#greta van fleet x reader

[sunflower-gvf]

thinking about jake being needy because you just feel so good

you and jake had been going at it for god knows how long, but the sight beneath you made you want to never stop. 

“baby, you feel so, fuck, so fucking good,” he struggled to say in the midst of pleasure.

you were on his lap, bouncing and grinding your hips against his.

“f-fuck, you’re so fucking big, jake.” you whine when his cock reaches that spot inside of you. his hands grip your hips so tight there will probably be marks in the morning, not that you mind. his chest and face gleam with a slight sheen of sweat and you can help yourself when you lean down, letting the flat of your tongue slide up his neck, tasting his salty skin.

 “o-oh my god, baby.” he lets out a guttural groan at your actions, eyes closed tight in pleasure. you bring a hand to the base of his throat, squeezing just a little. “b-baby no, don’t, i-i’m gonna-” he chokes out, hips bucking up to fuck up into you. 

“c’mon, jake, want you to fill me up.” you moan, your own release nearing. he nods dumbly before letting out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan, hips stuttering as you feel cum inside you. this triggers your own release, throwing your head back and moaning his name. you feel his hands come up to palm your tits roughly as you work through your release.

opening your eyes, you’re met with jake’s fucked out expression and god, you wish you could take a picture at the sight. “love you, baby.” he says between pants, making you smile

“i love you too, jake.”

MEOW MEOW MEOW i started writing this literally months ago and never finished it wtf (not proofread sry😟)

[so-sangthearcher]

I think each of the boys would have a different way of greeting you after getting off stage:

I think Jake would put his arm around you, ask "how'd you like it?" and then drag you into the shower with him. He'd tell you that he was thinking about you the whole show, and make the bathroom a little extra steamy.

Josh would plant a wet kiss right on your forehead and snuggle into your neck before taking you to his dressing room and changing whilst you make him a throat coat tea. (He'd definitely save you a rose).

Sam would just flop down on the green room couch, practically laying on top of you, koala-ing himself onto you and thank you for coming. He'd absolutely pass out until it was time to go, and then coerce you into "helping" him change.

Danny, I think, would make the biggest deal, wrapping you in a tight hug, maybe even picking you up off the ground and spinning you around. He would most definitely kiss you and make you shower with him. He'd also ALWAYS ask what your favorite part was.

[stardustvanfleet]

Backstage Baby (Jake Kiszka x Groupie!Reader)

SMUT. 18+ ONLY! MDNI!!!!!

PAIRING: Jake Kiszka x F!Reader

WORDS: 4k

WARNINGS: Dom!Jake. BASICALLY PWP. rough unprotected sex, edging, daddy kink, light choking (blink and you’ll miss it), mix of praise and degradation, nicknames (baby, princess, good girl, slut), my obsession with jake’s silver medallion, ending with flirtatious fluffy aftercare.

A/N: i’ve been writing band rpf for years, but this is my first gvf fic! ever since seeing them in boston on 9/15, i have literally been walking around in a daze, daydreaming about going backstage with jake……. and this is the result lmfao. title inspired by B-Side Baby by Adam Ant. i’m always looking for more gvf friends to discuss ideas with….. and also just cry and lose my mind with LMAO. anyway— i hope you enjoy! XO, li

••••••••••••••••••••

No matter how many times you saw Jake up there, he still made you breathless.

That furrowed concentration on his brow as his expert fingers flew across the strings… his hair falling across his shoulders… the way he would rock and grind against his guitar, glowing under the lights as sweat dripped down his forehead, his chest bare and slick from perspiration…

You didn’t really ever plan on becoming a groupie. The effect that Jake had on you had been intense enough long before you started following Greta Van Fleet around the country, before you’d even once thought you’d ever be in a room with him smaller than a stadium. But you hadn’t expected anything like the way things had actually gone. They had always said real life was stranger than fiction, but you had never thought its twists and turns could be this earth-shattering.

It had started with the eye contact. The first few times it happened, you couldn’t be sure if you were imagining things, your head perhaps fuzzy from the thrill of numerous front-row nights in a row… but when Jake crouched down and leaned towards you mid-solo, his eyes meeting yours with a jolt of electricity, a wicked smirk on his face, you realized with a heart-stopping shudder that no, you hadn’t been imagining his eyes on you.

Those looks would intensify as the tour continued. He’d always somehow find you in the front row, letting his cool and confident gaze rest on you as he played, just long enough to leave you squeezing your thighs together involuntarily. One night, you had been approached by a stagehand, who simply passed you a note with directions to an afterparty, and even though the note had no signature, something deep down told you exactly who it had been from.

That was your first night with Jake, and you had left the next morning with aching legs that felt like jelly. Since then, every night had been fucking cinematic.

Tonight was no exception. It had been damn near impossible to take your eyes off of Jake before you’d even had any opportunity to speak to him, but now, knowing exactly what he was able to do to your body, how fucking incredible he could make you feel… seeing him like that onstage made you positively throb throughout the show, taking all of your energy just to keep your composure.

As the concert winded down, you slipped out of the pit up front, making your way to the backstage entrance. The security guards, who recognized you by now— still an odd feeling — let you in. You headed towards where you now knew the band would be coming down once they left the stage, your heart already pounding with anticipation, heat already beginning to pool between your thighs. You took a deep breath, tugging on the hem of your top, which you had intentionally chosen due to its short length: you loved the way it highlighted the curves of your waist and hips, and hoped Jake would too.

And, as always, once they emerged, it seemed as though everything was happening at once– pulling out earpieces, handing off instruments and passing equipment along – but your eyes were only on Jake, and, you realized with a shudder that wracked your entire body, his were on you.

Once his guitar had been handed off, Jake wasted no time in heading right towards you, grabbing your wrist, and leading you down the hall. He didn’t need to say anything; you knew exactly where he was taking you, and you instantly felt a wave of overwhelming desire wash over your every inch. It was truly absurd how little he had to do to turn you on.

//

He pulled you into his dressing room, and immediately pushed your back up against the closing door. Jake’s large hands pinned your shoulders against it, a soft clicking sound occurring as the door locked automatically. His lips collided sloppily with yours, kissing you with a hunger that sent your head spinning, sparks of heat igniting deep within your core.

When he finally pulled back, grazing your bottom lip with his teeth as he did so, a shiver went down your spine, and it took you far longer than intended to regain composure and open your eyes. When you did, his heavy-lidded dark eyes were on you, pupils blown wide with desire. The dominance behind his expression was enough to cause an involuntary whimper to escape you, the sound of which brought out a smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“So needy today… What a dirty girl,” he said, his tone dripping with authority, making your knees immediately weaken. His eyes never left yours as he continued teasing, knowing by now what it did to you. He leaned in, making sure you got his next few words right in your ear. “You wanna get fucked tonight? Hm?” His voice was low and seductive, leaving one hand on your shoulder to keep you pinned to the wall, while his other one stroked first down your arm, then back up, your skin lighting up under his touch. As his body pressed up against yours, you could feel him, rock-hard and throbbing against your thigh, the sensation almost overwhelming as you found yourself nodding your head as hard as you could, already difficult to find the words.

That wasn’t enough, though, not for Jake. The hand that had been stroking up and down your bare arms moved abruptly to your jaw, holding it firmly in place so his gaze was locked on yours. “I asked you a question, princess.” Your lower lip trembled desperately as Jake tilted his head ever so slightly, his expression and tone just the right amount of patronizing as his hips began to roll at a slow but steady pace against you, breathing out, “You want this cock?”

“Yes, fuck,” you managed, already feeling lightheaded at just his words and close proximity.

“There you go,” he chuckled condescendingly at the sound of you using your words for the first time. He continued to rock up against your thigh, letting the hand on your jaw slide to your throat, but not lingering there too long, not giving you yet what he knew you wanted— just staying long enough to drag his long fingers down the sensitive skin of your neck, as if examining every inch of you. What a fucking tease.

“Jake, please,” you found yourself begging, taking your free hand and gripping the lapel of his black jacket— all he was wearing over his tanned, sweaty torso, which had been making your head spin all night— “I’m so fucking hot for you. So fucking wet for you. I want you so bad, please…”

The sound of your desperation made a low sound somewhere between a chuckle and a growl rumble in Jake’s throat, and if your panties weren’t soaked through already, that alone would have been enough to get you there.

Your begging had satisfied him, for now. Jake finally released his grip, freeing you from your position pinned up against the door, only to lead you over to the white leather couch in the corner of the room. Before having you sit, however, there were two things that needed to be done. First of all, he shrugged his black jacket off from his shoulders, throwing it to the floor behind him, leaving him standing before you in nothing but those sinfully tight pants and that silver necklace that drove you wild. Through your lightheadedness, you could tell how horny he was, too— his pants left almost nothing to the imagination, and the sight of the achingly large bulge straining against the tight black fabric was making your head swim, to say nothing of the heat between your thighs.

That was when he lowered himself just enough that his lips were in line with the top button of your jeans, and you felt all breath leave your body as he looked wickedly up at you. Going slowly enough to make you squirm, but not so slowly that you’d protest, Jake unzipped your bell bottoms. His gaze never left yours as he pulled them down your legs, revealing inch after inch of your skin to him, his tongue flicking out across his own bottom lip hungrily as he watched himself undress you— this gorgeous present, all his to unwrap.

As you had anticipated, your light pink panties were so soaked they had been rendered essentially useless as a means of covering you up, and the feeling of Jake’s eyes devouring the sight of your pussy through them were only making you wetter.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed out, his eyes glancing up to meet yours for a moment before looking right back down at the burning heat between your legs. After a second or two of him just looking intently— as if committing the sight to memory— he spoke, saying, “Drives me fucking crazy…” as one of his hands found its way to the inside of your calf, stroking slowly up, further and further, “...how fucking wet you get for me, before I’ve even touched you. Goddamn.”

“Jake, please,” you begged again, your voice cracking a bit as you spread your legs to give him easier access to your inner thigh, his long fingers stroking and massaging you only centimeters from where you needed his touch the most. “I need your fingers… I need them… please.”

Your final “please” had such an undertone of neediness, desperation, it must’ve been exactly what Jake had been looking for-– and immediately, your eyes rolled back into your head as his long middle finger began to stroke deliciously up and down your clothed slit. He started at your entrance to gather your wetness through your panties, then slid upwards and flattened his fingertip out, letting the pad of the digit trace tight circles over your throbbing clit. Immediately upon the contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves, you cried out, clapping a hand over your own mouth as you, in a cloud of arousal, watched Jake play with your pussy from his position between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he kept up his steady, rhythmic circular motions.

Time seemed to stop for what could have been seconds or minutes as Jake massaged your clit and teased your entrance through your dripping panties, and it was only when your eyes were watering and whimpers were falling from your lips that he pulled his hand back, the loss of contact making you let out an involuntary whine.

But once his fingers hooked around the waistband of your panties, you realized he wasn’t teasing any longer— he was escalating. The thought made you shudder as he tugged the soaked scrap of fabric down your legs, Jake’s face flushed with heat, that gorgeous hair of his falling across his shoulders and sticking to his forehead.

Once your panties were off, he tossed them to the side, standing up and leaving you trembling on the leather couch as his hands moved down to his own waistband, his eyes meeting yours and his tongue once again swiping across his bottom lip hungrily. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he moved to pull his pants down— which, at this point, were pornographically tight— and, Jesus Christ, he looked angelic as they came off. His skin was glowing with sweat, and warm light from the dressing room’s lamps was glinting off the silver medallion around his neck. When he took his cock out, you let out yet another involuntary whimper.

Hard and thick, the tip already glistening with his arousal, just the sight of it made your mouth water. He wrapped his hand around his length, beginning to pump it up and down just slightly as he lowered himself onto the couch next to you, watching with blown-out pupils as you pulled your crop top over your head, revealing to Jake that you hadn’t worn a bra underneath it, your tits bouncing free. The realization made him growl under his breath between strokes of his cock, groaning, “Fuck… you do that for me?” Your nod made him groan all over again, rasping out, “Mmmm… you’re such a dirty girl… C’mere.”

The simple command was all you needed, giving into your desire and practically pushing yourself against his slick, toned body. The feeling of his hot skin against yours alone made you moan out loud as Jake’s hands found your hips, pulling you into his lap. Once you were straddling him, you were so close to his cock that you felt entirely lightheaded, knowing that if you rocked forward, your clit would get the most incredible friction rubbing up against his length…

But you didn’t have to do anything yourself. Before you could organize your thoughts, Jake was kissing you again, messy and filthy, his tongue and teeth everywhere, his mouth moving sloppily from your lips to your neck and back again, and suddenly you hadn’t any thoughts left at all beyond Jake, his hands, his body, and the feeling of his cold silver medallion pressing up against the skin of your breasts— grazing your nipple, making you gasp into his mouth, eliciting a dark chuckle form the man beneath you.

One of his hands took yours and guided it to his cock, and when your fingers wrapped around the velvety skin of his length the both of you shuddered in unison. Jake’s mouth immediately dropped open from the pleasure, murmuring another, “Fuck, princess,” his other hand slipping between your legs to start toying with your clit again. It didn’t take long for your legs to start to tremble. You were aching for him to fill you up.

You both worked each other like this for a minute or two, eyes growing more half-lidded and cheeks flushing ever pinker as you built up to the main event. Finally, after what seemed an achingly long time, Jake finally spoke, words coming in between his heavy panting that was making your whole body tremble.

“You want it, baby? You want this cock right now? You want Daddy to fuck you like the cute little slut you are?”

You moaned so desperately you hardly recognized your own voice. He always knew exactly when to bring things up a notch, and how. You were nodding your head before you could even speak, finally finding the words to beg, “Please, Daddy. I need it, I need your cock,” staring at him with lust-blown doe eyes.

Jake let out a true growl this time, and sat back further, spreading his legs wide, his cock thick and hard and waiting, your wetness all over his thigh from where you had been straddling him. When he spoke again, his voice was low and authoritative. “Then sit on this fucking dick.”

The sound that left your lips in response to his words was something beyond desperation. With trembling thighs, you positioned yourself over Jake as he gave his cock another couple strokes, lining himself up at your entrance, and saying lowly, hotly, “Look at me.”

You obliged without even having to think, and with your eyes on each other, taking in every little change in expression, you started lowering yourself onto him. Slowly but surely, you felt every single inch of his hard cock stretching you out, and as you took all of him as deep as possible, you made sure to keep your eyes right on his as your mouth fell open. He loved to see what he was doing to you.

He only waited a moment, giving you enough time to grab onto his shoulders for leverage, but not enough time to catch your breath, before his hands found your hips. His fingernails dug into your skin, something sexy, dangerous, and dark in his eyes that you instantly recognized. Oh. There would be no working slowly into things tonight. Tonight, Jake was entirely in control.

Roughly, quickly, he lifted you by the hips, before pushing you right back down onto his cock, making you cry out in ecstasy. It was only a moment before he lifted you right back up again, then shoving you back down onto him, giving you no rest from the sudden and overwhelming pleasure. His sense of timing, perfected from years of playing guitar, was more obvious than ever as he started to build up a rhythm that was dizzying in its relentless repetition. The way he was filling you up felt so fucking good, and it only intensified when Jake began to fuck up into you while pressing you down onto him, getting deeper and deeper with every thrust. You couldn’t hold back anymore, starting to moan out his name as he fucked you.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Jake groaned out, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead onto his chest, “Such a good girl… taking my cock so fucking well. Goddamn. So fuckin’ filthy.”

“Fuck, fuck, thank you, Daddy,” you were moaning, broken sounds falling nonstop from your lips as Jake slammed his cock into you, but when your eyes threatened to roll back into your head, he once again took your jaw in his large hand, forcing your gaze to stay on his.

“I told you to keep your fucking eyes on me when I fuck you.”

You whimpered, biting your lip, Jake’s relentless pounding hitting you right where it felt the best, the angle at which he was fucking you giving him perfect access to your sweet spot.

“I’m sorry, Daddy, fuck, fuck, don’t stop!” you begged, the combination of his cock filling you up and that low, sexy voice of his right in your ear completely emptying your mind of any other thoughts besides how fucking good he was making you feel.

Jake was speeding up now, and it was getting harder and harder for you to keep your eyes on him with the pleasure building so intensely within you. You knew you were close, and his labored gasps and breathless growls made it clear that he wasn’t far behind.

“Fuck, baby… that perfect pussy… she’s gripping me so fuckin’ tight,” he was groaning against you, and you were nodding desperately and moaning out obscenities, tears forming in your eyes from the unyielding ecstasy. One of your arms was still around his shoulders, while the other had a white-knuckled grip on his silver necklace as you rolled your hips in time with his thrusts.

He must’ve been able to tell you were close by the way your thighs began to shake, the way your moans turned into desperate, tiny whimpers, because you didn’t even have to say a word before Jake sucked his pointer and middle fingers into his mouth, getting them nice and slick before lowering them to trace tight circles onto your clit.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It was all so much; so deliciously overstimulating— Jake’s cock deep in your pussy, his fingers working your clit just right, his dark eyes looking at you so intently that even the act of him simply watching you as you fell apart felt so fantastically filthy and sinful.

“Does my little slut wanna cum?” Jake growled through gritted teeth, still thrusting up into you as he managed one of those patronizing smirks that drove you wild, “Not yet. Not until I say so.”

You let out a desperate whine, whimpering weakly, “Jake— fuck, please, Daddy.” Every word took all of your focus and energy to stammer out, with Jake surrounding what felt like every inch of your body, from his cock pumping in and out of you, to his fingers on your clit, and the heat of his skin against yours.

“Be a good girl now,” he continued between grunts, fucking you deep and hard, his lust-blown eyes never once leaving yours, “I’m gonna count down. Then… and only then… you cum on my fucking cock.”

You managed to make the only sound you could— a whimper that sounded so pathetic and slutty you hardly recognized your own voice. Trying to find words now would be hopeless. It was all so much. It felt so fucking good. Tears began to spill from your eyes as Jake’s thick cock slammed against your g-spot over and over again, in perfect time with his calloused fingers relentlessly circling your clit.

He chuckled condescendingly. You could tell— he knew you were too fucked out to answer him.

“Here we go, princess… five…”

You were trembling, moments away from the edge, utilizing every bit of energy you had left to hold off the orgasm that threatened to overtake you any second.

“Four… three…”

You could barely breathe. Every sensation, every feeling, was layered on top of one other. The pressure on your clit. Jake’s eyes, watching you unravel. The feeling of his cock swelling inside of you as he pounded into your cunt. His other hand still gripping your hip for leverage, surely leaving bruises in the shape of his fingerprints.

“Two…”

He leaned right in, giving you a look so fucking intense and hungry that you felt yourself go lightheaded, that heat building, building… so close, so fucking close… he just had to say…

“One. Cum for me. Fucking cum.”

The moment the command left his lips, it was all over. The white-hot coil within you snapped, and your body was overtaken with bliss, shaking uncontrollably as you clenched down onto him, the feeling of your release all around him making Jake groan out a pornographic, “Oh, fuck.”

He kept up his pace as he fucked you and worked your clit through your orgasm, repeatedly biting his lower lip in concentration as he groaned out, “That’s it, baby, give it to me, soak my fucking cock.” The pleasure was dizzying, damn near overwhelming, and through your haze it was impossible to tell for just how long he helped prolong your climax while chasing his own.

With a delicious moan and a string of obscenities, Jake pulled out of your cunt just in time, thrusting into his hand and covering your stomach in his cum. Even through your post-orgasmic haze, the sight of him cumming all over you was so incredibly filthy you found yourself whimpering all over again, watching him through glazed-over eyes as he rode out his high.

When you both finally collapsed onto each other, panting, covered in sweat and cum, Jake groaned out a breathless, “Holy fuck,” before taking his hand and running it through your hair. There was a tenderness in his gaze and a softness in his tone as he asked, “Are you okay, baby?”

You nodded, slowly but surely coming back down to Earth. When you managed a dazed grin, he chuckled a little, smirking affectionately. He leaned in to press a kiss to your lips— this one far more gentle, but no less passionate. When Jake pulled back, he breathed out, “That was so fucking hot, baby… goddamn. You’re something else.”

You felt a blush creep up in your cheeks as he stroked your hair, then your back, his tender touches grounding you as you caught your breath against his chest. It was only after a good long while, once the stickiness on your stomachs became too much to bear, that he helped you to your feet, your thighs already feeling a familiar ache, knees still wobbling a bit. By now, you had found your words, and you thanked him, giggling shyly despite yourself.

He wrapped a plush towel around you, cleaning you up as best as he could, grabbing another towel for himself. It was after this, though, that he spoke.

“Come back to the hotel with me tonight.”

His words took you by surprise. Yes, you’d been to his hotel rooms before— but generally, you’d head there in order to fuck, not after it already had taken place. He must’ve been able to read your expression, because he continued, “I wanna take care of you, baby. It’s the least I can do… there’s a jacuzzi, we can get a nice bath going for you… and there’s a king-sized bed…”

And… you were blushing again. Of course.

You chewed on your bottom lip with nervous excitement, your heart already starting to beat faster. “Jake… that sounds perfect.” He smiled at you, looking utterly radiant, and you felt butterflies in your stomach all over again as he put his arm around you. “C’mon, gorgeous… let’s get you some of my clothes to put on. I’ve got a sweatshirt in here somewhere…”

As you melted into his touch, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. The night was only just beginning.

••••••••••••••••••••

A/N: thank you so so much for reading!! i would absolutely love to hear your thoughts either in the notes or through tumblr DMs. my ask box is always open for filthy thoughts, and i’m always looking for more gvf friends to discuss with 🥰 i’m also starting a taglist for any new fics i post, so be sure to let me know if you want to be added! XO, li

[dilflover-4ever]

Someone Older

Masterlist (for when I start actually putting shit out lol)

Josh Kiska x f!reader 

Summary: Having a crush on your best friend's older brother is normal. It is just something about an older, “cool” teenager that appealed to you in your preteen years. Almost everyone experiences this, but is it still normal when he is 8 years older? You don't even care. Yes, your best friend, Sam, is older than you but he was like a brother and something about Josh was so intoxicating. The crush didn’t leave when he left for college, he stayed in the back of your mind throughout all of those years. Hell he plagued your mind through your last years of highschool and first of college. So what are you supposed to do when he moves in with Sam near the college you and he attended.

Minors DNI!!

Warnings: WARNING!! AGE GAP! It's not everybody's cup of tea so if this makes you uncomfortable, skip this series! Angst, Daddy issues, arguments, betrayal, secrets, insecurity, many emotions, SMUT, kissing, fingering, oral sex (m & f receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (you know better), masturbation, “public” sex.

Also not all like timelines and ages match up, for instance, The twins and Sam are eight years apart rather than three making Sam your "age".

a/n: New fic series!!!!!! I have a feeling it will be a shorter one so hopefully I will be able to get it finished before school and everything else starts! another reminder that there is a pretty large age gap in this fic so do with what you must.

Chapters under the cut (when they come)

~~~~

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

[sunshinevanfleet]

karma - j. kiszka

pairing: jake x reader

a/n: hello! i'm gifting you all some enemies to lovers jake smut <3. i worked really hard on this one so i hope it's okay. this one is college!au jake. it's not edited so pls forgive me for any silly mistakes. also if you're sensitive to bullying (not really but? if you squint) then pls don't read. ok love u all!!!

genre: smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), enemies to lovers

word count: 4.6k

summary: the reader is locked out of her dorm room late at night, with no way inside. her only escape is the man she can't stand, jake kiszka.

warnings: mentions of alcohol, swearing, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, explicit sex scenes, etc.

Karma sure was a bitch. 

Sitting in the hallway floor of your dorm building, well past 2 AM on a Wednesday morning, you were beginning to wonder what you did to deserve this. Soaking wet from the rain, missing a shoe, and locked out of your dorm room, you were pleading with every force in the universe for your roommate to somehow miraculously return early from Spring Break to let you into the room. Your phone and keys were locked in the bar that you and your friends left hours before, and you were effectively locked out until you could get in touch with the housing office in the morning. What a wonderful time to be alive. 

You debated it in your head; maybe it was the time you laughed at your roommate for falling down the stairs. Or when you refused to give your brother twenty dollars for gas money. Most prominent in your thoughts, though, was when you’d become fed up with your neighbor and hammered on his door to scream at him over the endless noise he made day-in and day-out. Maybe if you had a smidge more patience, you would be able to knock on his door and at least ask for a towel, considering he was the only other person on your floor that stayed at school for break. 

A heavy sigh departed your lips as you shifted, leaning your head back against the wall. You closed your eyes, though it did little against the fluorescents in the hallway. A headache pulsed dully at your temples, your mouth dry and your limbs starting to ache after the long walk back to campus. Sitting here, abandoned and helpless was its own unique form of torture. You knew your out. The door beside yours stood there, the thin wood taunting you in its frame. The man behind it, Jake Kiszka, was your natural enemy. The complete and utter bane of your existence. It wasn’t only that he was a pest of a neighbor– fucking and shouting and playing music at all odd hours– he was also argumentative, arrogant, and an absolute fuckboy.

Even before you’d marched to his door and practically beat a hole in it, his reputation preceded him. The amount of girls in your lectures you heard whispering about him was unbelievable. He was the campus heartbreaker. True that he was fantastically attractive, and a talented musician. But from what you heard, and experienced… he was a complete asshole. You’d had your share of questionable interactions with him, and wanted absolutely nothing at all to do with Jake Kiszka. 

The last hour sitting in the hallway gave you plenty of time to think over your situation. It was hard to believe that you weren’t getting your divine retribution. Your only escape from sitting in this misery for the next six hours was the guy you absolutely despised. As you sobered up, you understood clearly that you were being bullheaded. Bratty. Stubborn. Wouldn’t it be worse to have to grovel at Jake’s feet?

As you were weighing your options, the sound of footsteps jostled you from your thoughts. You peeled your eyes open, blinking at the brightness as they adjusted. Standing before you was exactly the person you didn’t want to see. Jake peered at you, lifting an eyebrow as he examined your disheveled frame crumpled on the floor. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding halfway concerned. 

You laughed humorlessly, running a hand over your face. You refused to meet his eyes, instead focusing in on his booted feet. You were sure you were being punished now. This was no coincidence that you were literally at his feet, having to ask for help.

“I’m locked out,” you muttered, voice bitter. “Left my fucking phone and keys at some shitty bar. What are you doing?” 

The challenge in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. The corner of his mouth quirked up, a flash of amusement flickering behind his dark eyes. He took a step back, leaning against the wall across from you. His arms flexed as he crossed them over his chest, muscles stretching beneath the skin. You tore your eyes away. 

“It’s spring break,” he said, as if that explained it all.

“Hmmm,” you said, nodding. “Off fucking some sorority sister, then?”

Antagonizing him was the last thing you should be doing right now. You were actively aware of that, and didn’t care. A dark chuckle left his lips. 

“What’s it to you?”

You shrugged. “Just glad it was in someone else’s room, this time,” you conceded. “Would’ve been a good night for me to get some sleep.”

He laughed again, shaking his head. Jake maintained his cool facade, seeming unbothered by your digs. 

“Well,” he sighed, “not that it’s any of your business, but I took a day trip to see my family.”

You swallowed hard. You almost felt a little bad for assuming he was off ruining another girl’s life. You huffed, wringing your hands in your lap. His eyes bore into you, dark irises still flashing amusement as he stared at your pitiful form on the ground. He was pleased, as you knew he would be. He expected the universe to repay you this retribution, and here he was to witness it all. 

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” You broke the silence, skin crawling with discomfort.

“Why do you hate me so much?” he wondered. A rage-inducing smirk spread over his lips. You gave him a dark look.

“You really don’t know?” A frown settled on your features. It wasn’t entirely the fact that he was the campus playboy, nor that he was obnoxiously loud with his nighttime escapades, but also that he had humiliated you in front of a dozen people. It was a touchy subject, and there were very few people you brought it up with. Of course, he didn’t remember it as vividly as you did. He was popular, well-liked, and not interested in the likes of you. 

“No, Y/N, I don’t,” he said. He sounded truthful, and that made things worse.

You laughed, the hollow, bitter noise echoing through the empty hall. “You made a fucking joke out of me last year, Jake,” you said darkly. “Back at that stupid fucking frat party.”

“You do realize how many frat parties I’ve been to, right? You’re gonna have to be more specific…”

“That Lambda Omega Phi Halloween party,” you muttered, face flushing at the memory. “I don’t know why I even went in the first place. Somehow, Maddie convinced me, and look at me now…” 

He frowned, looking seriously confused. “I still don’t follow,” he said. 

You forced your gaze up to meet his eyes, shaking your head. You’d cried over the humiliation before, but now there were no more tears. Only anger. You knew he could be an asshole, but you had never expected him to do anything to you of all people. You always kept to yourself, minding your own business. 

“It was late,” you began, “pretty much everyone had gone home. There were maybe ten or fifteen of us left. Someone suggested we spin the bottle. Make it a sort of spin the bottle, seven minutes in heaven situation. I was uncomfortable to begin with… Imagine how I felt when you looked at me for a second, and laughed. You said, ‘We can’t invite this one to seven minutes in heaven. Little birdie told me she’s still a virgin.’ Everyone laughed.”

“Y/N–”

“I don’t want to hear your excuse, Jake,” you said, cheeks burning. “You asked me why I hate you, that’s why. And after you said that about me, in front of all of those people, I have to come home and be your neighbor. I wish you knew how that felt.”

He stared at the ground, shaking his head. When he looked back up, the amusement in his eyes was gone. His lips were set in a flat line, expression almost remorseful.

“I was drunk, Y/N, really,” he said, his voice soft. “That was wrong of me to say. Really, I feel like a piece of shit. I only remember bits and pieces.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know… I can’t say anything to make things better. I will say that I’m sorry, and I mean that.” 

“Okay,” you replied. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Talking about it made it more real in your memory. It made things come flashing back: the sound of the laughter around you, the teasing smile on Jake’s lips, your stomach dropping as you realized you were once again the butt of someone’s joke. Once you graduated high school, you thought you were completely done with bullies, but you’d learned the truth that night. You would never be able to escape being teased for your timidity. 

“Really, Y/N–” he was almost pleading, his voice much lighter and softer. Strained, as if he were in pain.

“Enough,” you said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“No,” he argued, “it’s not fair. That I treated you that way. Maybe I had a reason, though…”

You glanced up at him, your brows furrowed together. What reason could he possibly have for embarrassing you like that? You’d rushed out of the party, tears pouring down your cheeks, mortified. There was no reason to justify that. 

“I hope it was a really fucking good reason, Jake,” you hissed.

He laughed sheepishly, brushing his hair back off of his face with one hand. “It wasn’t, still isn’t,” he sighed. He refused to meet your gaze, instead staring down the empty hall. “I just– I’d seen you around campus, sat a few rows behind you in Intro to Anthropology, hell, I’d heard you talking or laughing through the dorm wall, and I… I liked you, Y/N. A lot…”

Your eyes widened as he spoke, confusion jumbling your thoughts. Embarrassment bloomed further throughout your body. You practically gaped as he continued, pouring his heart out to you.

“You’re so clever, and you always shared interesting opinions and offered perspectives I hadn’t considered in class… I saw you at that party, and you looked beautiful– hell, beautiful doesn’t even describe you. You were like… some kind of art, just walking around casually. I saw other guys looking at you, noticed them getting excited… What was I supposed to do? I didn’t want any of them to have their chance with you in spin the bottle…”

“You could have just told me,” you said, breathless.

“I realize that, now,” he continued, “but I was drunk. I was jealous. So I did something stupid, and believe me when I tell you I regret it. So much.”

“Even after I tried to break your door down?” you laughed, unable to process the information he was telling you. He liked you? It was surprising enough that he didn’t hate your guts back, but to actually like you? Romantically? He was dropping bombs on you tonight.

He grinned, “Even more,” he admitted. “All those girls I brought home… None of them were anything compared to you… I’m not proud to say that I pictured you more often than not… writhing underneath me, your perfect little blushing face.” He flushed at the very thought, pressing his lips together.

Your heart threatened to burst from your ribcage, beating rapidly. No one ever spoke to you this way. Embarrassment warmed your cheeks, the tops of your ears, and you tried to hide the satisfied little smile on your lips. The situation unfolding around you was surreal. None of your friends were going to believe this when you recounted it to them in the morning.

You didn’t know what to say, so your mind settled on one burning question.

“You really think I’m a virgin?”

He blinked at you, taken aback. For a few beats, the two of you were silent. Then, he finally stuttered out a reply, “W–well, maybe. I don’t know. I just said it to keep those guys away from you.”

A real laugh broke the quiet in the hall this time, and you smiled. The reality had yet to fully wash over you; Jake Kiszka liked you? Of all people. That was something… You shook your head, taking a deep breath.

“Well, I guess I won’t spoil the surprise,” you said, voice teasing as you shrugged. “Too bad I’m stuck out in this hallway,” you continued, “I’m sure you really would like to get to know me…”

Your eyes flicked up to him, a tiny smirk playing on your lips. He rolled his eyes, scoffing as he stepped past you to unlock the door to his dorm room. 

“If you wanted to come in, all you had to do was ask,” he said, trying halfheartedly to sound annoyed at you. A satisfied chuckle left your lips, and you stepped inside at his gesture.

“Why would I do that?”

“What? Ask for what you want?”

You nodded.

He smiled innocently. “That’s what good girls do, Y/N.”

You were relieved that your back was facing him. The flustered look on your face would have thrown your game completely off had he seen it. 

“Good girls, hm?” you mused, peeling off your damp jacket and tossing it on his desk chair. He flicked on the lamp in the corner of the room, illuminating you in a faint amber glow. His eyes sparkled in the light, watching your movements. 

He said nothing, observing you. You glanced around the room, admiring the messiness of the room. There were clothes scattered around, books laid haphazardly on the floor, posters pasted crooked on the wall. Your roommate would never allow your room to look like this. Something about the clutter made it cozier; it just made sense that his room would look this way.

“So this is where you bring all those good girls, huh?” You looked at him expectantly.

He lifted a hand up, scratching at the nape of his neck. He shifted beneath your inquiring gaze, then took a step forward to drop his keys on the desk behind you. You stared up at him, though the glint of his belt buckle at eye-level was rather enticing, you wouldn’t give in so easily.

“You know,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. His fingers traced the line of your jaw, slowly coming to lift your chin. “You look really fucking good from this angle.”

Your tongue darted out to moisten your lips. You tilted your head to the side innocently, fluttering your lashes at him. “You think so?” One of your hands trailed up the inside of his leg, tracing over the denim of his jeans lightly. He shivered slightly beneath your touch, his gaze latched onto yours with an intensity you’d never seen from him before. 

“Mmm,” he grunted his approval, then breathed out a few more words, “but I could think of a thing or two that’d make this angle even better…”

“And what would that be?” you teased, fingers inching closer to the bulge straining against his pants. He groaned as you traced the outline with a single finger, barely ghosting over it. 

He chuckled, shaking his head at your antics. “God, you’re a fucking tease.”

“Would you rather a tease or a virgin?” you wondered aloud, still fucking with him. Your hand finally palmed his bulge completely, eliciting a lewd sound from deep within his throat. Your eyes widened, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of making him whimper and writhe at the faintest touches.

“Fuck,” he grunted as you fiddled with his belt buckle. “What kind of question is that?”

You breathed an amused breath through your nose, shrugging, “Just a question.” A devilish smile danced on your lips. You peeled down the waistband of his jeans and boxers, eyes still on his even as his cock sprang free. His breathing deepened as you wrapped a fist around the base, stroking it with a light touch.

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Probably not,” you replied. “You might be able to make it up to me, though…”

Without waiting for his reply, you took the head of his cock between your lips. You let your jaw go lax, your tongue doing all of the work as you took him deeper into your mouth. His fingers pressed into the skin of your neck as he guided your chin over his cock. Jake’s mouth hung agape, eyes almost blank as he watched you suck him off.

A shaky breath stole from his mouth, “Ah, god, you’re fucking good at that…” His irises darkened considerably, going from deep amber to nearly black as lust shrouded his gaze. His lips glistened with spit, mouth open as he tried to steady his breathing. A few grunts and choked moans broke the quiet in the room, accompanied by the slick sounds of your mouth on him.

You pushed yourself further down to the base of his cock, your nose nearly brushing his pubic hair as you took him into your throat. He pulsated inside of your mouth, something like a whine tearing from his throat as you gazed up at him through wet lashes. His other hand tangled into your hair, both of them now guiding you as he gently rocked his hips into your mouth. You bobbed your head in time with his rhythm, relishing in the musical sounds of pleasure coming out of him. As the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat, you tightened the muscles around him. He growled, the sound sending shivers straight to your center. 

You took him deeper, your throat squeezing around the head. He sucked in a sharp breath, and you hummed around him. Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes, saliva dripped over your chin, but you didn’t care. The look on his face was intoxicating; his eyes clamped shut, mouth hanging open in an expression that almost made him look pained. 

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna–”

You pushed even further, gagging around him as your nose finally brushed his skin. He gasped, the hand in your hair tightening as he pulled you away unexpectedly. A string of saliva followed your mouth before dripping down your neck. Your chest heaved as you panted, the air cooling the mess on your chin as you stared up at him.

“Made a mess of that pretty little face,” Jake whispered, thumb dragging through the slick on your mouth before dipping in between your lips. You swirled your tongue around the digit, bleary-eyed and lightheaded. His cock jumped in your hand, a sigh escaping his lips at the feeling of you slowly pumping him. 

“Mmmm,” you hummed around his finger, bobbing as if you were still sucking him off. He watched you for a moment, transfixed by the filthy sight of you below him. Mascara smeared beneath your eyes, spit glistening on your swollen lips, your cheeks flushed. 

“Pretty girl,” he mumbled, “wanna see how pretty you look riding me… C’mon…”

You stood, legs shaky already. He lifted your shirt over your head without hesitation, fingers expertly unhooking the back of your bra. You shivered, exposed to the cool air and his salacious gaze. His eyes drank in your figure for a second. They dragged over your messy face, down your clavicle, and to your exposed chest. He wasted no time in leading you to his bed, your back pressing into the sheets. His lips enclosed around one nipple, fingers tweaking the other as you arched up into his touch, sighing. 

His thigh notched itself between your legs, the denim rubbing deliciously against your needy core through the thin layer of your shorts. You rocked against him, desperate for any contact. He smirked against your chest at this, breaking contact for a second. “Needy angel, aren’t we?” 

“Please–” you breathed. You bit down on your bottom lip, watching the way he sucked and nipped at the skin of your chest, leaving dark marks on the skin. The throbbing in your center was becoming unbearable, the friction from his leg not enough to satisfy the desperation spreading through your veins. You needed him, now.

“Please what, angel?” He looked up at you, deep brown eyes through a shade of lashes, and your heart fluttered. You had to close your eyes, holding back the moan that threatened to spill from you just at the sight of him. His lips were a swollen, sanguine shade of red from the friction, shining with saliva. His eyes shone dark brown, honeyed like molasses. Damp pooled between your thighs, gluing the fabric of your panties to your soaked core. 

You swallowed hard, and managed to gather your bearings. “Please, I need to feel you…”

A genuine smile found its way to his face at this, the cocky look playing in his eyes making you want him even more. If you were in your right mind, you would have scolded yourself for letting him charm you. But it was so easy to fall for Jake Kiszka, especially when he was perched between your legs, looking so eager to please.

“Okay,” he muttered. He leaned over you, lips finding yours in a surprisingly gentle kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, his breath sweet and addicting as your lips moved together. “Feel me, then, angel. Take what you need…” His breath fanned against your lips, and the two of you switched places. You took a second to peel off your shorts and panties as he quickly undressed.

He watched through hooded eyes as you straddled him. Your thighs were sticky with your arousal already, glistening tantalizingly over your skin. He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth as you pivoted your hips over him, slicking his cock in your juices.

“Don’t be too long,” he whispered. The look in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine; it was as if he were watching his very life-force, the need in his eyes burned hot behind those irises. 

A deep breath fanned out of your nose as you finally sank down onto him. You threw your head back, a piercing moan came from you as he filled you to the brim. Tears pricked your eyes at the stretch. 

“Jake,” was all you could manage as you adjusted to the feeling of him inside of you. 

“Take it, angel,” he said, voice deep and saccharine, “Go on, take what you need.”

You balanced one hand on his thigh as you began to grind against him. Your other hand gathered your hair into one hand, cooling the burning around your neck and chest. He dragged against your walls, the feeling sending sparks all through your body. You squeezed your eyes shut as your clit bumped against his pubic bone. Jolts of pleasure shot through you.

He breathed hard, one hand splayed over your thigh while the other rested behind his head. Low pants and moans spilled from his lips. That attentive gaze drank you in, every little detail carved out of soft flesh and muscle. You saw the way he admired you, and wondered how you didn’t notice it before. 

Shifting positions, you lifted yourself up to bounce on him, and he breathed a small whimper. You smiled, leaning over him as you began to lower yourself once again. You maintained a steady pace, fingers hooking through the necklace hanging around his neck to pull his lips up to yours. You panted, sharing breaths for a second before you connected your lips. Bracing yourself against his chest, you increased your pace until you were making your own head spin. He was hitting all of the right spots, stars blooming in your vision as you hastily approached orgasm. 

The muscles of his abdomen trembled beneath you, and he groaned as you pulled away from the kiss to breath. “God, fuck, Y/N.”

You smiled, chest heaving with every breath. “I’m almost there,” you whispered, using every bit of self-control not to cry out his name over and over again.

“Shit,” he hissed, as you swirled your hips at a different angle. “I am, too. Let go, for me, yeah?”

You nodded your agreement, fingers pressing into his chest as you lifted up. The room filled with breathless moans and the sound of skin slapping together. You brought your other hand down to your clit, toying with the bundle of nerves as you hurdled towards your orgasm. Your mouth fell agape, pornographic noises ripping through the room around you. Your thighs shook and ached as you rode him through your release, milking every ounce of pleasure out of the man beneath you. He cried out your name in his velvety tone, his body tensing as he reached his own orgasm.

His fingers dug into your thighs as he held you in place, eyes locked onto yours as his release coated your insides. 

“Don’t stop,” he muttered, hips jerking into yours as you continued your pace. The muscles in your legs tightened, though the pleasure pulsing through your body shadowed the pain. 

“Jake, I can’t—” you mewled, body weakened from your orgasm.

“You can, angel, I know you can…” he whispered, leaning up to grasp your face in one hand. “Keep going…”

“It’s too much–”

“One more, Y/N. Just give me one more.” He pressed his lips against your throat, biting softly against the skin. His fingers dipped between your bodies, rubbing your clit fervently. Your entire body seized, hands holding onto him for dear life. “Come on, baby…”

You cried out his name, moisture pricking your eyes as you rocked against his hand. He was softening inside of you, your walls clenching around him as he coaxed you through your second orgasm. Burying your face into his neck, you whined at the feeling. 

“Almost there, baby, I know you can do it,” he cooed, lips ghosting over your jaw, up your hairline, onto your forehead. “Oh, you’re so good for me…”

He made a pleased noise as your release washed over you again, black spots clouding your vision. The sounds coming from you were animalistic, and unrelenting as you sobbed against him. He pressed gentle kisses against your temple and forehead, easing you through the overwhelming pleasure. Your body finally stilled, body going lax against him as you struggled to catch your breath.

“I knew you would be a good girl for me,” he said. He brushed the hair off of your face and neck, gently separating the two of you and laying you down on the bed. You sprawled over the sheets, the air cooling the mess between your legs as you lay there trying to slow your heart rate. 

“That was…”

“Mind blowing,” Jake finished for you, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips before pulling away and standing up. He pulled his jeans back on, rummaging around in the room as you laid an arm over your eyes. You let your body relax, muscles aching from the effort of riding him. 

After a second, you hissed at a cold feeling between your legs. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, watching as Jake wiped the mess from between your legs.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “didn’t wanna run down to the bathroom…”

“It’s okay,” you relaxed back into the bed again. It was a tad amusing that he kept a pack of wet wipes in his room, but you said nothing. You were too exhausted. 

He tossed the soiled wipe into the trash bin by the desk, then flicked the light off. He passed you a t-shirt that smelled like him, and you pulled it over your head. His bed was more comfortable than your own at this point, your mind drifting away already after only a few seconds. 

“You all right?” he asked, concern coloring his voice as he settled into bed beside you. You threw one arm over his abdomen, slipping closer to him in the darkness.

“Mhmm,” you replied.

“All right sleepyhead,” he mumbled. He pressed his lips against your temple softly. “I’ll take you to get your shit from the bar tomorrow.”

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

silver springs - d. wagner

a/n: hi. welcome back. remember the to do list i had? out the window. danny wagner kiss me on the lips challenge. enjoy, yearning sluts. warnings: horny, danny practices writing kissing and grumpy ish reader, right person wrong time, sort of slow burn? idk, death of a sibling, grief, angst, cursing, reader smokes until the end of the fic, reader has tattoos as usual, lots of sex refrences as usual, corny shit as usual. word count: 3.9k (throwing up) summary: the three times daniel wants you, and the one time he gets you. paring: daniel wagner x gn!reader now playing: silver springs - fleetwood mac "i follow you down/till the sound of my voice will haunt you/you'll never get away from the sound/of the woman that loves you."

It all starts when you’re eighteen, fresh off a breakup with a guy who cheated on you. You found him sleeping with a girl from your psych class after you introduced him to at a party. In hindsight, he wasn’t a loss or anything, but you were eighteen. You were stupid and in love and he was all that mattered to you.

After three months of moping around and being miserable because of him, your friend, Veronica, eventually convinced you to get over yourself and go out with her.

You obliged. It was three quarters of the way through your sophomore year and were determined to not let some guy who couldn’t even make you cum ruin your college experience.

And what was this wild experience your friend wanted to do to get you out of your funk?

Well, she decided it would be a concert. A rock concert.

You had heard of Greta Van Fleet a few times—Veronica was straight up obsessed with them. You mostly listened to music your ex-boyfriend listened to, and never really formed an opinion of your own on the matter. You had other stuff to do, you would defend.

At this point in their career, Greta Van Fleet was only just starting; They were playing a small venue nearby, as an opener.

Veronica convinced you to go super early and get a good view with her. What else were you supposed to do on a Saturday? Your homework?

And even you had to admit, they were pretty good. You enjoyed the passion they had for their shows, and they were all pretty good looking.

The drummer especially.

Veronica decided to stick around after their set, grabbing a drink with some guy she had met, while you went outside to smoke.

Smoking was a horrible habit you had picked up, and you fully intended to quit, it just never struck you as the right time. It was a late spring night, the air muggy and buzzing with the lights of the city. You had been going to school in New York for a little less than a year, and you loved every second of it. Sure, you missed your family, who you had left behind in Nashville, especially your sister, but you knew you needed to leave. Even for just a while.

“Can I borrow your lighter?” A voice asks. You whip your head only to see the drummer. What was his name again?

“Yeah, sure.” You take out your lighter and flick it on, letting him light his cigarette with it.

“Thanks.” There’s a silence that fills the air while you smoke, until he eventually extends a hand. “I’m Danny.”

You smile, shaking his hand and giving him your name before adding, “And I know who you are.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yeah, you’re the drummer.” You say coolly, although your heart is racing.

“You like our music?”

“Now I do. Tonight, was your first show of mine.” You explain, “My friend is like,” You cough on smoke, “Obsessed with you.”

Feeling bold, Danny asks, “What if I want you to be obsessed with me?” And it makes you scoff, only you’re only doing it because you’re nervous.

“You flirt with all your fans like this, Drummer?”

“Only the pretty ones.” You just smirk. You don’t expect the next words out of his mouth to be, “Come with me to California.”

“What?” You laugh, unable to believe it.

“California. We’re releasing an album later this year, so you should see more of our shows before we become a huge hit.”

“I can’t go to California with you!” You grin, and by the way he’s smiling at you, you know he’s not expecting you to.

“Why not?”

“I have classes, for one!”

���Classes? So pretty and smart?”

“Oh my god, Shut up.”

“What are you majoring in?”

“English. I want to write. Whatever they’ll have me write, articles, books, what the fuck ever, you know what I mean?”

And he does. He gets it because that’s the way he feels about writing music.

“I get it.” He answers.

“So, I can’t come with you to California.”

“No, I guess not. But when you get a job writing, you’ll let me come find you? Ghostwrite my memoir, write a scathing review of us, what the fuck ever, as you so delicately put it?”

“Deal.” You agree.

“Then, I’ll see you, Sugar.” You stop at the name, turning to him. “What?” He asks.

“That’s what my family calls me.” He laughs. “I’m being serious!” You argue.

“No, you’re not—” He realizes you most definitely are. “Why would they call you that?”

“Because my sister is the nice one, and I am an asshole.”

“No fucking way.”

“What, did ‘What the fuck ever’ not give you enough of a hint? She’s Spice, and I’m Sugar, only Sugar stuck.” You say, finishing your cigarette.

“Well, Sugar. At least let me give you my number if I can’t take you to California.”

“Deal.” You agree, but before he can, his friends from the band are calling him, and you know Veronica must be wondering where you are. And he doesn’t have his phone on him or a pen, and your phone is dead.

Fuck.

“Hey—” He pulls you close with one arm, his other hand still with a cigarette. He puts it in his mouth so his hand can reach down and pull your lighter out of your pocket. “I’ll give this back when we meet again, alright?” He asks, his words a little murmured because of the cigarette.

You’re usually cynical. You could’ve told him to fuck off and took the lighter back. But you don’t.

Instead, you kiss his jaw and mutter, “Okay. Later, Drummer.” He pockets the lighter, and starts walking back to his friends, only backwards to face you still.

“See you soon, Sugar!” He calls.

It’s only when you get back to Veronica that your brain clears enough to remember that your full name is on the lighter. You hope he’ll use it to come find you.

• • •

So, the next few years fly by and before you know it, you’ve been out of school for around a year now, and you’re happier than ever. You’re staying in Tennessee, staying with your sister and your niece. You’re apartment hunting, starting a new job as soon as the New Year comes, but you have ulterior motives.

You’re getting ready in her bathroom as she leans against the door frame, watching you. Your niece sits on the edge of the tub. She just turned six and is learning all about the world. You love watching her grow, except for one teensy little thing—

“Why does Sugar get to go see Greta and I don’t?” She asks your sister.

“Because Sugar has big kid money, and you spend your allowance on Barbie.” Your niece just huffs. You grin as you finish fixing your hair. You crouch down to her level, and push hair from her face.

“How ‘bout this? I’ll take lots of photos for you, and get you a shirt, and I’ll take you on their next tour, okay?”          

She considers this for a moment.

“And you’ll say hi to Jake for me?” While you are in Danny Lane, Duh, she is strictly obsessed with Jake Kiszka.

“Of course, I will! Duh! He’s gonna love a message from his best girl.” You say it as if it’s obvious. She giggles and stands, giving you a quick hug before you have to leave.

“You’re so good with her. And nice too, I never expected that.” Your sister says as she walks you to the door.

“Don’t expect me to go soft with you, too. She’s the exception.” Your sister just smiles as she stands in the door, watching you walk down the walkway.

“Be safe!” She calls.

“Bye, Mom!” You say dramatically as you get in her car to drive to the venue with.

The show is amazing, as usual. Since their career has taken off, you’re only a more active fan, always keeping tabs.

You keep tabs to see if Danny is taking anyone. He does. You don’t know if that’s true for right now, but you know he has since you saw him. So have you. It’s ridiculous to assume you’d stop your lives for one flirty encounter when you were 18.

After the show, you notice people grouped around, waiting to see if the boys make an appearance. You don’t have anywhere to be. You stick around.

An hour or two passes. You smoke, lending cigarettes to other people waiting, and the number of folks start to dwindle down. But the summer is coming to an end, and you know that this might be one of the last times you can stay out this late without freezing for a while.

And wouldn’t you know it, Sam and Danny come out to say hi. And Sam is lovely, of course he is! He’s sweet and funny, and even more handsome in person.

But Danny makes your heart race. You grin to him, and it takes him a second before he breaks out in a grin, as he approaches you. Before you can say anything he just hugs you, and holds you for a while. He pulls away and looks at you, uttering your full name, as it was written on your lighter.

“Danny...” you say softly, and he just keeps smiling at you. His curls look healthier. He looks healthier.

“Hi, Sugar.” He says gently.

“You remembered that stupid nickname, Oh God...” you groan.

“And you still hate it.”

“Mm... maybe not so much when you say it. Maybe not when my niece says it.”  Because it stuck so well, your niece just grew up knowing your name as Sugar, and not much else.

“Your niece?”

“Stevie, she’s an angel, and in love with Jake Kiszka.” You admit.

“I’ll extend the message. Stevie, is that a reference to the true queen of breakup songs?”

“Yes, of course.” You assure. You can’t stop staring at him. His eyes wander down to your arm, to your wrist.

“Cool tattoo.” It’s a lighter. It’s corny, you know that. And part of you didn’t even get it because of him. Half of you just thought it would be cool. But there was a part that hoped he’d see it one day.

“Well, some asshole took my last lighter and hasn’t given it back, so I figured no one can steal this one.” He laughs and shakes his head.

“You’re funny, Sugar.”

“Well...” You shrug softly, “You can keep the lighter by the way.” You assured. “No hard feelings.” He grins, pulling it out of his pocket and waving it at you.

“Thanks. And hey, maybe I could give you something of mine, too?” This confuses you until he pulls off the necklace he’s wearing and drops it in your hands. You look down at it, and your face flushes. It’s a long leather cord, with a milky stone shaped like a moon.

“Does this mean I won’t be getting your number tonight?” You ask, as your hand closes over the necklace. He smiles at you and shakes his head.

“It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I’m going to be on tour for a while, and you live in New York—”

“I’m moving to Tennessee. Nashville. For work.” You assure. He smiles wider.

“Then when I get back. I’ll come find you.” He speaks. “Are you in the writing business yet?”

“Getting there.” You tell him.

“Then I’ll find you in the future.” He assures, as Sammy calls his name back at the door where he came from. How come it always ends this way? How come you always have to say goodbye to him? Especially when he looks this good? Your heart aches for him already. You want him to kiss you. But instead, you lean up and kiss his jaw, and he smiles down at you when you pull away.

“See you soon, Sugar.” He says gently. It’s quieter this time. You know he means it. He pulls away, and takes one last long look at you, and turns just before you can see tears in his eyes, and just before he can see tears in yours.

• • •

The rest of the year flies, and your new job starts, about twenty minutes from where you live, and only fifteen from your sister and niece. You get a raise three months in, and it’s just in time for you to buy your niece tickets to the Starcatcher World Tour. You’ll be the first show of a long tour, and you know you can’t stay like you did last time. Besides, he won’t come out to see the fans, not after such a long night.

You bring something for him just in case.

But your niece and you have a great time, despite this being your first show without being in the pit. You have first row lower bowl seats.

Ticketmaster is your sworn enemy, and you’ve won every battle with them lately. Fuck ‘em.

Because it’s the first show of the tour, everything is new, and you don’t know what to expect. You especially don’t expect a ten-minute drum solo from Danny.

…It makes you want him desperately.

When they move to the B stage, you’re still a little caught up in him, but that is nothing compared to when they exit the B stage and start handing out flowers. Danny doesn’t really have any flowers, but Jake is walking right in front of him, and right towards you.

Your niece freaks the fuck out. Because she is a Jake girl, and Jake is right there. He sees her small hands and grins, handing her a rose, and clasping her hand with his for a moment before continuing his walk. You’re so caught up in this moment that you don’t register that Danny is quickly approaching.

And then you do, and you’re one of the many calling out to him, as he smiles and clasps his hands with theirs.

Instead of Danny, you call, “Hey, Drummer!” and somehow, during all this chaos, he sees you. And he’s grinning like an idiot.

He stops for a second, pulling you forward, and before you know it, he’s taking about twenty seconds to kiss you.

It’s deep, passionate, and full of the raw need that you’ve felt since seeing his drum solo. Everyone around you is freaking out as you slip what you bought to give him into his hand.

He must leave though, and he slips what you’ve given him in his pocket, pulling away, and whispering quickly,

“See you soon, Sugar.” He leaves, and you’re left to the screaming fans around you, including your niece, who can’t believe anything that just happened.

The show goes on, and there’s a new energy about Danny.

Everyone on twitter goes wild about your interaction.

When he gets off stage that night, he pulls out what you gave him from his pocket, and sees it’s a polaroid picture of you, in your bathing suit and sunglasses, on the beach.

He uses it to get through rough nights on tour.

• • •

The next year or so goes by in a whirlwind—In the worst way possible. Work is going well, you don’t date anymore, delusional about your Drummer, and for a while, everything is fine.

Until your sister slides off the road during a snowstorm and is killed on impact.

You go from taking care of Stevie when your sister needed a break, to being her legal guardian.

It is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. You balance your work life with your grief, newfound parental duties, and helping Stevie through the loss of her mother. Her father was never in her life, and you find yourself moving into your sister’s house, so Stevie doesn’t have to move schools.

You watch her attempt to process this huge loss at eight years old. She doesn’t listen to music anymore; she doesn’t want to celebrate her birthday and she doesn’t want to sleep without a nightlight.

You hold her while she cries for her mom.

You hold your mom while she cries for her daughter.

No one holds you as you sob, longing for your sister.

You will yourself to be good. To be nice and not let the grief suffocate you, you need to be there for your best girl, she cannot do this without you. But it’s so hard. You’re angry with the world, with yourself, with her, why couldn’t she have just stayed the night at her friends? You will yourself to channel that stupid nickname. You will yourself to be good.

The winter is hard, but as the season thaws, so does your grief. It’s still hard, but the kitchen fills again with the smell of pizza and baked goods, with the sound of Foo Fighters and Guns N Roses, and with your niece’s laughter.

You talk about your sister openly, never hiding your own grief from Stevie, and never being afraid to tell her stories of her mom.

You get a tattoo on what would have been your sister’s birthday. It’s just her birth flower.

Under it, in her handwriting, is “Sugar and Spice.” It’s right beneath your lighter tattoo. It’s the only time you’ve ever cried getting a tattoo.

Summer comes, and your office has no A.C. It’s a critically hot day in Nashville, Stevie is being watched by your mom. You’re editing a new chapter from a high-end client, just finishing it up before you head home for the day. Really, your day ended ten minutes ago, but you’re still working. Until you get a call from your office’s front lobby.

When you answer it, it’s just Jane, the security guard.

“Hey, Jane, what can I do for you?” You ask, rubbing your eyes from finally unfocusing from your computer screen.

“Hey, Kid. Just wanted to see if you were okay with company. Pretty boy says he’s here to see you.” You furrow your brows. Pretty boy? There have been no pretty boys in your life recently.

“What’s his name?” You ask quizzically. You hearJane asking for a name.

“Says his names Danny, and—” You stand, making sure your draft is saved before you turn off your computer, grabbing your things, and remembering she’s waiting for a response.

“Uh—Tell him I’ll be right there!” You say quickly before hanging up, then dash to the elevator, wishing it to go faster. It takes forever.

When the doors open, he stands in front of you, as if he was waiting to take the next elevator up. You just grin and lunge, hugging him tightly. He returns the sentiment. You hold each other there, just embracing each other and taking the other in. You pull away to really look at him.

You haven’t been active on social media since you took guardianship of Stevie, too busy. So, you haven’t seen him in a while. He looks phenomenal. His hair is shorter, but he wears two gold hoop earrings, a grey muscle tee, and has the same smile. His hair has this slight highlight to it, and his skin is tanner, his freckles enunciated.

You want to kiss him.

But you stand back from him for a moment to turn to Jane and thank her, and then you pull him outside, onto the busy streets. You walk for a few minutes in silence, turning here and there. You eventually lead him to duck into a quiet, relatively clean alley way. It’s in a quieter part of town, and you lean against one wall, unbuttoning the first two buttons of your shirt, heart racing in anticipation. He leans against the wall, looking at you.

He can see the leather cord around your neck. It pushes him over the edge.

Suddenly, his hands are on your cheeks as he begins kissing you. His lips are just as soft as you remember, but his hands are rough. They must be calloused, even blistered from guitar and drums. You deepen the kiss. It’s heavy, and hot, much like the day around you.

It makes you want him more.

You pull him closer, by grabbing his shirt and pulling him against you. He tilts his head for better access, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You’ve wanted this for years. Your hands leave his shirt, trailing up to tangle in those locks of his.

You finally pull away when you can’t stand to be without air anymore. But as soon as you do, you find yourself kissing him again. Not as deeply this time, but with just as much need. You kiss him again and again, your skin burning.

When he pulls away for real, panting, he leans his head on the wall behind you, his hot breath on your collar bone.

“Found me, Drummer…”

“Found you, Sugar…” He says softly.

“How? Why?” He pulls back to look at your face.

“How? You’re on your company’s website. Why? What do you mean why? Why? Because for the past six fucking years, I have only had enough of you to keep me wanting you, and every time I’m able to stop dreaming about you and your perfect lips, I am pulled back in by fate, seeing you always. And when I kissed you last year... It snapped something in me. You ruined everyone else for me, and I still had to wait. I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m not on tour, I’m here for a long time. I need you...” He says your name gently when he realizes you have this terrified look on your face.

“I… I can’t just… Danny, I’m my niece’s legal guardian. I will always have an obligation to her first, I can’t run off with you… Can’t go with you to California...” You tell him weakly.

“That’s okay.” In truth, Danny always wanted kids, and sure, he wasn’t planning on a kid just now, but he’s sure you can make this work. “When did this happen?”

“January… When my sister died.” You tell him, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it cracks with emotion. He just kisses you quickly and holds you.

“I still need you. I’d love to meet your niece.” He says once you’ve pulled away. You grin.

“She’s a big fan of yours.”

“More of a Jake girl, I hear.” He smirks. It makes you laugh.

You straighten yourself out, ready to take him to your house, have him meet Stevie, and just jump into it. Fuck it. What have you got to lose after waiting for him for six years?

Before you can make it out of the alley, he grabs your hand and says your name again. He takes out his—your lighter, and places it in your hand. You gave up smoking the night your sister died.

“I don’t need it right now, sugar. I told you, when I saw you again, it would be yours. And now we don’t have to say goodbye in two minutes.” It’s enough to make you lean forward and kiss him again.

You take his hand and begin walking with him. There’s no need to long for him anymore.

[jc-writes-bullshit]

Hey gresties! I arranged Broken Bells for my steel band and I would love to share :) tag the lads I wanna see Jake call a steel drum by an adjective he can’t define

[seenoversundown]

For Death Or Glory : Chapter Fourteen

Jake Kiszka x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: PG-13 (not smut but heavy petting), drinking / alcohol, smoking, anxiety mentions, light mentions of grief, fluff, Jake being a sweet little man, and descriptions of Elder Emo culture.

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Charlotte gets swindled into hanging out with Jake, really had to twist her arm. Which turns into long night of getting to know each other.

Author's Note: I have a wildly strong attachment to this chapter. Maybe because it’s how I don’t my early adult years or because it feels like a true New England chapter in my head, either way— I love this chapter a disgusting amount. It also sets up next week.. perfectly 😏😘

Crush - Tessa Violet "You make it difficult to not overthink, And when I'm with you I turn all shades of pink, I wanna touch you but don't wanna be weird."

“What are the odds I can sweet talk you into going to this show with me?” his voice rings through my phone. “As friends… obviously.” His sweet little laugh fills the air.

“Mmm, what kind of show are we talking about?” The smirk on my face would be undeniable if he could see me right now. I’m supposed to be doing some work, but instead, I’m pacing the house. 

“Some of the bar regulars kinda have a band and gave me tickets to go see them,” he tells me.

“Your brothers don’t want to go with you?” I ask. Seems odd that they wouldn’t want to go with him, especially if it’s people they also probably know.  

“Well.. Josh has to work and I don’t think Sam would come,” his voice trailing off a bit. 

“Danny?” 

“He’s also working– I can’t leave Josh completely alone there,” he tells me, making me laugh at the idea of him being afraid to leave Josh at the bar alone. 

“Well then,” I say, through a sigh, “I suppose..” 

“I mean, if you don’t want to come hang out with me…” overdramatizing his sad tone, which I can’t say didn’t make me chuckle at him. 

“Oh, stop,” I quip back. “What time do I need to be ready?”

“Doors are at 8 p.m., but it’s within walking distance of the bar, so if you want to meet me there… Well, here.” 

“Alright, but you have to supply me a drink if they’re going to start screaming.”

I can hear the smile on his face when he says, “Sounds like a deal.”  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

As we walk up to the venue, everybody is in tight black skinny jeans and beanies. Oh no, it’s gonna be all heavy music, isn’t it? I just follow him closely, staying just behind him as we get closer to the doors. I just look around, taking in the atmosphere and trying not to look paranoid. 

He glances over at me for a second before talking to the person at the doors. We only stood there for a second before we were let in. Pulling open the door and letting me through, the venue is small, and there’s a fair amount of people here. 

“Should I just buy you a drink now?” his lips basically grazing my ear to ask.

“Considering the crowd, I’m going to say yes, please,” I try to speak up so he can hear me, making him laugh.

“A deal is a deal, come on,” he says, holding out his hand. My fingers intertwine with his as he leads the way over to the bar. His grip on me is strong, which I’m grateful for, considering the amount of people we’re weaving through. 

“What are you feeling tonight?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve seen you drink a beer, so I’m sorry in advance.” 

“Whatever they have for Downeast works for me,” I look over at him as he's reading the list of options. Finding it difficult not just to admire him; his side profile really is something to write home about. 

He walks up to the small bar that they have, getting the bartender's attention quickly and ordering. He looks back over at me, pulling his eyebrows together for a split second as I stand there, probably looking a little lost. I mimic him, scowling at him. I don’t know what kind of conversation we’re having right now, but the corners of his lips start to creep upward as we stare at each other. That must be the smile Quinn was talking about. He slightly bobs his head back and forth to the song playing through the speakers, and I can’t stop myself from laughing at him. My laugh pulled the full smile out of him, teeth showing and all. He really is cute. 

After grabbing our drinks, he comes back to me, holding my drink out to me. Excitedly, I took it from him before pushing him in front of me to lead the way. I stay as close to him as I can, hooking one finger into his back pocket so he can’t get too far away. 

He finds a spot off to the side for us, not too close to the stage, as the first band starts. The first scream into the microphone makes me jump; candidly, this isn’t my genre. I can hear him giggling next to me as he sips on his beer. Shooting him a look, even though I can’t hold it for very long before I’m laughing with him. 

“Am I supposed to know what he’s saying?” I say, leaning into him. 

“Absolutely not,” he says, taking another sip. It’s wild to see him drink at all, especially just a beer. Seeing him act so normal outside of the bar is almost refreshing. It’s nice to see him be a person and not be worried about whatever is going on in that building. Maybe we have more in common than I thought. 

People were still filtering in while the first band played, and now we’re watching as the next one is about to go on. It’s funny to watch them have to soundcheck their own stuff, but I haven’t been to many shows this small. 

The lights go back out, and the band loudly announces their presence. This time, I was a little more prepared for it, but what I wasn’t expecting was the crowd. 

I hear the singer say something about a “pit,” and before I know it, everybody is thrashing around. What the fuck? I’m sure I look terrified, never having been to a show like this. I can’t take my eyes off the slew of people basically just throwing punches and shoving each other. It spreads like wildfire as more and more people start joining. 

Very suddenly, Jacob’s arm wraps around me pulling me back to him. His chest rose and fell against me, his arm still wrapped around my waist, his hand resting against my stomach.  Oh okay. 

His face leans closer to my ear, “I should have warned you.” 

I tilt my head back against his chest so he can lean towards me, “It’s okay. It’s mesmerizing,” I giggle, knowing it sounds silly. 

His other arm wrapped around me, carefully holding his drink still. My heart flutters when he does it. I let myself relax against him, and his arms tighten slightly. This is making being here worth it. 

We stayed like that through most of that band's set. He would keep moving us further from everyone, which I appreciated—but never moving his arms from around me except for the occasional sip of his beer.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Jake!” startles me as the two regulars from the bar approach us. They all do that one boy handshake that will never make sense to me before one of them turns to me. 

“Oh! I’m sorry I didn’t know you came with someone,” one of them says. 

“She was gracious enough to come keep me company,” Jake says, glancing over at me.  

I stand there listening to them and sipping on my drink when I feel something brush against my thigh. Without being obvious, I look down, seeing his hand suspiciously close to my leg. He taps me a few more times as he talks. Does he not realize what he’s doing? 

I occasionally chime in but mostly just listen as they go on about the other bands that are going to be playing. Watching as he would laugh with them and really just take him on while he was out in the wild. His free hand settled on my lower back, just softly scratching, which was weirdly comforting. 

“Wanna go outside for a minute?” one of the boys asked loudly. Jacob looked at me wide-eyed, but I just nodded at him. 

“Yeah, for sure.” He tells them. His hand quickly found mine before we made our way through the venue. He kept squeezing gently until I would do it back.

Once making it outside, the few guys who had been talking to him all started lighting cigarettes, Jacob included—keeping it as far away from me as possible when he wasn’t actively inhaling and breathing the smoke straight up to try and not have it near me. I had never said anything about him smoking or even in general, but it’s ..nice that he doesn’t want to force it on me. 

Although I usually find smoking to be a little less than pleasant, for some reason, watching him is different. Maybe my cider just hit harder than I expected, but how it sits on his lip and how he casually holds it between his index and middle finger. Why is it… hot? 

As we stood there, I continued to listen from inside, not really knowing what to say. I stood close to him and occasionally peeked at my phone, but the people-watching here was a little too good that I practically forgot I had it with me. I don’t know if he was worried about me or if he needed comfort, but he was subtly holding my hand, only our ring and pinky fingers intertwined. 

“Do you wanna head back to the bar?”

I look over at him, “If you want to,” not wanting to feel like I’m making him leave. 

“I was mostly here for them,” he whispers, “plus we can make Josh give us better drinks that way.” 

“Are you trying to get me drunk again?” I tease him quietly. 

“I would never dream of it,” he says with a little wink before turning back to the little group that’s formed. He said his goodbyes with the weird handshake hug again, and they all waved at me as we walked off. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

We sat at the end of the bar for a while, watching Josh make drinks. Just talking about the show and how he feels terrible for making me go through it. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” I admit, “watching everybody was fun.” 

“It’s a special kind of crowd, isn’t it?” His smile sneaks out with that one. He sips on the last of his drink, sliding it over for Josh to grab. Tapping on his phone screen and looking back over to me. 

“I may let him leave since it’s calmed down,” he starts, “are you going to head home? I can escort you to your car before I relieve him.” 

What if I don’t want to go home? What are you talking about? The most relaxed I’ve felt has been when I have basically fallen asleep on the phone with him.. What if I just.. stay? 

“I think I should probably stay here, don’t you?” I ask him. “Just since I’ve been drinking and whatnot.” Something possesses me when I bat my eyelashes at him a few times before sliding my hand onto his thigh. His cheeks flush instantly at gestures. 

“You’re so right,” he chokes out. “You can stay with me.” The excited nerves flow through my body when he says it. 

“I’ll just keep you company while you close,” I tell him, “it’ll be like last weekend!” Smiling at me as he stands up, he quickly glances over to see Josh fully invested in a conversation with someone when he moves around the bar, standing in front of me. He holds a hand out towards me; instinctually, I reach my hand out to him. He pulls it to him, pressing his lips against my knuckles for a second, giving me a slow wink as he lets go gently. 

I said ‘goodnight’ to Josh after he was able to head out for the night, and then there I sat. I was just having little conversations with Jake when I could and scrolling on my phone when he was busy. I was intensely ignoring the email my boss had sitting in my inbox.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Finally, we hustle up the stairs to his apartment once the bar is closed. He quickly unlocks the door, peeking in first. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his room faster than I would have expected. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” he whispers, “I have to go say hi to Josh but I’ll be right back.” He lingers for a second before letting go of me and disappearing into the dark hall. 

I crawl into his bed, mostly sober this time. Remembering how comfortable it was and the way it smelled like his cologne. He finally wanders back in after talking to Josh for a few minutes. 

“Well, don’t you look cozy,” he says quietly, giggling to himself as he sets his stuff on his nightstand. I nod a few times, curling the blankets up around me. 

“Are you tired? I can go so you can sleep,” his voice more timid this time. My eyebrows pull together. Is he really trying to still give me space? I silently shake my head at him for a second, trying not to laugh. 

“No, come here.” I reach my arms out towards him; seeing his smile when he realizes that I want him to stay is priceless. 

“Uh.. I feel like this is a dumb question,” his sweet face slowly turns red, “Can I just .. not wear these?” he asks, tugging on the belt loop on his pants. 

“I think it’s safe to say we’re past that, Jacob.” 

He laughs to himself, “Right.”  

It’s so cute how he’s so nervous—watching him slide his jeans off and toss them into his dirty laundry. I can’t help but check him out as he goes to turn the light off. Why does he have a nicer ass than me? 

He lifts the comforter a little to let himself in but also lets the cool air in. 

“Hurry, it’s already warm in here,” I giggle as he quickly pulls the blanket back down over the two of us. My heart starts to beat a little harder now that he’s next to me. He’s so warm. Instinctively moving close to him, my hands have a mind of their own. Grabbing his arm and lifting it up, I curl myself up into him. 

My face is tucked into his neck as his hand draws little shapes on my side. Without thinking, I press a few little pecks into the side of his neck. 

“What made you want to stay here tonight?” he breaks the silence. 

I can’t tell him yet. My throat was instantly tight at the thought of telling him why. 

“I didn’t want to drive after I drank. Just wanted to be responsible or whatever,” I lie. 

His hand grabs mine from its place on his chest, bringing it up and placing a kiss on my palm before bringing it back to its spot. 

“It’s cute when you try to dodge the truth. Try again,” his taunting tone makes me smile into him. 

“I just..didn’t want to be alone tonight,” I admit, hoping he doesn’t press further. I’ll tell him at some point, but just.. not right now. I know I have to come out with it eventually, but I still haven’t said it out loud to anyone. 

His arm pulls me against him as he presses a kiss onto my forehead, letting his lips just rest against me. Feeling him just breathe for a second against my skin. 

“I’m sorry, hun,” he mumbles against me, “I’m happy you’re here.” My eyes start to well up; he’s too much.. I prop myself up on my elbow so I can look at him. 

“Me too,” I squeak out. My finger tracing his jawline as we look at each other. My eyes move to his cheekbone, letting my hand cup his jaw and my thumb gently run over his soft lips while he just watches me. I don’t know how I’ve gotten here. Laying in bed with this man who looks at me like I’m the reason the sun comes out in the morning. 

He kisses my thumb as it grazes over him again, pulling me out of my thoughts.  The corners of his mouth are slightly curving up. He reaches up and tucks some of my hair behind my ear. 

“You're pretty cute,” he winks at me. His eyes look more tired than I’m used to, but maybe it’s just because he’s comfortable. 

I lean towards him, placing a small kiss on his nose. Then, peppering his face with little pecks as his smile widens, followed by giggling as I sneak some under his jaw.

“Did you tell Josh that I’m here?” 

He shakes his head, “Nope.”

“Why not?” 

“Just wanted to keep you to myself for a little longer,” he tells me, making my heart flutter a little at the thought that he’s savoring our time together. “Plus, if he knows, he’ll insist on talking to you for hours, and then I wouldn’t get to enjoy this.” 

“As fun as that sounds,” I managed to get out, “This is pretty nice.” I gently pat his chest a few times. 

“I can go get him at any point if I’m boring you,” his smile on full display, “He’s like a toddler; just endless energy.” 

“Jacob,” I try to sound serious but am failing by the second. “I listened to you tell me about pirates for hours the other night. You’re far from boring.” 

“And you,” he says, holding the side of my face with his hand, “are an angel for listening to me.” At this moment, I would listen to him all day long, telling me about absolutely anything. 

We lay there for a while, talking about mindless things as he occasionally ran his hand down the back of my head. He tells me about how he worked at the Shipyard with Danny and how his parents dipped out of Maine the second Sam went off to college. I offer stories of living in the middle of nowhere and ridiculous situations with work.  

Reaching over and tapping his phone screen, holy shit, it’s 5:00 am. 

“I didn’t mean to keep you up so late,” I try to hide my embarrassment, just thankful that it’s dark so he can’t see my face flush a little. 

“Did you already forget what my job is?” his question laced with a laugh, “I’m always up this late.” I drop my head onto his chest, laughing at myself. As if we hadn’t spent a handful of nights talking until the sun was about to come up. 

“It’s late and I’m tired, alright?” 

“Why don’t you try to sleep then?” his voice sounds so sweet. 

I sit back up, my hands on either side of him; we just stare at each other for a second. His lips parted as I ghosted mine over him. Feeling his hands grip my sides as the kiss deepens. My body warms when he pulls my leg over his waist, feeling his body beneath me. I found my hands sliding up into his hair; his heartbeat was strong enough that I could feel it over my own nerves. His hip bones pressing into my ass has my mind wandering to dangerous places. 

He pushes us up, so I’m sitting on his lap with one hand holding me to him. I don’t know what possessed me to lift the bottom of his shirt, sliding my hands around his waist. His skin is so warm and soft, and I just want to kiss every inch of his body. Breaking away from the kiss, he pulls his shirt off in one quick motion—well, that’s hot—tossing it to the side before coming back to me. 

“Wait,” I whisper. Grabbing the hem of my shirt, pulling it off, and revealing my bralette. I can see his eyes light up, even in the dark, as he glances down at the plunging neckline. “It's only fair.” 

His jaw goes slack as we’re both sat there in just our underwear. Timidly, his hands find their place on my waist, and I slowly drape my arms around his neck. It’s hard to believe that we didn’t knock our teeth together, smiling into every kiss. The little noises coming from both of us, every breathy almost moan, making me more intoxicated with him.   

His grip on me tightens, tugging me closer to him if that’s even possible. My hips have a mind of their own, subtly pushing down into him. The smallest amount of friction sends shivers through me. He didn’t move away.. So maybe he doesn’t mind? Deciding to test the waters, I push myself up on my knees slightly, definitely not on purpose, putting some pressure against his subtly hard cock– making him moan into me. His hands pulled me back down, hard against him this time. This tortuous game we’re playing makes every kiss a bit hotter, feeling like a teenager again as I randomly grind my hips into him. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” he whispers, the sound of his raspy voice alone, almost making me moan at this point. 

Letting out a small ‘mmm’ against his lips, “Is it working?” I ask quietly. 

“I swear to god,” he starts, in between kisses, “if Josh wasn’t down the hall..” 

My heart races at the thought, my mouth moving faster than my brain can filter, “What if we’re quiet?” 

His sweet laugh against me, “Mmm, as tempting as that is,” stopped to press a few kisses into me. “I wanna be able to hear all the pretty sounds you’ll make.”

“Jacob,” I moan into his mouth. I’m not entirely proud of how that snuck out, but he is so hot sometimes. We spend another minute with my hands tangled in his hair and his hands slowly making their way down to my ass as he smiles into the kiss when he grabs a handful. 

“Hold on to me,” he mumbles into me before turning us over. Carefully setting me against his pillows, hovering for a second, I can’t help but glance down. His chest and stomach are on display, and god, is he gorgeous. When I thought seeing him in just sweatpants was bad, I had no idea how much worse it would be when I could see the outline of his hard dick on top of that. It is a mouthwatering sight if I can say so myself.

He looks down at my barely clothed body, taking a deep breath before looking back up at me, “I mean this in the most respectful way possible, okay?” My eyebrows pull together, trying to figure out where he’s going with this.

“Okay..”  

He lets his head fall back a bit before finally breathing out, “You’re so fucking hot, my god.”

“Oh, stop,” I whine; my face feels warm instantly as his eyes rake over me. 

“I’m sorry, I don't think I can,” he says, pressing a kiss into the top of my shoulder. “Have you seen yourself?” he asks, carefully brushing some loose hairs out of my face. How he went from being a typical boy to suddenly his normal sweet self is beyond me. 

“Jaaaake—“ 

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop. But I’m not happy about it.” Flopping down next to me with a little grin on his face, he lifts his arm for me to join him. 

He ends up pulling me into him, my head finding a comfortable spot tucked into his chest. We tangle ourselves together, my leg thrown over his hips with his hand immediately staking a claim on my thigh. I slide my free hand up his chest and neck, gently holding the side of his face, and tilt my head up to place one more kiss on his cheek before settling into sleep. 

Breathing him in and relishing in the warmth of this extraordinary man. I’m a breath away from falling asleep when I feel him pressing his lips against my forehead and mumbling, “Sweet dreams, honey.”

Chapter Thirteen  

Chapter Fifteen

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[highway-tuna]

When The Morning Comes

pairing: Danny Wagner x Reader

wc: 2.4k+

warnings: none

summary: Seems like it's just your luck that you get sick right before a date. But not just any date, a Valentine's Day date. But not just any Valentine's Day date, a double Valentine's Day date with your good friend, Danny. So much for being a good wingman. With nothing better to do, you settle into your coziest blanket and sulk, doomed to spend your Valentine's Day evening alone. Or so you think...

a/n: I saw @seenoversundown's GVF Valentine's Day Writing Event and decided to workshop this regular idea I had in the backburner to something more in theme! Hope you enjoy, I've written fan fiction in general for a long while, but this is actually my first one-shot. Happy Valentine's Day!

----------------------------------------------------

“I know, I know!” You groan into your phone, staring down at the bright, red glow of the electronic thermometer. You’d been feeling under the weather since this morning, but you didn't think it was this bad. The sleek dress hanging from the closet door practically mocks you while you already beat yourself up. “I didn’t think I’d feel this… shitty. I’m sorry.”

Danny chuckles over the phone, seemingly unbothered. “You sure you aren’t faking it? You’re always somehow not feeling well right before events.” He sucks his teeth and you can only imagine his dumb disapproving smirk. “Seems pretty convenient, (Y/N).” 

“It’s not convenient, Daniel. It’s bad luck.” Collapsing into your bed, you sigh, practically radiating guilt. “Especially tonight. I feel terrible having to bail on this date. It’s like my first real date since…” A grin creeps its way across your lips as you giggle at the thought.

“Since our date?” The both of you begin laughing, a clear confirmation of his response. Danny was simply a friend of a friend of a friend before you two had met. New to the area and looking to start dating, a friend of yours thought Danny would be the perfect match for you. Instead of allowing you to interact in any way beforehand to let things naturally take its course, the casanovas that were your mutual friends decided the blind date approach would be best. And of course it wasn’t. The chemistry just wasn’t there. You were awkward. There was a lot of dead silence and extremely polite small talk. To make matters even worse, everyone had failed to mention he was fresh out of a relationship. Only after the fact did he tell you he wasn’t even looking for a relationship, that our friends had basically forced him to go on the date.

Lucky for you, he was always interested in making friends and that’s what you became. Good friends. Really good friends, in fact. Joined at the hip, your friends would say with a tacked on eyeroll for good measure. “Yes, since our date. No one could treat me nearly as well as you did that night.”

“Oh? Is that why you haven’t been on any other dates?” You both laugh at his quip, but it does leave a strange feeling in your chest. Unbeknownst to Danny, he was the reason you hadn’t been on any other dates. Sure, the date didn’t really leave you with any feelings, but once your friendship blossomed so did your unrequited crush. Being around Danny just felt… easy. Which is exactly why you had to leave it as is. It’s such a cliche, but it’s cliche for a reason. He’s basically your best friend at this point. To make things awkward or face rejection from one of the most important people in your life is something you’d go through hell and back to avoid. “I guess I’ll just have to cancel the date.”

Just the thought makes you feel even more guilty. “Danny, no. You can’t just ditch the girl. On Valentine’s Day, no less.” It’s a bit comforting that you don't have to go on a double date on Valentine’s Day and watch the man you’d rather date, date someone else. “Oh man, I should probably call him to cancel, right?”

“It’s fine, I’ll-”

“You’re going on this date, Danny. Let me know how good it went tomorrow, alright? Bye!” You end the call intentionally before he could utter another word. Searching for your date’s contact in your phone, you get a text notification that simply says one word.

Asshole.

----------------------------------------------------

Bundled up on the couch watching reruns of old shows isn’t how you expected to spend your Valentine’s Day, but here you are. Your eyes fall to the time on your phone. 7:36pm. If that damn thermometer didn’t say you had a fever, you could’ve been out right now at a fancy restaurant, eating fancy food, dressed all fancy. Probably still feeling like shit, but at least you would’ve looked great. Not like how you look now: hair matted down from resting in your pseudo blanket fort, eyes dark and weary, falling in and out of consciousness. It’s an exhilarating time. 

Grabbing the phone, you scroll mindlessly online and occasionally check the status of your DoorDash order. A little comfort fast food should make you feel better, right? It’s supposed to be here soon. As you swipe through your socials, you see a picture of… your date and Danny’s date together? Which wouldn’t be too weird except for the fact that Danny is in none of these pictures. Your first instinct is to send the pictures over to him with simply a question mark. A few moments pass and you see that he sees your message, but doesn’t respond. Asshole.

A knock on your door startles you from staring at your phone. With an achy groan, you stand from your couch and peer out your window, hoping to see someone with a bag of food walking from their car, but no. Nothing from this view. They really must’ve dropped it off and zoomed away. You swing the door open, desperate for your food.

“Danny?” His name leaves your mouth in shock before you even process the rest of the view. A beautiful bouquet in hand, dressed equally as comfortable as you, and… your bag of food? You point at the brown paper bag, very confused. “How did you-”

“He was bringing it out the same time I was walking up to your door so he just sorta handed it to me,” he laughs, whether it be at the situation or at your general look of shock, staring at him with mouth slightly agape. It’s as if he could read your mind, ready to question him. “You really thought I was gonna let you spend Valentine’s Day by yourself, (Y/N)?”

“Well, yeah! You had a date!” You weakly shove him and chuckle.

“It’s fine. She was understanding. I had someone I needed to take care of.” The flush of your cheeks are impossible to hide. Narrowing your eyes, your mouth opens and shuts as you try to find a rebuttal, but nothing comes out. Accepting your defeat, you step aside and silently invite him in. He hands you your bag of food and beelines straight for the kitchen.

You watch him with your head tilted while he scavenges through your cabinets. “What are you doing?” He mutters something, but you can’t quite catch it. “What- Oh.” He pulls out a vase and fills it with water, setting the bouquet inside. With an almost childish look of pride, he stands beside it and gestures with his hands.

“For you.”

“Thank you… for the hand-me-down flowers.” He shakes his head, making his way back to your living room. A gentle squeeze of your shoulder while he passes that will surely echo in your head the entire night.

“I got them specifically for you. I canceled right after our phone call. These plans-” He motions to everything around him before tossing himself onto the couch, clearly getting comfy right beside your sick blanket pile. “-were already in motion.” 

You sigh before sitting beside him, wrapping your blanket around your shoulder and placing your bag of food on the floor. “You really didn’t have to. Plus, you’re gonna get sick.” His hand waves dismissively and he tugs on your blanket, now wrapping around both of you. This closeness between you two isn’t unusual by any means, but tonight, there’s just something different about it. Maybe that’s hope or delusion talking. Or maybe you’re just loopy from cough medicine. Probably that. 

Grabbing your food, he takes a handful of fries and puts them in his mouth. “I never get sick.” You snatch the bag back and start eating as well, begrudgingly sharing with him. Falling into idle chatter, the two of you get more and more comfortable. His arm draped over your shoulders, your head practically nestled into his neck. Just friends being friends. He really came here on Valentine’s to do… absolutely nothing with you. 

Your eyes begin to slowly flutter shut on occasion, the weary and tired energy taking over you. “You okay?” He pulls away ever so slightly to glance down at you, just checking in. That small retreat from him causes you to instinctually latch onto him. The vibration of his soft laughter reverberates against you. “Alright, let’s get you to bed.” You groan, but comply as he stands from the couch, leaving you with an empty space that you long for him to fill. He takes your hand and guides you to your own bedroom.

Like a moth to a flame, your bed calls out to you. Without moving the top sheets or decorative throws, you face plant directly into a pillow and let out a heavy sigh of relief. It’s almost enough to forget about Danny, admiring you with a soft chuckle. You roll over and look up at him, standing at the foot of your bed. Just the image is enough to make you blush, considering this scene in another circumstance, but you quickly shirk those thoughts. Something suddenly comes to mind. “Oh, check my vinyls. I got a new one,” your voice comes out slow and groggy, tinged with your sleepy smile.

He steps over to your record player, crouching down to look into your box of vinyls. Sitting right in front is Hall & Oates Abandoned Luncheonette. You watch as a small grin crosses his lips. “One of my favorites,” he plainly mutters, sliding the record out of the sleeve and putting it on the turntable. When The Morning Comes starts to play, filling the space in your room. 

“I got it because I remembered you talking about it. Hall & Oates is also just great so,” you mumble, the sleep still pulling you in and out of consciousness. Your eyes close for a moment and you feel the bed shift beside you. Opening them slightly, you glance over to see Danny laying beside you, his fingers tapping on his chest along to the beat of the song. Without a word, you cuddle up to him, resting your head against his arm. “Staying the night?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” You both chuckle at the response. It’s a little forward of you, but with how tired and weak you are, you let your walls come down. “Y’know, I’m really glad you came over tonight.”

“There’s nothing else in the world I’d rather do than spend time with you.” His eyes fall on you while he adjusts, bringing you into his arms. “Even if you’re practically dead right now.”

“I am.” You’re honestly glad the meds and the illness are making you as loose as you are right now. Because otherwise you’d be through the roof with all this attention and affection he’s giving you. “So dead, but I’m still happy you’re here. Does this count as our second date?”

He laughs and shrugs. “If it is, I think it went way better than our first.” His fingers absentmindedly rake through your hair as you continue to drift off. A small silence falls between you before he quietly speaks. “Maybe we should try that again…” Hearing that shocks you, but physically, you can’t hold your exhaustion back. A small mhm leaves your lips as you fall unconscious.

----------------------------------------------------

Sunlight pours into your bedroom, casting a soft glow across you. You yawn and try to stretch, but feel an assortment of your limbs tangled with something else, someone else. Looking over, Danny’s fast asleep, his arms wrapped around you in a bear hug, his legs intertwined with yours. It causes you to chuckle, but deep down, your heart races being so close to him. His dark curls falling over his face, his soft lips parted ever so slightly, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes deeply.

In a moment of selfish desire, you take his hand in yours, trailing your fingers with a gentle touch along his skin. A twitch causes you to quickly withdraw. You feel him stir in his sleep, but he only pulls you closer. “Morning…” His voice, groggy and husky, almost startles you just as much as it intrigues you. It’s as if you can feel his hesitation, a hesitation you share as he loosens his grip, allowing you to fully turn and face him. Just inches apart, a strange feeling between you two lingers.

“Morning. Sleep well?”

“Amazing.” You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. “I can feel your sickness in my immune system as we speak.” Yeah, sarcasm.

“Well, I actually do feel better now.”

There’s a short pause, a moment where your eyes lock and a shared chuckle occurs. “Just admit you wanted me all to yourself last night, that you weren’t sick at all.”

“I was sick, but…” Feeling emboldened, you shoot back, “Maybe it was both.”

“Did you… hear what I said last night? Before you passed out.” For the first time in a while, you hear what seems to be nerves from Danny’s voice. Just in bringing it up, it seems obvious that he was being genuine. Something you would’ve casted off as just a joke because he wouldn’t really want to go on another date with you, surely. 

Your eyes can’t help, but quickly flit between his lips and his own dark eyes, staring straight through you. “I did.” It’s as if he’s holding his breath, waiting for you to answer with actual awareness this time, but you hold back. If something like this is truly happening, you want him to fully repeat it.

“Do you want to try again?” The moment only grows in intimacy once his hand slowly comes up to your face, pushing aside strands of hair. “I think we’d have a better shot this time, (Y/N).”

You nod, causing you both to smile. “I think so too.” His eyes do the same dance as yours, admiring your lips. Accepting the invitation, he leans in, connecting his lips to yours. It’s a sweet and safe kiss, very brief. “You usually kiss girls before the first date?”

He laughs and shakes his head, rolling his eyes in a playful display of annoyance. “It’s basically our third.” 

“God, our third date. Things are going pretty well for us, I guess.” Another kiss is shared before you pull away, giggling. “And we just missed Valentine’s Day. That would’ve been a perfect date.”

“What do you mean? Wrapped up on the couch with you coughing all over me was my dream date.”

“Oh, you’re definitely gonna get sick.”

“And it’ll definitely be worth it.”

[littlemisslipbalm]

Keeping Up With You

Josh Kiszka x gn!reader

Summary: “Mornings are meant to be spent with you,” Josh blurts out, nerves obvious in his voice. “Soft rock music playing while I bestow a thousand kisses across your body.” 

Or

A coming back together story

A/N: FLLUFFIEST AND ANGSIEST writing to date. The premise of this fic follows along the lyrics of tommy’s party by peach pit. One of my favorite songs so you should go listen as soon as possible.

Word Count: 8.9k | Warnings: breakup angst, alcohol consumption and weed consumption, swearing probably, ANGST and Happy Ending!

Join my Taglist!

You were running late. Not for anyone’s fault but your own. You didn’t want to go to Sam’s party, and yet, out of obligation or something like spite, you were dragging yourself there. You loved him and you loved all your friends that you were bound to see, but there was a nagging sense in your stomach that you were going to regret the entire night. 

Maybe it was for liquid courage that you cracked a hard kombucha while you had gotten ready and then took a few (three) shots before stumbling out of your front door to the uber you had called half an hour after the start time of the party that was across town. Sam, like all the rich people in your life, chose to live in the nicest part of town and you couldn’t fault him even if it meant your uber cost an extra 10 dollars for the longer drive than if he had his party at a bar downtown like any civilized adult. 

Walking into the party felt kind of like walking back into high school. Out of place somewhere you already didn’t want to be, searching for a lifeline. You saw the one person you’d probably know the best immediately upon entering. Sam was by the door, yammering about how the house needed more lights to the three unwilling participants in his drunken house tour. You called his name, getting his attention before getting pulled into a sloppy hug. You grinned and yelled over the bass-heavy rock “Happy Birthday, dude!” 

Sam grinned back and yelled that there were drinks in the kitchen and to PLEASE help yourself. You bit your lip and gave two thumbs up to him and the people in his little entourage, before slipping past them to his kitchen, where you planned to help yourself, heavily. 

There were more hard kombuchas sprawled across the countertop that were calling your name until a bottle of semi-decent-looking whiskey tucked in the back of the array of alcohol caught your eye. Scrawled messily across the label in black sharpie was the claim “JAKE’S” and you chuckled to yourself before pouring a double shot of it into the compostable disposable cup you had picked up from the stack at the far end of the counter. If it came to blows with that particular Kiszka, you knew you could take him. 

You added in some root beer to the whiskey after checking that no one was around to see it and gulped at the drink, a little spilling down your chin with the amount of vigor you had used. You needed the alcohol haze on your mind to get heavier before you could face anything more at this party. The lights were dim and the music was thumping, people were talking loudly and laughing louder and you felt impossibly alone. And anxious. 

The unknown hand that descended on your shoulder didn’t help the anxiety, but managed to placate the lonliness. You jumped, sloshing a little bit of your drink before whipping around to scold the owner of said hand. 

“You swipe from my whiskey business, trouble?” Jake inquired with an arched brow. 

Your eyes were wide on his face, before glancing down at your cup and back up to him, a bite of your lip overtaking your face. Guilt. 

Jake’s usual casual smirk that he sported in situations where he was comfortable morphed into a grin. There was a tinge of sadness in his face, but he hoped the smile masked it enough. “Oh, c’mon, you know you can always take from my private collection. You’re the only one who can stomach it besides me, anyway.” He pulls you into a side-hug that is stilted but attempting to be comforting. “Wouldn’t have left it out if I didn’t want you to have some.” 

You tried for a smile and took a sip. He’d left it out, hoping you would show. “Thanks, Jake. Your handwriting is atrocious, by the way.” 

Jake’s smirk returns as he chuckles, his hair falling forward from behind his shoulders. It’s gotten long again since you’d last seen him. You didn’t want to think about the last time you’d seen him. Your eyes cast anxiously to the two entrances to the kitchen, searching and double-checking that no one else had come through the doors to surprise you. 

Jake notices and leans into the countertop with his hip. “I was just about to go light up? Care to join?” He lifts up the joint she hadn’t noticed in his hand before. 

“I don’t know…” You start, unsure why you would decline a chance to be away from the crowd already. Maybe how Jake was staring at you, the way he terribly hid his concern for you. Would he try to ask you how you were really? Weed always made him more earnest. But weed could help you, so long as you kept Jake away from certain talking points. All this going through your mind and what you swore was a certain head of curls pushing through the crowd at the far door of the kitchen made you say, “Uh, sure. Let’s do it.” 

Jake went to say something in the way of how pleased he was, but just a quiet squeak came out when you quickly began to move out of the kitchen and away from the approaching curls. You grabbed Jake’s hand with the joint in it by the wrist and flipped on your heel, leading him out of the kitchen door you had entered through. You weaved through the people in the hallway, towards the closed door to the side yard where the light was off. It was unlocked thankfully and you quickly felt around the exterior wall for a switch you knew was there, before the empty outdoor space was illuminated. The music was muffled once the door was shut and you sat on the measly single concrete step below the door. 

“Sam should really do something with this space,” you mumble, feeling capable of breathing and thinking and living once more. 

Jake shrugged and leaned against the wall, looking down at you and then around the empty side yard. It was an afterthought, but why did you care? He was still trying to catch his breath from the sprint you had just performed to get you out of the house in what seemed like 5 seconds flat. 

“I don’t think I’ve moved that quickly outside of a motorized vehicle in years.” Jake sighed. 

“You should get a Peloton. It’s great.” 

“I work out,” Jake says indignantly. “You just fucking flew, though.” Then he adds. “I didn’t know you had a Peloton.��  

You shuffle your feet, staring at them as they move in no particular pattern. “Yeah…it was a gift.” You cough. “It’s a great stress reliever as well as a workout machine.” 

Jake hums, a wave of realization washes over him as his eyes watch you, clumsily messing with your feet and your free hand. He doesn’t say anything else on the subject, though, and brings the joint to his lips, slipping his shiny silver zippo from his back pocket. It lights and he puffs on the filter. 

There was no breeze tonight. No stars and no moon. It was like the sky had taken the night off–which you weren’t sure was allowed. And yet, there it was, endless black. Your hand expertly took the joint from Jake’s outstretched fingers. 

“I’ve been on a T-break for the last few months,” you say when you hand back the joint. 

Jake raises a brow again as he begins to puff on it again. 

“Well, I said I quit, but here I am getting high, so it must’ve been a T-break.” 

Jake chuckles and coughs a little on the smoke that catches in his throat from his laughter. You grimace in silent apology, accepting the joint back. Jake asks one single question for the remainder of the joint and for that you are grateful, even if it’s one of the worst questions he could’ve asked. After he asks it, he’ll leave you alone, but it’s killing him not to know. Or at least, try to know. You had been such a good friend to him and he missed having you around lately. He knew he couldn’t say that though. It wasn’t his place, but still one measly question couldn’t hurt. 

He was lucky you were feeling so light and airy from the weed when he asked. If he had tried the question when you had first arrived or when he found you in the kitchen, you’re pretty sure you would’ve turned tail and run home crying. 

“How are you really doing?” He inquires. 

“I’m really high.” You laugh. 

Jake sits beside you and turns his head, holding the joint out to the ground for ash to fall and the weed to burn with no lips around it to inhale the smoke. He says your name once and you know he’s serious. 

You sigh and stick your legs out straight in front of you, your skirt flattens across your thighs nicely but you smooth your hands across it anyway and then grab at your drink beside you to take a sip. It’s almost empty. You look in his eyes for a moment and there’s that sadness and concern again. 

“Did not want to come.” You say and Jake nods. “Came. For Sam.” You clarify and Jake nods again. “I know I’ll see him eventually. It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Jake nods and pats a hand gingerly on your shoulder and you grimace at your lap. He was trying so hard to navigate a difficult situation and you admired his courage. 

“Thank you, Jake. For the smoke.” You say and pause, mustering your courage to just blurt it out. You stare at the wooden fence across from you. “And for being my friend, still. You’re a good guy.” 

Jake shakes his head and pokes out the joint, not interested in smoking it anymore. “And you are too. A good friend…who deserves happiness.” 

Your lips spread into a smile and you look at Jake in the eye for a moment before knocking your forehead against his own shoulder. Something you always appreciated about Jake was his ability to understand non-verbal communication. He allowed you to do that and understand it was you thanking him. Even if you couldn’t say more on the topic. He knew. 

Jake blew out a breath after a moment, “Jesus, fuck, I’m high as shit.” 

You giggle and it feels louder and sillier than anything you’d done all night. Oh fuck. “Yeah. I think I am too. Good stuff.” 

“Josh’s,” Jake mumbles, moving to crawl back to standing, he needed water. “Sorry.” He mumbled with widened eyes when he realized the word, the name, that had left his mouth. 

You roll your eyes and hold your arms out for Jake to help you stand. “He’s not some super-villain. Just my ex and your twin. You can say his name.” 

Your eyes matched Jake’s red and droopy eyes as you stared at each other once he brought you to standing, both of you taking in each other’s state. It’s tense and quiet, the thumping music heavy at the door. 

You keep your hands in Jake’s, enjoying his warm caloused hands. So much like someone else’s, yet so different. “Do we have to go back in?” 

“I mean…” Jake looked down his nose at you. His voice dropped lower to a raspy almost-whisper. “We should probably go back. Right?”

You smile lazily at Jake and then drop his eye contact, looking at your feet, how close the two of you were standing, and then taking a step back. He was giving you the option, but you both knew there was only one right answer. 

“Back inside it is.” You add a laugh to try to not sound too bleak. “To face the gallows.” 

“I still think you’d make it as a comedian, trouble,” Jake adds. 

The tension dissipates. Whatever crack in the wall that was there, a tiny possibility that could’ve grown if you wanted, was patched over and covered. Forgotten. You and Jake were friends. A lot of shared history and a lot of understanding, but it was better this way. 

“My one man show,” you say, shaking off the memories of when it was a duo act. You and Josh loved a good bit and would drag them out as long as you could, staying in character for entire nights out or, once, an entire week during a family vacation. “I’m good, man.” You reassure Jake when he looks at you concerned again, with his hand on the door handle. 

The music grows louder but is more muffled than before as the weed and alcohol successfully contain you in their all consuming bubble. You were thankful for the moment to gather yourself and to remind you that facing Josh might not be all that horrible. You could do anything when stoned, this was something you truly believed especially when the high was in its starting area, when you were first plunged into the strange warm fuzzy place in your brain. 

Jake’s hand on your back pushed you through the crowd and you heard the words “refill” and “water” leave his lips so you began to wander towards the kitchen again. Once back, you’re mildly disappointed to see it’s not empty. It’s not crowded, there’s just three other small groups of twos and threes getting refills or lingering after having gotten their refills. The night was progressing, meaning more inebriation caused more plans to be forgotten half way through. Expert missions of moving from one area of the house to the next were abandoned when the roadmaps slipped from the de facto leader of the small groups’ brain when they had another sip of their drink of choice. You knew because you used to come to parties like these with groups.

Now you were a lone shark, or maybe just the remora to Jake’s lone shark, attaching yourself to him, just along for the ride as he made the decisions. He expertly slipped past the huddled groups without interactions, just nods of chin and his smirk. You noticed some of the whispers and shared looks from some of the people in those groups as you passed by, but chose to believe they were about how handsome and mysterious Jake was and not how you were with him. 

Jake looked between the faucet and the cups he had forgotten were at the end of the counter, debating whether he would go back for one or not. Shaking his head after a moment of weighted silence, he opened the cupboard to the right of the sink and grabbed one of Sam’s precious souvenir pint glasses and filled it with water. You watched in mild awe that Jake did not fear his little brother’s annoying nagging if caught and desire for water to touch your cotton-mouth-y, well, mouth. 

Jake stuck the glass under the faucet again and refilled it before holding it out towards you and you smiled. Accepting the glass, you turned it in your hand, observing the etching of Snoopy and Woodstock dressed as chefs holding a gigantic sandwich with the word ‘Philadelphia’ in red bold letters above them. Sam was weird, but you respected his collection. You’d even gifted him a ‘San Francisco’ one for Christmas a couple years ago with Snoopy and the Peanuts dressed up for a Giants game. 

You sipped at the water and let it wash into the various pockets of your mouth before swallowing, humming in satisfaction. “Good stuff.” You repeated.

“Only the best.” Jake responds. “Whiskey time?” 

He doesn’t wait for your answer since you're drinking more of the water. He picks up your abandoned cup and his own and snatches his whiskey from behind the more popular liquors: grey goose vodka in multiple flavors besides the classic, a few okay gins and tequila–tons of it. 

You take the cup filled with whiskey straight and you grimace. You weren’t in the mood to drink much more, feeling plenty fucked up, and you definitely weren’t in the mood to stomach whiskey on its own. You do an obligatory cheers motion with Jake and pretend to take a sip. 

“I forgot to tell you,” Jake suddenly says with a burst of energy and you widen your eyes, startled. “We’re doing a set later.” 

“What?” 

“Sam wants to, for his birthday. Have a jam sesh.” Jake shrugs and slips his phone out of his coat pocket, checking the time. “Honestly should probably check the setup, make sure no one trampled the gear. C’mon.” 

You would think professional musicians would want a break from their job for their birthdays, but these guys loved it so much it was hard to keep them away. Plus, knowing Sam, he’d probably insisted on choosing the set list, making Jake and Josh take a reluctant backseat to what they would play. Were you intrigued? Yes. Completely and utterly apprehensive to watch Josh perform? Double yes.

You followed Jake out of the kitchen and through the bodies in the living room towards the open French doors leading to the patio and backyard. Sam had a temporary stage set up at the back of the yard that no one was standing on or messing with besides Danny who was checking his drum kit was okay already. Everything on the stage was secondary personal stuff, none of it their expensive favorites, but it still wouldn’t be great if any of it got wrecked. 

A boisterous and booming laugh took your eyes off of Danny and made you fall out of step with Jake. Right beside the stage was Josh, grin plastered across his face and beer can sloshing haphazardly as he swung his arms wide as he regaled his small group with a big important story he dramatized to be even grander than it had been. 

Your eyes scanned the group surrounding him, focusing hard to make out the faces in the dim light as you tried to keep walking, following blindly behind Jake who was pausing at the edge of the stage on the opposite end from Josh. You swallow hard and debate taking another sip of the whiskey, but decide it won’t help. Your legs finally bring you to standing awkwardly beside, but slightly behind, Jake as he talks with Danny. You positioned yourself to be slightly in Jake’s shadow unintentionally. 

Danny greets you and your eyes flicker to him for a moment before returning to Josh, just a few feet from you now, but he still hasn’t seen you. You mumble a ‘hi’ and Jake explains for you that you were likely on a different planet from the joint you had shared. You nodded perfunctorily and then stuck your cup into Jake’s chest. 

“I can’t drink this,” you say, barely above a whisper, still watching Josh. 

He was winding down from the story, you could tell. His audience was enraptured, with one particular girl close by his side that you didn’t recognize. She was grinning, shiny and bright as she watched Josh in all his inebriated glory. In his element. Entertaining. It was magic to be so close to him in those moments, how it felt spiritual when he caught your eye inches away. How his teeth seemed to smile just for you when he placed his hand on your shoulder. 

And there it was. Josh rested his arm around the beautiful girl’s shoulders, palm pressing her closer to him as he laughed and grinned. She smiled at him and you swore you saw him wink. It was drunken and dopey, but you saw it. 

You hadn’t felt Jake take the cup from your grasp, but your hand fell to your side, now empty. Danny and Jake followed your eyeline and then met each other’s eyes and frowned a little. 

“How about you sit right here?” Jake huddled you towards a lawn chair that was close to the stage, but against the house wall so no one would bump into it. 

“So I get a front row seat to it all?” You mumble miserably. 

“Here,” Danny says, passing his hyrdroflask from behind the drum kit to Jake, who hands it to you, flipping the mouthpiece open and instructing you to drink. 

You should’ve left once you could feel your legs again, but you couldn’t stop staring. Thankfully, Josh hadn’t noticed. You probably would’ve died on the spot if he had caught your intense eye. Instead he gives the girl a squeeze and mumbles something into her ear. She laughs loudly and stumbles on her feet a little as she steps back from him. Josh turns towards the stage and clambers onto the top of it. If it wasn’t clear to you before, his lack of agility cemented it. He was close to belligerent, but holding himself together well. 

It would be laughable when he almost tilts over right after he’s stood upright finally, but you’re not the person who can find that funny anymore without seeming cruel. Instead, you decide to take a sip of Danny’s water and shut your eyes, tilting your head back against the wall, hoping to ride out the rest of this night in a strange detached state. If no one spoke to you for the rest of the night you would be happy. 

You willed away the disparate images passing behind your shut eyelids. A different reality your mind had conjured up specifically to torture you it seemed. Where you were beside Josh just then and the two of you had tumbled up onto the stage. First you guide his hips up and then he pulls you up after him, the pair of you happily and drunkenly falling over one another, tangling yourselves up into a few cables in the process. You two were laughing through it all and then Josh would stop and smile the smile that was just for you, a special gleam of love in his eyes you’d grown used to. He’d cup your cheeks between his palms and pull your face to his, a big blistering kiss bestowed upon your lips quieting your own laughter. It would lead you to falling deeper into love with the man who really saw you and forgetting where you were. And then the boys would holler at the pair of you and you’d hide your face in Josh’s jacket before he’d help you up, with a pat to your bum before you inevitably made it back to the seat you were in now. 

No. Now there was only this chair. And a borrowed water bottle to touch your lips. Fuck. You moved your mind to your escape plan. 

The music would start soon anyway and then you could probably slip out to call an uber after a few songs. You heard Sam join the rest of the band on the wooden stage a few minutes later, his long legs thumping as he jumped up onto the stage and his drunken voice louder and whinier as he asked Danny to check his bass for him, since he was the birthday boy. 

You peek out of one eye, too amused to miss the visuals of this exchange and see Danny shaking his head and muttering under his breath as he picks up Sam’s bass. Sam is smiling triumphantly with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot impatiently like the prince he was. Then your eyes slide to the right and see Jake and Josh huddled around Jake’s amp. 

Just close your eyes. But you can’t. 

Josh is all antsy. He’s waving his hands about and rocking Jake’s shoulders. Jake’s murmuring words below his breath trying to placate whatever situation his twin seems to be troubled by. You know it’s wrong to strain your ears to hear the conversation but you can’t help it. 

“…just aren’t really my thing.” You catch the end of Josh’s slurred sentence. He’s still grinning as he complains.

Jake shakes his head. “They’re Sam’s thing since it’s Sam’s birthday.”

“I know we agreed to it but can’t we just, I don’t know, not?” 

Jake laughed a little and tried to hide it with a cough, his eyes sliding to you for a quick moment. “Josh, it’s like 5 songs.”

“I’m slammed, man,” Josh stumbles on his footing, adding to his case accidentally.

“Just sing the choruses and then hit some high notes. He wants to jam anyway, you’re not on frontman duty tonight.” 

“Oh please, Jake. I’m always on frontman—“ Josh’s train of thought runs off the tracks when his eyes finally catch yours. 

You freeze. You weren’t moving anyway but you freeze all the same. Blood runs cold. Spine rigid. You don’t know how to breathe and you were right. You are going to die. 

Josh is frozen too and Jake watches it unfold. Both of your faces were completely open with the pain. You could see it around the eyebrows and the lips and how it swelled through the irises of your eyes as you looked at one another. 

Someone smashing a beer can followed by the electric thrum of a bassline makes you bring your free hand up in the air. It’s supposed to be a wave as it travels to the height of your head and then loses momentum, pausing for a moment as Josh’s eyes flicker to the movement before it falls again. 

You drop your gaze to your lap while Josh stays on you. His similarly intense gaze burns you. He wants to come talk to you even though he has absolutely no idea what he’d say to you anyway. His feet even begin to lurch towards the end of the stage nearest you, but Jake pulls him back. 

That succession of chords on Sam’s bass was his signal that he wanted to get the jam session started. It was followed by a verbal announcement from the birthday boy as well.

“Everyone come outside now. It’s time to hear me play sweet sweet music for you.” Sam says into the mic before handing it off to Josh.

Josh looks over at you one more time but you make sure your eyes are anywhere else on the stage but his face. He licks his lips and swaggers to center stage. 

“Friends and family, loved and loathed ones, day trippers and moonbeam chasers,” Josh pauses for the roar of the crowd. Smaller than their concerts, obviously, but still spirited for the size of this party. “What a glorious fucking night to celebrate the birth of the youngest Kiszka.” 

Maybe Danny expected Josh to say more because there’s a pause before the drum kicks in. Josh turns on his heel to face Danny and signals him to start. Danny counts them in and Jake walks them into a perfect cover of “The Lemon Song.” 

Josh hated doing Led Zeppelin covers but Sam loved the bassline on this song. He’d been obsessed with it when he first started playing and Jake enjoyed the guitar on it too. So here Josh was, proving every critic correct that he could sound just like Robert Plant. Jake shredded away on Jimmy’s solo chords and then lowered his amp for an extended moment to give Sam a proper bass solo. And Josh admittedly got into the song, feeling the vibrations through his chest, getting lost on stage. 

They transitioned straight into “Cold Cold Cold” and “Feel Good Inc.” Both with heavy basslines. Josh liked these two because he got to use his tambourine in the first and had few words in the second. He also skipped a lot of the words in the songs, not knowing them, but holding the microphone towards the crowd, telling them to sing along when it was the chorus or popular parts of them. 

Then they took a break. Normally Josh might joke around. Tell a story about Sam when he was a weird little kid. Instead, he just took a swig from his beer beside the unutilized mic stand and talked in Jake’s ear until Sam signaled he was ready to continue. He had moved to the keyboard he had also brought out for the evening. 

“This one’s a little on the nose but, hey, what little bro wants, little bro gets.” 

Josh started singing the first verse of “I’m going to be a teenage idol” and you grimaced. You loved Elton John and if you thought more highly of yourself you would’ve thought Josh’s reluctance to sing this song was because it reminded him of you. 

He tritely pointed to himself when he sang “it kind of makes me feel like a rock and roll star.” He paced around the stage, continuously sweeping his hands towards Sam as he expertly played the hard keys for the song. He sipped at his beer and belted one of the later verses with a passion that masked what you knew was sadness. Josh was a professional, so he knew how to keep his shit together even when he was drunk, but he wanted off this stage and you knew it. 

Then the song ended. Your eyes watching Josh’s demeanor shift. “Thankfully this one isn’t…or is it?” 

“Psycho Killer” started up and you couldn’t help the laugh that came past your lips. You pressed your hand to your mouth, feeling like you were betraying yourself. Josh hadn’t looked your way since they had started but somehow either his trained ear heard that or he had some psychic sense, because he stared at you again, faltering on the classic song’s lyrics. 

Given the conversation you eavesdropped on, you weren’t sure if they had planned to play “Happiness is a Warm Gun” but they transitioned into it seamlessly from the last so they didn’t stop and Josh knew all the words. You two had listened to the Beatles’ white album countless times together. It was your favorite of theirs. You’d put it on all the time with Josh and he’d happily listen along, always acquiescing to your arguments about it even though he preferred Let It Be. On lazy Sunday mornings when you never got out of bed until dinner time. On the road, for tour or for road-trips you’d take together up to the cabin or little Airbnbs you’d found in cool spots. 

This wasn’t your song though and for that you were thankful. You might’ve thrown up if for some reason Sam had added that to the setlist. You might’ve found a way to time travel and kill Paul McCartney before he could add a bassline to that song if that would’ve stopped that. You’d give up the existence of that song before Josh sang it in front of a small crowd where you weren’t the one he was singing it for anymore.  

Again, your imagination was running wild tonight. Seeing Josh’s beautiful face brought back every memory you had with him. The last few years had been the best years of your life. Meaning that these past few months have been the hardest of your life. Half the time you weren’t even sure if it was life anymore.

So many memories were from nights just like tonight, but he wouldn’t be some distant figure causing building anxiety as you steal glances at one another from across the yard. You used to be the one keeping up with him, telling stories together and getting drunk to aid in your fun rather than to run away from your hangups. Stealing kisses and sneaking off to empty hallways or plain taking off early to be alone together again. 

You couldn’t help getting lost in the sound of Jake making the guitar riffs his own, the velvet of Josh’s voice and how all four of them meshed their instruments so expertly, making any song something special. Your eyes had shut and you were swaying in your seat to the music. Loving it. This piece of connection could never be severed. All your silly feelings forgotten for one blissful moment before the music came to an abrupt and cruel end. 

Sam took the mic from Josh who almost let it carelessly fall to the floor. “Thank you all for coming! Love you guys!” Sam quickly called before being pulled off the stage by his girlfriend who was eager to make out with her man. 

You grimaced. You knew how she felt. Goddamnit. 

Josh doesn’t immediately come up to you. Not that you were hoping for that. You actually were dreading the moment when you two finally spoke again. You two hadn’t had much contact since the breakup, so your last verbal conversation had been about you picking up the rest of your stuff from his place in December. Over the phone. You still had a key so you came when he was out. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sat forward, willing those memories to stay put in the locked cabinet you were never going to revisit. Leaving seemed like a good idea now. You’d paid your birthday dues, shown up and even stayed for the show. Slipping off seemed ideal. You just needed to return Danny’s water bottle to him. 

He was still at the bandstand, in front of his drum kit with Jake and another guy from their work, Brian (you think). You stood, feeling a little better but still pretty high given your major break from the drug prior to tonight. You blinked a few times, double checking that none of the guys in the small huddle transformed into Josh suddenly before you got to them. 

Jake gave you a hand up onto the stage and you thanked him, before handing Danny his water and thanking him for it as well. He reassures you that it was his pleasure and then he thanked you for leaving him water in it. He was a wonder to you and you smiled genuinely at his kindness. You missed him. You missed all of them. 

You rocked on your heels and fidgeted your hands to rest on your hips. “Well, I’m gonna head out I think. This was plenty for me and my old self.” You proclaim when the conversation lulls. 

Jake nods, not even trying to get you to stay, whereas Maybe Brian protests, saying the night was still young. Danny shoots him a look with a subtle head shake and you smile at your feet. These guys still had your back and for that you were grateful. You hugged Danny and told him to tell Sam goodbye for you in case you didn’t bump into him on your way out. As you were leaning into Jake’s warm side for the second time tonight, a voice interrupts the farewells. 

“Dan, have you seen my elf–” Josh stops talking again, eyes widening on your face. 

You don’t freeze this time, immediately dropping away from Jake. It wasn’t wrong, but you also couldn’t face Josh while touching his twin. Josh must have missed you within the group, hidden among the taller men. 

“Hey, I was just leaving,” You say, your voice quivering a little with nerves, barely aware of what you were saying. 

“Hello,” Josh slurs after a weighted moment. His eyes slid along your face and down your entire body, as if they had been starved of you since he’d last looked at you. He looks away, back to Danny. “I think, perhaps, I left it in the kitchen. Thanks Daniel.” He flips on his heel and wanders off. 

You can’t help but watch him go. It’s not your fault your eyeline is directly aligned with where the girl from earlier is positioned right next to the door to inside. Or that you catch how he pulls her back into his side and she laughs at whatever he has said just for her. It was right in front of you. What were you supposed to do? Tear your eyeballs out? Now that’s a thought. 

His bright mustard jacket eventually disappears between the various bodies and his hair is obscured by the dim lights in the house. He’s gone, laughing with her just like you two used to.

“Well, if that’s not my cue,” You let the silence that follows finish your thought for you. 

Jake apologizes for Josh and you tell him it’s not necessary. Really. It’s been five months. It was mutual. If anything it was you who initiated it. If Josh can’t speak to you or if he’s seeing someone new. That’s just fine. Fine. So fine. 

Your uber takes you home and you don’t cry. You don’t let yourself. Something possesses you in the morning to type out an email though. You’re not sure why you don’t just send a text. The email feels less personal, less intimate than a text. Less risky. And somehow more private. It was almost like sending a letter, which you used to send Josh on occasion–of course, those were love letters. 

Hey there bud… You look at the words and almost throw your computer out of the window. Bud? Bud!? You couldn’t write anything else though, anything less was too little, too strange, anything more, like his name, was too intimate, too much. 

How’d it go last night?

Your love letters used to read like poetry and you guessed this was kind of like that, but it wasn’t a love letter. You still could just save it as a draft and never send it after all. 

I saw you at the bandstand looking pretty slammed. You used the exact word Josh had described himself last night. It had been repeating in your mind all night. Did you see me feeding my drink to Jake? Probably not I guess, you were quite the mess. And that girl who tagged along there with you, I never caught her name, but she seemed fucked up too. 

You read it over and thought that it was maybe too harsh. But it was the truth. You needed to get it off your chest. He hadn’t let you talk last night so you wanted to share your night with him now even if you hadn’t gotten to last night. 

From where I sat, she looked to be havin’ fun, keeping up with you just like I used to. 

How’d it go last night? I’m sorry to have ditched out but I was pretty high. Heard from Danny that on his stumble home, Jake was puking up all the shit he’d drunk. 

Though we didn’t talk much, how’d your evening go? You barely spoke a word to me, besides that slurred “Hello”... I happened to see without even trying, how she laughed with you just like I used to. 

You were rambling, you couldn’t get it all out. But you cut yourself off. That was all you could say. So you read it over about five more times and changed a few commas and added spacing and you wondered if Josh would think you had gone off the deep end with this one. Your first form of communication with him in months. By e-mail for some reason. 

The thought of not sending it crossed your mind a few more times before you took a breath and hovered the mouse over the ‘Send’ button. Finally clicking it when you finished the exhale. You wanted him to know. 

-

When Josh woke up, close to noon with an awful hangover and an unfamiliar bed, he groaned and covered his face when the headache pounded against his skull harder. 

“Fuck my life,” he murmured. He rolled from his back to his side, his legs swinging to tether him to the carpeted floor. Where the fuck was he?

“You’re awake!” The girl popped her head in, her hair wet from the shower she had just taken. “Do you want breakfast? Or coffee?”

“Uh…” Josh stared at his feet, wiggling his toes to remind him of reality. “No, I should go home.”

She smiles, sporting her best look, as if last night hadn’t emotionally wrecked her like it had Josh. That actually made sense. “Yeah. See you again soon?” 

“Yeah. I’ll call you…” Josh reassures, beginning to put his pants on. His words were an afterthought as he pieced together last night's events. “Have fun at your ceramics class today!”

He shuffled out of the door just as she responded, towel still messing with her tips. “It’s painting!”

Josh mumbled his apologies as he walked down the street hoping that his car would pop up among the different vehicles parked on the street. He definitely hadn’t driven there after the party but maybe he had brought his car to her place beforehand. He was still working through the night. And his mind was focused on all the moments where you had popped up. 

He’d seen you disappear out of the kitchen with his brother. He’d seen you next to the bandstand a couple times and then he’d seen you when he’d drunkenly asked Danny if he’d seen his elfbar. Could he be more of an idiot? He rubbed at his pained forehead again as he looked up and down the street once more before deciding that he hadn’t driven his car to this woman’s house. 

They’d gone out on a couple of dates, set up by mutual friends that were closer with her than Josh but he was trying and he wanted to try. Even if all he really wanted to do was call you and beg you to forget about the last few months. 

Too focused on making it home and one to always dismiss his email notifications, Josh didn’t notice the message from you until he had made it home and successfully made himself a pot of coffee and had a necessary shower, leaving him in his sweatpants and curled up in his bed that used to be shared, ‘ours’. 

His phone had been charging so he unplugged it and rolled to the other side of the bed, which he still felt guilty for. Like you’d walk through the door any moment and playfully grumble at him for being a bed hog. 

Complete privacy and total boredom eventually made him check his e-mail. He might have a package coming after all, he couldn’t remember, and his headache had mostly cleared away but looming anxieties nagged at him. He couldn’t keep getting drunk and hooking up with his casual flings. It was going to catch up with him and he knew it. He just hated to admit it.

Your name on his screen was especially sobering. He had longed for it to pop up. Preferably in a phone call or text format, asking to meet up and talk over everything one more time that actually leads to you getting back together. But hey, he’d settle for an e-mail at this point. Because that is what he had received. 

He took a deep breath and allowed his hovering thumb to click down on it. It was your poem/accusation and he read it over and over double checking that it was indeed your words and not lyrics from a song or someone else. No, he recognized your voice in the words and how you phrased it. The ‘hey there bud’ made him laugh. You were so weird. He missed it. 

All the love letters were in his side table drawer still. Maybe it would’ve been healthier to move them to a box not so close to where he slept, but he couldn’t bear it. You used to post them from around town so that they could get sent to the house you both lived in. It sent him over the moon whenever he recognized your handwriting of his name on the front of a piece of mail and you’d giggle behind your cup of coffee, slyly slinking off to let him read it in private. 

After he’d finish reading, he’d wander the house until he found you and press kisses all over your face while he repeated confessions of love, over and over while you shrieked and laughed at his attack of love.  

This e-mail made him sad, but also hopeful. He was going to reply. 

Hey there…How’d last night go for you? I know when I saw you at the bandstand, I said I was slammed to Jake. Did you overhear or is that just some strange coincidence? I probably should’ve given some of my drinks away. I was quite the mess, you’re right. 

And the girl…she’s a part of the mistakes I’ve been making since the break up. I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry all I said was Hello. I didn’t know what to say…as you could probably tell. Josh smiled down at his phone, your eyes had been so wide with surprise upon seeing him up so close. The look on your face had been a dagger to his heart, twisting deeper when you said you were heading out. 

I was thinking back just the other day, remember when we used to sneak out late to go and blaze after everyone else at the party had gone home or passed out? 

Seems like loneliness is all we’ll ever do now. At least for me. Maybe you weren’t lonely, I don’t want to assume. I was surrounded by people all night, these past four months too, and I’ve never felt more alone. 

I’m glad you messaged me. I’m sorry I didn’t do it first. He wondered if he should add the next piece. Was it wrong? Should he leave it at that. The stabbing pain in his chest returned and he wanted to be brave for you. Just for the chance, you could shoot him down but he’d know that he’d tried. