading Tips

[indexandstocktradingacademy]

Best Option Trading Strategies for 2024 | Index and Stock Trading Academy

Introduction:

Options trading is gaining popularity in the financial markets, offering traders and investors the flexibility to navigate volatility and capitalize on opportunities. With 2024 expected to be a dynamic year for the markets, it’s crucial to have a solid understanding of the best options trading strategies to stay ahead. Whether you’re a seasoned options trader or someone looking to explore new strategies, Index and Stock Trading Academy is here to guide you. In this blog, we’ll explore the top options trading strategies that can help you thrive in 2024.

Target Audience:

This blog is designed for beginner to intermediate traders and experienced investors who are looking to enhance their knowledge of options trading. The target audience includes those familiar with the basics of trading but interested in advanced strategies to maximize profits while managing risk.

Who Is the Blog For?

Beginner Traders: Individuals new to options trading looking to learn the fundamentals and start implementing basic strategies.

Intermediate Traders: Traders with some experience in the stock market looking to dive deeper into more complex options strategies.

Experienced Investors: Investors who want to diversify their portfolio with advanced options strategies to generate income or hedge against risk.

This blog will cater to those seeking practical, actionable strategies to succeed in the options market in 2024.

Purpose/Goal:

The purpose of this blog is to educate traders and investors about the best options trading strategies for 2024 and highlight how Index and Stock Trading Academy can help them refine their skills, optimize their trading techniques, and navigate market volatility. Readers should come away with a clear understanding of the strategies they can use and feel confident about pursuing options trading.

Blog Structure:

1. Introduction to Options Trading

Options trading involves buying or selling the right (but not the obligation) to purchase or sell a stock at a specific price before a certain expiration date. It can be a powerful tool for hedging, speculating, or generating income in both rising and falling markets.

2. Why Options Trading is Important in 2024

With expected market volatility in 2024 due to geopolitical events, interest rate changes, and evolving industries, options trading offers flexibility. It allows traders to profit from fluctuations in the market while minimizing potential losses.

3. Top Option Trading Strategies for 2024

A. Covered Call Strategy

This strategy involves holding a stock and selling call options on the same stock. It’s ideal for investors who want to generate income on stocks they already own. The premium received from selling the call provides extra income, which can cushion against minor losses or flat market performance.

Best for: Investors looking for additional income streams from existing stock holdings.

B. Protective Put Strategy

Protective puts, also known as portfolio insurance, involve buying put options to guard against potential declines in the price of a stock you already own. This is particularly useful when market uncertainty is high, and investors want to protect their portfolios from significant losses.

Best for: Traders and investors seeking to hedge their portfolios against downside risks.

C. Iron Condor Strategy

The iron condor is a neutral options strategy where traders sell an out-of-the-money call and put, while simultaneously buying a further out-of-the-money call and put. This strategy works best in a low-volatility environment where the trader expects the underlying stock to remain within a specific price range.

Best for: Traders aiming to profit from stable, low-volatility markets.

D. Long Straddle Strategy

A long straddle involves buying both a call and put option on the same stock with the same strike price and expiration date. This strategy profits when the stock price makes a significant move in either direction. It is ideal for highly volatile market conditions where a big price swing is anticipated.

Best for: Traders expecting high volatility but unsure of the direction of the price movement.

E. Bull Call Spread Strategy

The bull call spread involves buying a call option and simultaneously selling a higher strike price call option. This is a bullish strategy, best for traders who believe the stock will rise but want to limit their potential loss.

Best for: Traders with a moderately bullish outlook.

Conclusion:

In 2024, having the right options trading strategies in place can significantly improve your chances of success in the stock market. Whether you’re looking to generate income, hedge your portfolio, or capitalize on market volatility, options offer unique opportunities for every type of trader. At Index and Stock Trading Academy, we provide comprehensive training on these and other options strategies, ensuring that our students have the skills and knowledge to make informed decisions.

Call-to-Action (CTA):

Ready to master options trading in 2024? Sign up for a course at Index and Stock Trading Academy today! Our expert instructors will teach you how to use these strategies effectively, helping you take control of your financial future. Visit our website or contact us now to get started.

Style/Tone:

The blog will maintain a professional and educational tone, providing clear, data-driven insights. The goal is to educate readers in a way that feels approachable and actionable, ensuring that even novice traders can understand the strategies and feel empowered to learn more.

[digitalk24]

Index Options tips | Nifty option tips | Bank Nifty option tips | Option Trading | option tips

Unlock the potential of Index Options with expert insights! Explore valuable Nifty option tips, Bank Nifty option tips, and master the art of Option Trading. Elevate your trading strategy with comprehensive option tips to navigate the dynamic market. Whether you're a seasoned trader or a beginner, our curated Index Options tips provide actionable advice to enhance your financial success. Stay ahead of market trends and make informed decisions with our specialized guidance. Discover the power of strategic option trading and maximize your returns. Gain confidence in your trades with our dedicated tips designed for success in the world of options. Take control of your financial future and optimize your trading portfolio with our precise and reliable advice. Start your journey to financial prosperity today!

[stocksbroker]

What does a mutual fund app mean?

A mutual fund app is a piece of software created specifically for smartphones that enable users to research different fund options and make investments in them. Investors can execute a variety of tasks with the use of the best mutual fund app in India, including exploring all accessible mutual funds, contrasting various mutual funds, investing in them, monitoring their performance, managing their portfolios, and more.

The majority of stock brokers in India offer mutual fund applications that let traders and clients invest in both mutual funds and stocks. There are many mutual fund applications available in India that have great advantages for investors.

[foone]

AAA games? Pfft. Indie games? Double pfft.

I only play games from the alternate history where Hillary Clinton was elected in 2008 and banned all video games. You can only imagine how weird their underground gaming scene is. People like to call unlicensed games "bootlegs" but they've got actual bootlegged games! I've played games about helping your grandmother in hospice care realize she's a lesbian by reading Sappho to her, at 2am in a speakeasy in Baltimore. The cops raided it the next night, hundreds of Gamers were arrested. They posted pictures all over Friendster of the Baltimore PD destroying the arcades with axes.

I nearly got busted once because I was imaging old disks from a 386 and someone tipped off the gaming cops that there was a copy of Commander Keen in there. I had to prove that I didn't know it, I was imaging the disks blind and then indexing them later, and I would of course turn over any contraband to the proper authorities.

I was already on a watch list because I'd been known to have some gamedev-related activities pre-ban. They can't arrest me for making games back in 2007 when it was still legal, but they do want to keep an eye on me since I have the skills to break the law.

Anyway that universe's bootlegs are mainly PC games. Can't really have console games if there hasn't been a console release since the Wii/PS3/360 era. At one point Nintendo threatened to release the Wii SDK so game devs in the US could make unlicensed games, but that didn't happen as there were quickly no functional Wiis left in the US, except for very rare holdouts that never move. PC games are easy to distribute samizdat and hide on a USB stick or CD-R labeled "nickelback".

Japan's games industry is still going, so the later Nintendo and Sony consoles still exist, but Microsoft got out of the business of course. They sold the franchise to Sega who were hoping to release the 360 successor (the Xbox One in our universe) as the Sega Phoenix but it never materialized, either through their own financial incompetence or because of pressure from the US. There's a lot of international treaties that the US has pushed "and this aid only goes through if you ban games" clauses into. That would have been an official UN resolution if the USSR hadn't vetoed it. For once, thank God for the security council, eh?

I mainly get my gaming news through Japanese gaming sites (through a set of VPNs, since they're blocked at the border firewall), and some tor onion site run by a weird guy in Minnesota who is obsessed with documenting all the underground US games.

There's a lot being worked on, but it's always a tricky trade off. Too much attention and the police might be able to track down the creators, and it's basically impossible to fund underground games, as the VISA/PayPal etc funds get seized immediately. There's a whole task force for that.

Anyway one of the weirdest differences between our two time lines is that they've gone back and edited out gaming from a bunch of movies. Those that they can, of course. War games was just banned because they couldn't remove the tic tac toe ending. The Net just removed the scene at the beginning where she's playing Wolfenstein 3D, by recording some new screen footage and a new voice over. She's fixing a spreadsheet in the new edition.

(Yes, I've seen The Net from this alternate timeline. On Laserdisc, of course. I'm just that kind of person!)

They even edited Star Wars. You know that scene where R2-D2 is playing holochess with Chewie? They edited it to be a board game instead of holograms, because that made it too "video gamey".

Technically it's not illegal to show gaming in a movie, but it needs to be an 18+ film and you have to show the deleterious effects of gaming and/or the gamesters coming to a bad end.

This has affected films less than you'd think, to be honest. They were never great about showing video games even before they banned them.

Anyway, go have fun playing your AAA games with hundred-million-dollar budgets. I only play indie games made by people under a constant threat of arrest for their art.

[bankniftylivesignal]

Future & Options Loss Recovery Plan || फ्यूचर एंड ऑप्शंस लॉस रिकवरी प्लान

PUT A STOP TO YOUR OPTIONS TRADING LOSSES :

Believe it or not; majority of the retail traders and investors have encountered Future and options trading losses quite often as a result of lack of confidence and not applying appropriate options trading strategies. In this article, we will discuss about market loss recovery or reduce the losses and gain back the trading confidence in you. Also, we will focus on how to recover or avoid further loss in nifty or Banknifty options trading so that you never lose your capital in options in your share market trading journey.

Click here:

[specialgrades]

CRiTiCAL HiT ! ⏤ select genshin men and their sensitive spots

arataki itto, wriothesley, neuvillette

➜ ┊: cw ! porn without plot, monster fucking… kinda, dom!reader, nipple play, premature ejaculation, pet names ( sugar, baby, darling, my love ), reader’s gender not specified but is topping neuvillette ( could be read as a strap or a dick ), hair pulling, neuv is kinda ooc but we're gonna ignore that for now, cumming untouched, not beta read we die like men

notes. whoa hey. i'm kinda popping off recently. anyway this is only three characters cause they're the only ones i'm horny for. if you think i have a particular favourite you're probably right. dividers by cafekitsune as per usual, backbone of tumblr fr!

ARATAKi iTTO — horns

such a big man reduced to a whimpering mess if you stroke his horns! god forbid you do it while he’s already experiencing other stimuli…

itto’s grunts and groans mixed in with your own moans as his hips snapped against yours. his hair falling in his face as he hung his head, fangs almost piercing his lip with how hard he’s biting it. your hands gripping at the sheets as he makes it his mission to rearrange your guts. one particular thrust has his tip hitting that spot deep inside you directly; a broken scream leaving you as your hands flew up to him for anything to ground yourself with. fingers wrapping around his red oni horns, tugging as he keeps hitting that spot. itto moans loudly, hips stuttering. “sugar, don— oh fuck—!” you tug again, oblivious to his protests until you feel him cum inside of you a lot quicker than usual. his body shakes as he does, whimpers leaving him. he knew his horns were sensitive, but not that much; and god did it feel good. you blink at him, hands still holding onto his horns. “did you jus’... cum from having your horns touched?” you manage, shuttering as he slowly fucks his cum deeper into you. “sensitive— ah-!” he yelps when you tug again. any semblance of dominance he had slipped away as you played with his horns. his cock twitched back to life at record speed, his hips moving on their own. “fuck sugar, don’t stop… tug ‘em harder— jus’ like that, fuck! fuck…” he cums again, crying out as he did.

WRiOTHESLEY — chest

wrio never knew that his chest was that sensitive, he always just ignored that part of his body during his own time. your wandering hands change that…

wriothesley’s kisses were always hungry, sloppy. he doesn’t have much experience, but his eagerness to devour you every time your lips connect isn’t something you’d trade for the world. he helps you tug his tie off and undo his vest, the fabric hanging loosely off of his shoulders. all without breaking the kiss you had pulled him into a few minutes prior. your fingers work on the buttons of his dress shirt while he toys with the hem of your shirt. same fingers pushing under the fabric of his shirt, index fingers brushing against his nipples as you moved. wriothesley surprised himself with the moan that escaped him when they did, freezing up for a second. he feels you smirk against him, fingers brushing over his nipples again. he caught the moan this time— though barely— shaky noises escaping him as his nipples hardened under your touch. his slacks feeling even tighter than they did when you began undressing him. “sensitive, are we?” you ask against his lips. he’s trying to focus and doesn’t respond instantly; causing you to lightly pinch the buds. he whines, body unsure if it wants to push against or pull away from the sensation. “y-yes! don’t—” he breaks the kiss as he tosses his head back, eyes squeezed shut and bottom lip tugged between his teeth. you look down to his pants, part of the light grey turned a darker shade from how much he’s leaking just from your teasing. “let’s see…” you let go of his chest to walk him back against his desk. he had fully intended to fuck you against it not even five minutes ago, but the tables had turned. he felt your gaze on the evident bulge in his pants, wiggling his hips in hopes it’d get you to touch him. you did, but not where he wanted you to. pushing his shirt and vest from his shoulders to fully expose his torso, you went for his chest again. whimpers and moans spilled from him as you toyed with the sensitive skin. a particularly loud moan that caused him to bite his hand to silence himself when your tongue flicked against the left one. he felt the coil in his stomach tighten as your tongue swirled around the bud, your fingers tweaking the one your mouth wasn’t on. he shrugged the rest of his shirt off, hand gripping your shoulder as he thrusted his hips up into nothing. “baby ‘m gonna— please— fuck fuck fuck-!” he gripped you tight as he came untouched, cum soaking his underwear and pants. he shuttered when you gave one last pinch to his nipples, breathing hard when you pulled away. “hm… cute.” you surmise, running your finger along the wet spot of his pants. he pulled away from your touch, sensitivity heightened. you smiled at him, cupping his face gently. “think you got one more in you, baby?”

NEUViLLETTE — ears

it’s law that pointy elf ears are sensitive. argue with a wall. the iudex is no exception…

neuvillette buried his head into the pillows, shaky breaths turning into moans as the sound of skin hitting skin. he felt your lips on his nape and shoulder— licking, biting, sucking the skin there as you fucked into him. his cocks rubbing against the pillow you put under his hips and staining the cotton. pulling away from his shoulder after nursing the bruises you left, your eyes focus on the pointy ears of the iudex. your curiosity got the better of you and before you could stop yourself, your tongue darted out to lick at the shell of his ear. neuvillette shuttered and moaned, hole clenching as pleasure ran through his body. “darling not there plea—” he cut himself off with a moan when the mixture of you hitting his prostate and your tongue running along his ear made his entire body light on fire. “your weak spot, hm?” you muse, your voice rumbling against his skin. he moaned, nodding as he moved his hips to get more friction on his dicks and to fuck back against you. “please…” he mumbles, so close with the mixture of all the stimuli happening at once. “more…” he begs weakly. he doesn’t expect you to give in so easily, but he’s been so good all day you cave; pulling back until just the tip was inside him before harshly snapping your hips against his ass. you lightly bit the tip of his ear as you did, tongue still running along the cartilage. the iudex cried out, arching further into the mattress as he felt the coil begin to snap. “please let me cum darling, please ‘s too much please-!” he cries, trying so hard to hold back from cumming until you give him the green light. “so soon, neuvi? your ears that sensitive?” he nodded, rain hitting the window as you brought him closer to the edge. you hum, breath hot on his ear. “go on, my love…” you lick his ear again. “cum.” he does almost instantly, crying out as he makes a mess of the pillow and his stomach. he collapsed onto the mattress, small shocks going through his body from the intensity of his orgasm. you give him a minute before sitting up, hand wrapping around his hair and horns. with a tug he’s pulled flush to your chest. high pitched yelp left him as you did, feeling your breath against his other ear now. “let’s see where else you’re sensitive, hm?”

[fatallyfalling]

Secrets & Sugarcubes ~ ♆

“ Sugarcube ? “

{{ Finnick Odair x Reader }}

warnings: hurt/comfort, typical Hunger Games violence/trauma, mention/insinuation of forced prostitution, ptsd, soft reassurances, possible slight ooc?? Finnick fears physical touch, end is very fluffy with some slight cuddling, etc.

{{ word count }} 4.0 k

{{ Prompt }} The two of you had a game, a way of trading secrets when the world felt too big and a simple touch felt like a burn on Finnick’s skin. You always made sure to keep a tin of sugarcubes in your kitchen just in case.

{{ a/n }} I swear i know how to write happy things guys i promise akfkakkdka the next one will be tooth rottingly sweet i promise please bear with me >< ! I hope the length of this one makes up for it being a day late as well. This also might seem a bit ooc for Finnick? Not sure - but here is my full headcanon, I'd suggest reading it before this to better understand why Finnick is behaving the way he is as it's explained a bit more in-depth. Reader and Finnick are also rather affectionate with one another but there isn’t an established relationship yet between them. Please enjoy <3

Tip, Tap, Tip-Tip, Tap

Your door creaked under the coded knock, a beat of silence following before it was repeated on the old wood. Your nose scrunched in a perplexed manner, groggily padding down the stairs in your night clothes to your front door, a glimpse at the mahogany grandfather clock in the entryway tells you it’s well past midnight. Your confusion pooled into a sense of concern as cold fingers gripped the metal door handle and gave a firm tug. You knew the knock and who was behind the door as you started speaking before even meeting his gaze, the scent of almonds and honey tainted by a sickly layer of Capital roses filling your senses.

“What’s going on? It’s late. You should be asle-“

Your sentence was cut short as your gaze met a pair of bleary sea-green eyes. You knew the look too well as a frown settled on your lips, your shoulders sinking with your heart as you took in the male before you. “Oh, Finn..” You mutter as you open the door further to let him inside. He hesitates in the doorway, looking lost, but you give a flickering nod of encouragement, convincing him to cross the threshold.

“Come on, I’ll make some tea..”

Nodding towards the kitchen, he wordlessly treks after you. Finnick’s steel-colored dress shirt was well wrinkled, unbuttoned to his clavicle, and sleeves pushed past his elbows. His face didn’t look much better than his suit. His bronze waves were messy, brows sewn in with a tight jaw, and hunched shoulders added to an unsteady demeanor. You could only assume what had occurred earlier in the night while attending the latest Capital party before the famed “Capital’s Darling” appeared on your doorstep. The growing pit in your stomach churned at the thought, and a muscle fluttered in your jaw as you led the victor deeper into your home.

Settling into what sometimes felt like a nightly routine, you get to work on the tea. You also place a small tin on the counter before Finnick, his gaze dancing between your fingers and the tin as you do so. His hands were trembling.

“I think the sweater you left the other day is upstairs. I can get it if you’d like,” You offer while setting the kettle to simmer on the stove. Finnick shakes his head with a soft, tight-lipped hum. He was distracted, flicking his thumbs against the pads of his index fingers over and over again.

“I thought it might help to change...” You allow while stumbling over an apology. You round the counter in a retreat to hunt down the knit item. But you misjudge the distance. Your shoulder accidentally brushes his in a fleeting move that instantly causes recoil and a sharp inhale on Finnick’s part as if he’d been singed by a flame.

“Please,”

The word was strained in his throat as anguish flooded his tanned features. Your eyes widened at your misstep, immediately backtracking to provide more physical space between you. But your frown only deepens as you stare at one another for a fleeting moment before Finnick all but crumples in on himself, descending to the hardwood floor.

Heartbreak splinters through your chest like a knife, bringing yourself down with him as knees meet the polished wood with a thud. Taking further notice of his trembling, it spread up his arms and across his torso now, fists bunching the fabric of his sleeves. The victor wet his lips as his eyes screwed shut, visibly trying to push back whatever threatened to plague his mind.

“I'm so sorry Finnick. Hey, hey- it’s okay, it’s just me, I'm here. I’m sorry, you’re safe with me. You’re going to be okay,” Apologetic pleas pour out in whispers, your head tilting to see beneath the bronze waves blocking his eyes. “You’re safe here,"

He doesn’t respond, only wetting his lips again with a thick swallow that moves his throat up and down. Your lips press to a thin line as you scan around you for anything that might help break the darkness obscuring his senses. Your own thoughts swim with curses for your mistake before your vision finally connects with the small forgotten tin on the counter. Cautiously you rise to retrieve it, your movements are slow, ensuring your hands remain within view, and keeping a safe distance between Finnick and yourself. Once the cool metal touches your skin you wrap your fingers around it, returning to kneel before the distressed Darling on your floor.

“Hey, do you remember our game ?”

A small ‘click’ chirps out as you open the tin. Dozens of small white sugarcubes sparkle inside, gently shifting to let the tin rest between you two. Finnick’s eyes peek out in a squint, dragging his gaze down to the tin and then back up to fixate on your face. He gives a tiny nod to indicate he’s listening, the trembling doesn’t stop.

“Okay,” you manage a small, warm smile briefly as you dip your head to peer into the tin. Plucking four cubes out, simultaneously sweeping your calves out from under you for a more relaxed sitting position, you gently place two near his knee while keeping the other two in your hand.

“One for yes, two for no,”

Gesturing to show the two options, gaining another nod from the trembling victor. At least his attention is focused on the sugar now. Sometimes it took much longer to bring him back enough just to open his eyes.

This was what Finnick Odair hid behind showboating grins and that “Golden Boy” Capital mask. The poltergeists of sticky, unwanted Capital fingers and lips left dozens of invisible burns engraved on his skin. You’d caught the bronze-haired male regularly picking an invisible piece of lint off his shirt or whichever shiny garment the stylists forced him to wear. Soon enough you managed to decipher the minute gesture as a tell to when the discomfort the tanned male felt on his skin too often was starting to eat away at his thoughts.

Never quite free of the forces from previous nights.

It tore open your heart to see him like this. Thrown to the mutts of the Capital under President Snow’s threat of his loved ones being tortured or worse killed if he didn’t comply, there really was no escape from the taloned clutches of winning the annual Hunger Games.

Nobody escapes The Games, and nobody ever wins.

As much as you desperately wanted to whisk the 65th victor away from his position he wouldn’t let you even if you tried, claiming he couldn’t bear to see you come into harm's way and that he’d rather endure the torture just to keep you safe. The seeping guilt you felt was immeasurable.

“I’ll begin, you just answer with the sugar okay ?”

Another small nod earns a second weak smile tugging at the corners of your mouth to reassure him.

“Are you okay ?”

There’s a pause as Finnick thinks, eyelids squeeze shut again but soon open as a shaky hand gently moves the tiny pieces of sugar forward.

Two cubes, ‘no’

“Are you hurt outside ?”

Two cubes, ‘no’

“Are you hurt inside ?”

Another pause, and then he gently scoots one of the cubes backward.

One cube, ‘yes’

“Can you tell me what hurts inside ?”

Finnick hesitates, his brow twitches with a small crinkle of his nose. You wouldn’t pry if he wasn’t ready, you’re patience was strong and you’d spend all night passing sugar on the floor if it meant he could find peace of mind. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to,”

Finnick didn’t have many choices or say in life due to his position in the capital, so you found providing clear options to be rather grounding for the Bronze-haired male. It gave him a sense of stability and control over himself and what was occurring around him. Keeping the questions of your game simple and to the point in turn made his responses quick, a distraction technique you had picked up a while back to combat your own struggles post-games.

Two cubes, ‘no’

“That’s okay,” your small smile strengthens as you give him a tender look, not of pity but empathy. “Can I help?”

One cube, ‘yes’

“Please…”

The repeated word is barely above a whisper. If you hadn’t been hyper-fixated on him you might not have caught the parting of his lips that dripped the morsel of sound. His gaze has moved up from the floor to meet yours, wide sea-green irises soft in a pleading expression. You simply nod, assuring him you’re staying right where you are. The tension in his body visibly releases as the reassurances seem to sink in. Gingerly, he releases his biceps, picking at an invisible speck of dust on his sleeve. He drags a hand through his tousled hair before taking it down his face to rub his eyelids. He inhales a deep, shaky breath. You let him take his time to recuperate. Once his hand returns to his lap and he meets your eyesight you resume the verbal questionnaire.

“Do you want your sweater ?”

One cube, ‘yes’

“Okay, just a second,” you smile warmly, he nods, and you slowly stand, making your way upstairs, finding the ivory knit sweater on your bedroom dresser right where he’d left it. Turning around, you retrace your steps back to the kitchen, making sure to avoid the steps that creak louder than others on your way. “Here you go,”

Placing the sweater down as you return to sit with the Darling, he waits for your hands to leave the fabric before picking up the thick material and tugging it over his head. It takes a minute to adjust the layers and his sitting position so they’re comfortable but when he’s done the steel grey button-up collar peeks out from under the angled neckline of the ivory sweater along with the tails of the neutral fabric sticking out under the bottom hem. The ends of the sleeves are stretched around his fingers to mimic mittens. “Better ?” You offer while he takes a moment to breathe in the familiar scent. The smell of Capital roses is quickly suffocated in his familiar warm almond and honey cologne mixing with your scent clinging to the sweater. A sweet smile softens your cheeks as he allows a small lopsided smile with a nod and a hum, the corners of his mouth twitching up at the comfort.

“Very much so.”

“Good,” you nod, “Do you want the citrus tea you like so much? The one with the cinnamon?” Quirking a brow with a small tilt of your head.

“mhm,”

One cube, ‘yes’

“Very well,” you smile sweetly, rising again to move back into the kitchen. You gently open a cupboard, plucking a viridian mug off the shelf for the Darling along with your usual mug. A delicate clink echos in the otherwise quiet space as you set the ceramics on the counter. Finnick has turned to peek up and watch.

His sea-green eyes were still big and pleading, not really ready to stand but also not wanting to be away from you. With the counter cutting off just below his irises and his bronze hair tossed around and fluffy like that you couldn’t help being reminded of a small puppy. You mouth another reassurance with a wink as your cheeks warm, pulling open a drawer to pick up two small objects. They’re burnished silver spheres of metal, split in half but held by a tiny latch and speckled in countless minuscule holes for the nectar of the teas to slip through.

Reaching for two narrow jars on your counter you slide them towards your workspace and unstick each lid with an odd “pop”. Whisps of warm cinnamon, citrus, cloves, and black tea mix with the scent of herbs and spices more aligned with your tastes. The teas were a luxury gift from Mags on your birthday a year or two ago. You only use them on special occasions or nights like these.

You take a small spoon and gingerly press the correct amount of leaves in each steeper, adding a few extra to Finnick’s as he preferred a more prominent flavor. Afterward, you lower the metal orbs into their respective mug and quietly clean your workspace. Once the items are back in place you turn and just about jump out of your skin with a yelp of surprise as the tea kettle’s shrill whistle sings loud and clear.

Quickly you fumble for a cloth on a hook beside the wide farmhouse sink. Wrapping it around the heated handle of the kettle you remove it from the flames and onto an unused burner before shutting off the stove. Your heart pounds as adrenaline courses through your veins like lightning. A curse dances off your tongue but your embarrassment is short-lived as a coy chuckle fills your ears, wrapping around your senses like a soft blanket. A relieving warmth weaves its way through your ribs and melts the icy heartache as you hear Finnick laugh again. Turning towards the sound you spot the bronze-haired male now standing at the counter, his forearms leaning on the cool stone. His hands are barely trembling now although his eyes seem far away but his demeanor has seemed to regain its footing, a flickering of his naturally charismatic aura passes through his pointed-to-white teeth in the form of a lopsided smile. Color has started to ebb its way back into his tanned cheeks. That warmth in your ribcage spreads up your neck but you try to shove it back down. The components of your game; all four sugarcubes and the tin are sitting beside his elbow on the counter. You cross your arms over your chest loosely, narrowing your eyes at him in a playful manner.

“It’s not funny,”

“You’re right it’s hilarious,” Finnick drawls, his tone cocky.

An exasperated huff puffs out your chest followed by a sarcastic roll of our eyes. “There’s the Finnick Odair I know and Love,” You sigh, mischief flickers in those sea-green eyes. Carefully bringing the kettle over after it has a moment to cool you pour the boiling water as evenly as you can before returning it to the stove. A comforting quiet falls over the two of you while watching the liquid within the mugs change color. Eventually, your gaze shifts to watching Finnick slowly build a tiny pyramid out of the sugarcubes. The pristine wall of white crystals stands for all but ten seconds (not even) before the victor’s gentle tap sends it crumbling.

The joy from moments ago dissipates into something melancholic.

“Are you okay…?” You ask again, a crease forming between your brows as you search his sea-green eyes for any signs. Finnick gives you another tight-lipped hum, his smile has slipped away and you notice the set in his jaw returns. His gaze shifts from his folded hands to the sugar close by and hesitantly plucks up two of the four pieces.

Two cubes, ‘no’

“Still inside…?”

One cube, ‘yes’

“Still no touching?” Your voice is tender in a reassuring manner.

Two cubes, ‘yes’

Finnick understands that he’s safe. You’ll respect any boundary he chooses. You’re one of his few ‘safe’ individuals that he allows to fully trust besides Johanna, Mags, and Annie. Unfortunately, Annie was always rather emotionally distraught, meaning Finnick couldn’t be around her for long periods due to her tendency to claw at people during her episodes. It broke his heart to see the fire-haired victor he mentored through an awful arena be left so broken and afraid with limited ability to help her. But you did your best to pick up the slack in her care.

You were all damaged people just trying to survive the best you could with the hand you’d been dealt. No matter the cruelty of the dealer.

While caught up in your thoughts, the tea finished steeping. Gently, you slide the viridian mug of citrusy spices towards Finnick, who allows a small thanks and his “compliments to the chef” while plucking two sugarcubes from his fallen stack and dropping them into the burnt orange liquid.

“My pleasure,” you hum, fixing your tea how you like it and stirring the small steeper around the mug before lifting it from the drink and setting it off to the side. Finnick’s steeper soon follows. You’ll clean the sticky residue later.

Hot ceramic warms your fingertips as they curl around the mug, lifting it to your lips and parting them to give a gentle blow. Ripples of tea bounce around the rim, causing the curls of steam to dance around your cheeks. You inhale the Herbs deeply, and a calm feeling washes over your shoulders. The first sip immediately warms your insides as it goes down, observing the same reaction on Finnick as he takes a long swig of the tea followed by a hum of pleasure.

“Don’t burn your tongue it's still hot,” you murmur into your drink, the emitted sound coming out a bit warped. A ghost of a smile crosses the Darling’s face at your words, though he doesn’t reply, preferring another sip of the luxurious tea.

You already knew you wouldn’t hear the end of his dislike for the stinging on his tongue tomorrow from the burn.

You wish to reach out to him, brush your knuckles against his, or cup his stupidly handsome face in your hands, holding him close till all is better, but you can’t. You won’t. His safety and comfort is your priority right now, and you’ll always give him space when asked. You knew all too well what violation of space felt like.

“Are you feeling any better?”

You question the Darling while searching those sea-green eyes for any signs of pain.

Finnick offers a slight nod, casting a glance in your direction while adjusting the sugar.

One cube, ‘yes’

You nod in understanding. Even though the ache inside his chest still hurt you at least managed to help him start to move past it. The two of you stay at the counter for a long while. Secrets pass back and forth via sugarcube and Finnick has another cup of tea. You move in quiet tandem with one another as he preps the tea and you clean up your steeper and mug in the sink. Softly you hum a small rhyming tune from your childhood as you scrub along the inside of your mug, there’s a sense of domesticity in the air and you can’t help feeling more at ease.

Once everything is clean and put away except the sugarcubes you find yourself on your living room sofa, there’s a space between where your knees are tucked up against you and where Finnick sits. The tin of white crystals sits in that space, the Darling victor plucking up cubes every once in a while to suck on. He could eat all of them and you wouldn’t have minded.

The room is dimly lit, just the light from a lantern on the unused desk beside the fireplace. A soft glow is painted across Finnick’s features that makes his eyes sparkle and spread warmth up your cheeks, the tips of your ears surely going red. You try to suffocate the warmth as it threatens to bubble up past your grasp.

As time passes Finnick eventually speaks of what happened. You listen with full attention and offer much sympathy and reassurance once he’s finished. You thank the charming male for allowing himself to be open with you and he admits, “It’s easy to be an open book when it’s you,” and those sea-green irises seem to light up even more. That warmth twists your insides as your stomach does what feels like a backflip. “Thank you…for letting me in tonight,” he murmurs with that perfect smile, the outer corners of his eyes crinkle, and dimples press into his cheeks. The smile you return is equally as wide and sweet.

“Always. I’ll always be here Finn, and you’re welcome to stay here if you want tonight. There’s plenty of space,” You breathe through a slight laugh. The big house you were gifted in Victor’s Village was far too big to have just yourself anyway and this wouldn’t be the first time the Darling spent the night.

With a nod and a pat to the space between you, you nod towards the stairs before moving to snuff out the lantern. Finnick follows, closing the sugarcube tin and placing it on the coffee table. Quietly you two head upstairs, small giggles peppering the air as the stairs creak.

When you enter your bedroom you rummage in a drawer for a pair of sweats you had ‘borrowed’ from the Darling a while ago when it had been your turn to appear at his doorstep with tears in your eyes. “Here,” you speak gently while holding them out. A cheshire smirk creeps over Finnick’s face as he takes the pants.

“So that’s where these went~”

You shush him with a sarcastic wave of your hand, letting him go into the bathroom to change while you move to sit cross-legged on the plush mattress. You preferred sleeping with many soft blankets and pillows like your own nest. It helped you feel safe when alone - though most would end up kicked off or stolen by the furnace of a man you often shared the bed with. Your revenge usually came in the morning as your icy fingers assaulted the warmth of his lower back with a fit of laughter.

You smile tenderly at the thought as Finnick reappears.

“What?” He asks.

That coy smirk is still plastered on his lips as he comes over to sit beside you. “Hm? Oh - nothing. Lay down, I’m tired." You offer with a hum. He nods before joining you under the covers. You face one another, looking into each other's eyes. Slowly, you feel his hand creep over to yours and interlace your pinkie fingers.

“Is this okay?” Those heart-melting puppy dog eyes return. You can’t help the sweet smile on your face and the warmth on your cheeks.

“Always.”

{{ taglist }}

@justtrying2getby

[princessbrunette]

you were headed to the control tower. it was the haven above the camp that saw everything, heard everything — and yet felt so out of reach and oddly peaceful. that’s where apocalypse!pope always resided, and today was like no other.

obviously, at the end of the world it’s not often you see anyone skipping around, singing and jumping for joy — but pope had been real moody. it was totally valid, since sarah died and all… but the group had finally been finding ways to cope. moments of solace. moments of laughter and joy where you could forget for a second what the world had become. but not pope, no — he’d lost so much. he was tense, you could see it in his body language from the way his shoulders were all tight and you could see the hunger for revenge in his eyes. there was nothing you could do or say to ease that, hell — you’d come to terms with the fact he’d probably drive himself straight into his death over it… but you could try and prolong it. take some weight off his shoulders even for a moment.

“knock knock!” you hum brightly, not wanting to startle him as you poke your head round the door, the sweet chime of your voice accompanied by two solid wraps at the tower door. you were still a little out of breath from climbing all the steps up when pope glances over his shoulder at you before promptly removing his headphones.

“oh, hey.”

as you step inside, you’re quick to gently close the door behind you. you got the sense that pope enjoyed being shut off from the outside. when he realises you’re here to stay, he swivels round in his chair to face you — slumped in his hoodie. “anything i can do for you?”

“no uh, thought i’d hang for a bit if that’s okay?”

his first instinct is to say no and busy himself with something else — but it was you, so his eyes soften and he shrugs.

“well, i’m not much fun right now. i’ve spent hours checking through the index of radio stations i can connect mine to. whoever we heard last week must’ve just been passing through.” he converses, wringing the wire of his headphones between his wrists. “or it’s rafe, just messing with us.” at the mention of the eldest cameron his nose curls and his eyes are cast down angrily — never missing an opportunity to spit venom at the killer.

you nod sensitively, shuffling a little closer. “right, yeah. could be.” you breathe — and let him cool off until he’s back with you, eyes flickering back up. “do i smell…”

that pretty smile reaches your lips and you dig into your pocket, pulling out the joint. “should’ve known you’d pick it up.”

some guy on your camp had been farming cannabis since you’d let him in. he offered a pretty sick trade, do his daily tasks and he’d hand you a generous lump— even roll it for you if you bat your lashes. pope grins too at first, and then it’s like he catches himself and he swallows it down, clearing his throat.

“yeah…uh, as much as i’d love that right now i should probably… keep the signal clear. you know, just incase.” you wanted to grip him by the shoulders and shake him. just let yourself have fun. stop punishing yourself.

“pope,” you deflate. “it’s been a week since you’ve come into contact with anyone through the radios. you’ve been sitting in here, cooped up, alone. just… a few hours of relaxation. that’s all i ask.” you pull out the doe eyes, and it’s like he’s the tiny insect in your venus fly trap because it works and he tips his head back sighing before nodding.

“fine. do you have a lighter or are we gonna have to do this the old fashioned way?”

an hour passes — and with the help of the stale doritos in your backpack, a joint, and some well deserved giggles, somehow you’ve relaxed pope to the point of having his pants around his ankles, ass scooched right to the edge of his seat where he slumps back, legs open with you between them.

you stare up at him sweetly through red iris as you pull off for a moment, savouring the moment and licking up his pearly precum. he lets out a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as if momentarily regaining the consciousness.

“how did we… end up here?” he strains and you hum out a sound that resembles ‘i dunno…’ before pulling off with a wet pop.

“jus’ enjoy it… you taste good.”

“fuck.” he sighs, resting the crevice of his arm over his forehead as he leans back. you push him further into your mouth, and it’s like something snaps — the resistance he’d been putting up. momentarily, he’s limp — before suddenly he’s pushing his hips up, gagging you.

“shit, i’m sorry. i’m so… fucking sorry.” he moans, gentle hands contradicting his actions as he caresses your hair and rubs at your scalp with his thumbs all whilst using you as handlebars to fuck your throat. wet gags fill the room, and if you weren’t so hazy and out of it you might’ve needed a moment— but instead you let him, aroused and lazy as he manhandles your face. “feel so good— you— make— me— feel— better.” each word is punctuated with a thrust, before soon he’s throwing buckets of his warm seed down you.

there’s not a second of hesitation post orgasm before his guilt settles back in and he’s leaning forward, eyes wide and red as he holds your cheeks watching you sniffle and splutter.

“hey, hey— was i too rough? i’m sorry beautiful. god, i’m sorry.”

as soon as you can speak, you do. “pope, s’okay!” you squeak, letting out a giggle that relieves him enough to pause, catching his breath. “i liked it. i liked seeing you let go.”

“…probably let go a little too much.” he’s pulling his pants up and you shrink a little, watching him spin back round to the radios. “knowing my luck i missed something, missed a communication or—”

“you didn’t.” you interrupt, and he turns back round, analysing you. before he says a thing, your brows furrow. “nothing happened. you just relaxed. come down to the house pope. sleep.”

“i sleep in here—”

“not tonight.” you’re still on your knees, clammy hands clasped pathetically on your lap with his arousal actively drying into your skin. “please.”

pope blinks, melting just a little more once before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the centre of your forehead.

“okay.”

[digitalk24]

We provide stock future tips, nifty future tips, option trading tips, nifty option tips with good accuracy upto 80 to 90.Unlock the potential of stock future with expert tips and tricks. We'll guide you through the intricacies of stock future trading, helping you make informed decisions that align with your investment goals and risk tolerance.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

what wasnt being said in the poly poolverine storyline??? youve got me so hooked on this one

Enjoy a smut

"So, Angel baby," Wade demanded when you settled on the couch, "make with the details. What'd they say?"

You take a drink and a deep breath and Logan trades looks with Wade behind your head as they take seats on either side of you. "Well. My brain is still there, so that's good news."

"But," Logan prompted, feeling his stomach sink unpleasantly.

"But," you sigh, "they're going to try some new meds and if that doesn't work surgery IF I'm even a candidate for it. But IF they do that the recovery time is a beast and so is the therapy and-"

"We'll figure it out," Wade said.

You shake your head, "I don't expect you to-"

"Shut up," Logan said without any real heat, dropping an arm around your shoulders.

"And," you sigh, "there's still the risk that it could leave me worse off than I am now."

"We'll figure it all out," Wade said, kissing the side of your head.

"I still understand if-"

"Shut up," they tell you in unison.

Wade grabbed your chin and licked into your mouth, cutting off anything else you could say as he kissed you. His usual gentleness replaced with something like desperation. Days of pent up anxieties that had been gnawing at him bubbling up. And on your other side, Logan isn't about to be left out. Taking advantage of the exposed, tender skin on your neck to make his own feelings about it known. Scraping the flesh with his teeth. Making you whimper

"Aw hell no," Althea muttered, "Not this shit again."

You try to pull away from Wade to stammer an apology but Wade keeps hold of your hair and nips at your lip possessively, grinning when you close your eyes and shiver. "Poor neglected angel baby," he cooed, "Look at her, Peanut-"

The Apartment door slammed with Althea's exit and Logan's only response was to carefully shred your shirt. Leaving you in a bralette and your jeans on the couch. Exposing left over bits of adhesive and the bruises on your arms from blood draws and IVs. And he growls possessively. Burrying his face in your breasts and nuzzling briefly before he knelt in front of you and pushed your knees apart. Kissing the bruises on your arms.

"Good girl," Wade said, pulling off his shirt, "Just relax. Think you can take us today, huh?"

"Want to," you whine, letting your head loll back. "Missed my boys."

"You can do it, Princess," Logan growled, unbuttoning your jeans and trailing soft kisses down your stomach.

"He's so soft for you, baby," Wade purred. "Got us both so owned we're stupid. Not goin' anywhere, 'kay?"

"I just don't want you to have to take care of me," you protest, going tense.

Logan grumbled and pulled your jeans and panties down, leaving you exposed you him, and sank his teeth into your thigh. Sharply enough that you cried out, and he licked tenderly at the bite to soothe it. "Ours," he grunted.

"God that's fuckin' hot-"

"Wade," you whine. It's hard to focus. It's hard to think. It's hard to do anything except WANT when they're touching you like this. And when Logan smirks up at you, teasing your folds with just the pad of his index finger, almost lazily- you can only whimper.

"Angel baby," Wade crooned, "what's the matter, huh? You wanna play too?" He shimmied out of his pants and let his cock spring free, "Come to papa. Let's give you something to do, huh?"

And you do, licking at his tip to tease him. Satisfied when you feel his hands in your hair to stroke it. "That's it, Sweetie. Feels better, hu- Fuuuck. Yes. You know what I- Shit."

"Good girl," Logan growled. Giving you a little more now that you're starting to relax some. Losing yourself like you need to- to not think so much. To not worry so much. And your answering muffled mewl is like music to his ears. "That's it, kid. Gonna put two inside you, kay?" Better Music to his ears s that Wade is helpless in your capable hands. All he can do is sing your praises and try not to fuck your face.

Logan could sympathize- You had some super fucking human blowjob skills and he was willing to bet if Wade so much as twitched he was gonna lose it. But- there were rules. And when you were with them, they'd both agreed "Ladies First" was the first rule. It wasn't going to be fair if you hurt yourself and had to tap out before you got to come. They learned that the hard way.

He kept working you and kept at it, slow and steady. Enjoying the steady cresendo of your release. And when you did come, moaning incoherently around Wade's cock, his breathless little scream made Logan grin as he watched his other lover spatter come down your chest- careful not to get it on your face or in your hair.

"Christ," he panted, "What is this Prom night?"

Logan smirked and kissed you before he kissed Wade, "What's the matter, bub, she get the best of ya?"

"It's the fucking tongue thing. Every time- succubus." He pouted and leaned down to kiss you, wiping come off you with his discarded shirt, "Did you have a gay boyfriend or something? Fuck."

You snort, "If you learn to suck dick, suddenly boys don't care as much if you don't really want to fuck."

"Only because they don't know how to fuck," Logan growled, rubbing your hips.

"Such a DILF thing to say," Wade said, leaning over to kiss Logan, "as soon as I can feel my legs again-"

"As soon as you can feel your fucking legs, you pussy," he said, smirking, "you're sucking my dick while she sits on my face."

"So bossy," Wade pouted, "Guess I gotta get my kisses in now huh? Since Logi-bear decided he wants to be Daddy today."

[lightsovermonaco]

an: requests and comments always welcome!

wc: 1250

Summary: Pato surprises you by coming home for your anniversary. Fluff with a slight bit of suggestiveness at the end.

One full year. One full year of dating the most thoughtful, obnoxious, beautiful, annoying soul of a man. Three hundred and sixty five days of weird faces, suggestive Snapchat captions, and random phone calls. There's been less drama and more love than you could've ever dreamed. 

You wouldn't trade the past twelve months for anything in the world. 

Dating Pato hasn't been all puppies and rainbows- although Norbi had joined the two of you on a picnic once and you had seen multiple full rainbows. There's challenges, most of which stem from the constant distance and busy schedules. But one way or another, Pato always finds a way to make you feel like he's only in the next room instead of a few states away. 

Whether it be sending you flowers after you've ranted over text or facetiming you for thirty seconds to wish you a good morning, Pato does what he can. Sometimes it's overwhelming to have him away from home so long. There's days where you aren't sure how much longer you can go without holding him in your arms or feeling his stubbly cheeks beneath your fingertips. Pato must have a sixth sense for those things however, because he always seems to know and always gives you a little more love on the rough days. 

Tonight though, you've got the man all to yourself. The lottery drew your number.  You don't know what sacrifice he's made to the scheduling gods, but he's managed to come home for your anniversary just two days before a race. And the worst part? Pato hadn't given you any warning. You'd opened the door in your pajamas, expecting your door dash order instead of the whole package. 

Once you'd attacked him and thoroughly smattered his face with kisses, you'd worked up the courage to ask how long he'd be home. 

“It's only eight hours, I have a plane later tonight to catch back to Milwaukee. But I figured a few hours is better than seeing your face on a screen.” 

“It's so much better Pato,” you murmur and steal another kiss. You can't help it; you're addicted to him and have been in withdrawal for far too long. “I missed you so fucking much.” 

“Trust me, I missed you more.” Pato nudges your jaw with his nose. You understand his request and tip your head to give him full access to your neck, letting any thoughts of that very important work project that had to be finished this week float away on the breeze. 

If you only had eight hours with your man, you were going to make the most of them. 

“Upstairs,” you breathe, fingers tangling in his freshly styled hair. “Now, Pato.”

“Ma'am yes ma'am.”

**********

After spending a few hours wrapped up in each other, Pato had finally convinced you to go out to lunch with him. He'd picked your dress, a burnt orange satin number with thin straps and a slit up the leg that nearly went to your hip.

With Pato dressed in a charcoal quarter zip that's shamefully unzipped and his hair fluffed just how you like it, it's a miracle you've made it through the first course without jumping him. Because with that much of his neck on display and the proof of your earlier fun poking out from under the collar, it's taking every ounce of willpower to keep from dragging him out of this fancy restaurant and begging him to put some marks of his own on you. 

"My eyes are up here hermosa." 

"Hmm? Oh- no I know Pato, sorry! I just got distracted." Pato shifts to allow more skin to show. His smirk tells you he knows exactly what he's doing.

“I seem to distract you a lot don't I? Like before when I got home and you were working on that project…” Pato swipes his index finger through the pasta sauce on his plate and licks it clean. Thoughts swirl in your head like mist, though the only one that materializes is the memory of where those fingers had been an hour ago.

“Uh… sure…” 

“Not doing yourself much justice here, are you?” Pato tips his head, brown eyes warm and sparkling. “Good thing you're cute- you're not a very good conversation partner when your head is up on mars.”

“Well maybe if you wouldn't be so hot all the time,” you mumble, spearing pasta on your fork. “It would make my life a lot easier. Then maybe I could get through a meal without losing my train of thought.”

Pato's cute little dimples are on full display when he smiles. Your stomach does flips as if you're back in high school sitting across from your crush. It's crazy how he still has that effect on you now. You'd once worried that the spark would fade and you'd get bored of each other. Now though, you're positive that it's still as alive and hot as the day you met. 

“We both know you don't mean that. These,” Pato taps one of the bruises on his neck, “are proof that you love me just how I am.”

“Yeah well, all I'm saying is once in a while you could show me some mercy, you know? You c-could-” you stutter when Pato's hand meets your knee. Hidden under the table and exposed by the slit in your dress, his thumb moves over your smooth skin whilst his eyes remain trained on you. 

“Hermosa? Everything alright?” Pato smiles sweetly as his hand slides halfway up your thigh. Now you know why he asked for the tiniest table tucked away in the corner. Considering Pato's smug grin, his public torture is having the desired effect. 

“I'm- I'm fine Pato. Perfectly fine.” You clear your throat and shift in your seat so that you're out of his reach. For a split second, you feel guilty when Pato frowns. But instead of giving up, he ups the ante. Pato simply moves his own chair so that he can replace his hand exactly where it was. You should've known he wouldn't let you get away so easily; Pato isn't one to be deterred. 

“Actually,” you purr, laying your hand on his arm, “it would be better if you could let me finish eating in peace.”

“Mmm let me think about it.” Pato drums His fingers on your thigh and purses his lips. You both know the answer before the, “no,” leaves his lips. 

You huff and curl your fingers so your nails dig into his sweater. “This isn't fair Pato. I can't do anything to you, and you're set on torturing me.”

“I think the solution is simple.” When you stare at him blankly, Pato shrugs. “Finish your meal. The quicker you finish eating, the quicker we can get home, yeah?” Pato's wink is accompanied by a dip of his hand between your thighs, there and gone. As quick as it is, his touch is still enough to leave you scrambled. 

“Just pay the bill. I'm done eating.”

“But I ordered dessert-” 

“And I’ll be the dessert as long as you get me home in the next twenty minutes.” a mischievous glint dances in Pato’s eyes. His hand stays exactly where it is whilst the server retrieves the tab. Pato takes one look at it and leaves cash on the table, not bothering with change. 

Pato makes it home with three minutes to spare, and as promised, makes you his dessert. 

[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!

[marydswitchduet]

Directory Updated*

*Last update 10/25/24

If nothing else, I've always prided myself on being able to find a lot of random info to absorb. Very akin to Samwell Tarly, in more ways than one. Dominantlife once had a library of a bunch is BDSM guides and how to either developed by them or curated by them if they were not the author.

Idk about anyone else but I could use one of those again.

So below are links to my reposts of guides, info, directories, information, and anything else with more than one link that I feel anyone would benefit from having easy access to. Some are BDSM, some are D/S, some have AB/DL elements, maybe some of them mix for you

For the record, I'm sharing content I've reposted but none of it was created by me.

KINK AWARE PROFESSIONALS DIRECTORY MADE BY TEDDYBEAR-WITHME

Healthy Sexual Communication:

Faking Orgasms

Taking Your Tongue Cross-“Cunt”-try (Cunnilingus Tips) below

50 Things Public Sex Ed Probably Never Taught You

Naughty Games

Roleplaying Resources

SAFE WORDS AND CONSENT

AB/DL:

DIAPER FLUFFING: LEARN IF YOU DON'T KNOW!

What to do when regressed alone

How to Make Adult-Sized Baby Diapers

Why Your Partner Likes Diapers and May Want to Wear 24/7

Increasing Diaper Discipline Involvement

Unique Scenarios w/ BDSM Flavor

Discovering Your Partner's ABDL Identity & Supporting Them

Hypno Collection

Wearing Diapers in Public - Tips and Tricks of the Trade

AB/DL Stores

AB/DL Stories:

OmNomNomDom’s AB/DL Fiction Index

MD/lb Stories & Creators (Paddedlittleparadise)

AB/DL Little Space:

Making Us Feel EXTRA Little

Baby Diaper Look-Alikes

How to Make Diaper Checks MORE Humiliating

The Perfect AB/DL Diaper Check: A step-by-step guide

Amazing Blogs and Where to Find Them

Things to Say to Your Diaper Wearing Little

Making Her Feel Little

Q's to Ask Your Little Boy

25 Things All Mommies Say

Top 10 Things a Spouse can do for Their ABDL Partner

Building Your Little Kit

Ways to put your Little to Sleep

Deciphering Little Moods

50 Ways to Make Your Little COMBUST🔥

CNC Ideas for Littles (below)

5 Tips to FULLY Regress

Sex Toys:

Guide(s) [Spanking, gags, rope tutorials, etc]

Gag Inspiration

Lucy’s Fantasy Dildo Shop Link MasterList

Toy Vendors & Creators

FERAL FUCK'S ALTERNATIVE SEX TOY SHOPS (Another Directory, warning)

Making a Tail Plug

BDSM:

Breathplay Guide

Measuring yourself for a chastity cage (below)

A Guide to Spanking & Impact Play

How Hard is TOO Hard (Spanking Reference)

Spanking Tips

Basic Rope Harness Graphic

How to Make Your Sub Feel Owned

Wax Play Graphic

Guide to Butt Stuff

Dom/Sub Language:

What to Say Other Than "It's Too Much"

D/S Prompts, Scenarios, and Phrases

Femdom

Controlling Your Male Sub

Torture Idea

What Straight Men Need to Know About Pegging

Pegging Positions to make it better for everyone

Prostate Milking in Chastity

Femdom Ideas, Thoughts, & Scenarios

AFTERCARE:

Dom Drops Aftercare

This will likely be continuously updated as I find things, will add dates for when updated

[the-fluff-piece]

Hello! For your event, I would like to request, please! Its a mix of the rules I guess? I got inspired by the prompts, hope that's ok!

Gifting Law a coin he did not have - sweet fluff.

Thank you!

Hello Anon,

It's always ok to get inspired by the prompts, that is a great request, I had a lot of fun with it ❤

This is part of the follower milestone event

If you like this story check out my masterlist

Here's

A coin for your thoughts

You use your alone time with Law to give him your newest find: a very rare coin with a rich history. His infodump can only be stopped with lots of kisses!

Sweet, fluffy, comforting

You found it in an antique shop - a rusty, small coin with peculiar pictures on it. One side showed a single lighthouse and a banner reading "mist island", the other showed various scientific tools engulfed by swirling tendrils of smoke - or mist?

As you looked at it the clerk gave you short information about the heritage of the coin, confirming your suspicion: the island, said to be situated in the new world, is shrouded in a mysterious mist that never lifts. Scientists from the world government tried to research it, a city was built, people moved there.

But after about 10 years, everyone on the island vanished without a trace. This coin was really, really rare. You employed all your skills to check for its authenticity, and went to great lengths to get it at a good price - eventually settling for a trade where you gave up a souvenir from your journeys in exchange.

With a big smile, you returned to the Polar Tang - what would Law say to it? Will he like it? Will he recognise it? His knowledge of the coins and their stories was vast, surely he knew more about it than the clerk.

You waited all day until it was time to retire to your shared room. Law sat down on his desk to "just read a little bit more" as he promised, but he wouldn't get the chance. You had cleaned and polished the coin until it looked brand new and the copper and silver alloy showed its beautiful colours.

Standing behind him, you looked over his shoulder - anatomy. He read the same books again and again and never got sick of them. You watched him trace the line of a muscle on the page with his finger, letting him finish following the inked picture to its end. When he was done, he looked behind and smiled at you, just breathing your name as he always did to tell you he was now there for you.

Without a word, you slipped the small trinket onto the page and prepared for his reaction. His blue eyes widened and his whole face changed to that of a little boy who just got the present of his life. He created a small frame with his thumb and index finger to hold the small coin to the light of his desk lamp.

"Mist island!" His voice was not the deep and sensual velvet you were used to. Instead, he sounded more boyish, his voice a higher pitch and with a vivid inflection of happiness.

Turning around the silvery object in his long, nimble fingers, he watched the light play around the edged lines, his thumb regularly brushing over the surface to feel the smoothness of the coin and follow the small pictures on it. He spent a long time studying the swirling mist, doubtlessly feeling every detail with his sensitive finger tips.

His mouth stood open in a silent smile as you watched him lovingly, seeing how much joy your gift brought him.

"Ah!" A short noise escaped him. "An impurity!" He pointed to the smallest imperfection in the material.

"You know this happens when the temperature changes to fast in production" he explained to you for what must the millionth time. But you didn't mind, he just loved talking about alloys and metal production. It was heralding the spill of information that was to follow.

Law pushed the chair back from the desk and collected you onto his lap, putting his arms around you so that you two were looking at the coin together. He rested his chin on your shoulder and pressed his cheek to your face. His beard tickled you as he spoke:

"The island was a scientific research centre to lift the mystery of the mist!" He explained close to your ear in his best nerd-voice, leaving a second to chuckle at his expert joke. He held up the side of the coin with the curling mist.

"Because the mist never lifted, it never even got thinner, the island was shrouded in darkness all day, all year. It was unusually thick. The lighthouse" - he turned the coin around - "was the strongest the marine ever built, but it could hardly penetrate the thick soup. Many ships broke on the perilous coast. The great marine scientist Prof Voltan tried to get to the bottom of it all and he vanished alongside his crew of scientists and all the inhabitants of the island in one night. The speculations are outlandish!" He laughed.

"There were even rumours about pre-existing structures on the island, full of unknown symbols and pictures..." his voice trailed off.

"But that's all nonsense!" He concluded, although he couldn't hide a bit of excitement in his voice. He was so adorable when he nerded about his interests. You couldn't help but to kiss his cheek and he smiled, but he didn't stop talking.

"You know they used a special tool to catch and analyse the mist" he explained, not letting your kisses down his jaw distract him. You turned around on his lap to straddle him and reach his kissable areas more easily.

He continued his lesson: "they called it the nebuloscope! It sucked in the mist" your mouth made a sucking sound as you worked on the soft skin of his neck " and the great problem was to build a container from where it couldn't..." he couldn't end the sentence, since you nibbled at the soft patch of skin on his neck that made him loose his mind without fail.

"It couldn't...i mean the couldn't...it wasnt...", he tried to continue a few more times but failed, his speech slurred into a pant.

"Babe stop that..." he panted as you mercilessly held his skin between your lips. However, you were in a good mood and stopped, for him.

He exhaled and shifted beneath you, as his little nerd brain whipped him to tell you even more of the island mystery: "the coin itself is made from ore found on the island, it's not exactly common silver and copper." You let him explain for a short while before kissing trails down his chest as you unbuttoned his shirt.

He leaned back with his brows creased and a whimper, and continued to dump all the info in his head onto you.

"The ore...had strange properties...marine...tried to harvest it...but..." the small movements you made with your hips seemed to steal the blood from his head and you opened his shirt to marvel at your boyfriend's chest. His eyes were pressed close as he struggled for control. He knew he would eventually lose but he held on bravely. He was just trying to get into iron smelting as you pressed soft kisses to his mouth, stopping the flow of words gently.

He put the coin on his desk and wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to carry you to the bed. As he laid you down and came to rest next to you, he began to repay the favour, nibbling on you ear.

"Thank you babe, I love you" he whispered into your ear and stopped talking for the night as he cuddled you happily. The rest of his speech would come tomorrow at breakfast .

__________

This one was really fun and inspiring to me. Maybe Law and y/n will find a misty island one day and have a spooky mystery adventure?

[katz-chow]

my first time requesting im sorry if it sounds really bad or cringe ehehsbbejrr

how do you think Simon would react to someone who has a seashell collection they are v e r y overprotective of and they give him one of the seashells because they trust him???

selling seashells by the seashore? nope!

synopsis: what the ask said! + a bit more because i started to really get into it

warnings: fluff, sfw, gn! reader, established relationship, marriage, a glimpse into simon's private life, soap being soap

a/n: i’m literally on an island rn and i’m pretty sure this seagull is screaming at me so i thought this would be very fitting 😝

Simon definitely has his pockets filled, only with Moroccan sand and shells and rocks and…possibly a starfish? It’s not much, but truly it’s honest work when it comes to him picking up and inspecting every shell or sea cookie there is out here on this damn beach. Soap hollers at him from a few yards away, hand beckoning for him to come over.

“Ain’t this one a big ol' Lad?” Johnny says with his hand on his hip and the other pointing down at a huge mollusk, it’s opal and rainbowed color shone in the blazing sun.

The taller one smiled behind his mask and grunted as his knees popped, reaching down to pick it up. With a knife, he poked and prodded into whatever was in it, which was now just a dead, sandy mess at his feet. “Pretty, then again, anything prettier than your face, Johnny.”

Soap glared at him, “Yeah, at least I have a face.”

Simon missed you terribly. Miles and miles away, he just thinks about how his lovely spouse is on their daily walk down the beach, trading and finding pretty shells to show him once he gets back. You two do this every time he comes home. After a few days of resting (with mostly Simon either shutting off in his own room or hiding his face in the crook of your neck in your shared room), you sit him down on the kitchen table and pull out your beach bag to debrief about the new shells. Each one with a different story attached to it and each one you wanted to share and love.

“I got this one from a fisherman that caught it in his net when he went fishing in the Bahamas!” You showed him a huge, pink and white conch shell that was larger than both your hands combined.

Simon smiled at you and took your prized possession from your hands and inspected the shiny finishing of it. “You weren’t at the Bahamas, Lovie, what did you do to get it?”

“Oh I traded a hermit crab shell for his nephew’s crab.” You said fondly, petting the shell that looked normal sized in his own hands.

Simon pockets the large nautilus shell into his bag somewhere and feels his breast pocket for the small, spiral shell that you’ve gifted him. It was his birthday, the day you saw his toothy grin for the first time.

You had found a beautiful, black, spiral shell the size of a blade. Taking it home, you filed the tip into it was sharp enough to cut through…something, you thought. You don’t know what he exactly would cut, but it’ll come in handy right?

He cried that day when you sheepishly offered him this small gift box, a silver bow resting on the top of it. After you calmed him down and held onto his arm, he opened it and a goofy smile replaced his tears.

“I sharpened it, it’s like a…like uhm a shank?” You said, rather confused actually.

Your husband snorts at your reasoning and picks up the lustrous black shell into his hands. He examines it closely, spinning and turning it in his fingers to make it shine in different angles. With the hard padding of his index finger he grazed the tip of the shell, and sure enough, it was sharp. Simon huffs a laugh to himself thinking about how he could potentially use this as his next melee weapon.

“Do you…like it?” You ask him hesitantly, sitting across from him on the couch. Your own hand fidgeted with each other as you pull and push on your knuckles, making them pop gently.

The large man in front of you looks up at you, eyes a bit wide in confusion. A small gasp is heard from the parting of his lips and he softens his gaze, looking at you fully. He didn’t laugh at you, he laughed at himself. “It’s silly…to be killed with a seashell, hmm?”

Large hands found yours as he abandoned the shell temporarily on the safe coffee table. He kisses your forehead. “Of course I love it, my sea star…best gift ever.”

Simon knew that it wasn’t just a gift from his spouse that day. No that’d be too simple, and his life is anything but. That was a piece of you, your love for him manifesting in such a small, delicate object. To break it, was to break a piece of you…and you would raise hell if he did.

His face settled on a slightly less disgruntled face under his mask as he looked off into the coast. With a pat on the breast pocket of his vest, he pondered to himself, ‘This time, it’ll be different.’ This time he has his own collection to present to you. This time he knows you’ll be even more excited than that time you found a perfectly round sand dollar when he shows you these little treasures. Maybe this time you’ll even scream when he shows you this dried starfish.

But one thing’s for sure, he’ll come home to you after all this. And one day, there’ll be no more war, no more bloodshed, just two old spouses sitting on the beach, the sun rising steadily, and a wall of shells from coasts all around the world.

[digitalk24]

Maximizing Returns in the Stock Market: A Guide to Trading Tips

Introduction

Investing in the stock market can be a lucrative endeavor, but it also comes with its fair share of risks and uncertainties. To navigate this complex financial landscape successfully, traders often rely on various strategies and tips. In this article, we will explore some essential trading tips, including stock cash tips, index option tips, BTST (Buy Today, Sell Tomorrow) trading, stock future tips, and intraday trading tips, to help you make informed decisions and maximize your returns.

Stock Cash Tips

Stock cash tips, also known as equity cash tips, are recommendations provided by financial experts or advisory firms to help traders make informed decisions when trading in the equity or cash segment of the stock market. These tips typically include information about which stocks to buy or sell in the short or long term.

To make the most of stock cash tips:

Research the recommended stocks thoroughly.

Diversify your portfolio to manage risk.

Stay updated with market news and events.

Index Option Tips

Index option tips are specifically designed for traders interested in options trading within stock market indices like the S&P 500 or Nifty 50. Options provide traders the right, but not the obligation, to buy or sell an index at a predetermined price.

To benefit from index option tips:

Understand the basics of options trading.

Analyze market volatility.

Set clear entry and exit strategies.

BTST Trading (Buy Today, Sell Tomorrow)

BTST trading is a popular strategy where traders buy stocks today and sell them the following trading day. This approach is well-suited for those who anticipate short-term price movements and want to capitalize on them.

To succeed in BTST trading:

Identify stocks with potential for short-term gains.

Monitor market trends and news closely.

Set stop-loss orders to limit losses.

Stock Future Tips

Stock future tips are recommendations that focus on trading in futures contracts. Futures contracts are agreements to buy or sell a specified quantity of a particular stock at a predetermined price and date in the future.

To make the most of stock future tips:

Understand the mechanics of futures trading.

Analyze technical and fundamental factors.

Use risk management tools to protect your capital.

Intraday Trading Tips

Intraday trading involves buying and selling stocks within the same trading day. It requires a keen understanding of market trends, technical analysis, and quick decision-making.

To excel in intraday trading:

Develop a robust trading strategy.

Use technical indicators for entry and exit points.

Keep emotions in check and stick to your plan.

Conclusion

Successful trading in the stock market requires a combination of knowledge, discipline, and the right strategy. Stock cash tips, index option tips, BTST trading, stock future tips, and intraday trading tips are valuable tools that can help you make informed decisions and maximize your returns. However, it's crucial to remember that no tip or strategy guarantees success, and the stock market always carries inherent risks. Therefore, always do your research, manage your risk, and stay updated with market developments to make the most of your trading journey.

 click here for more details: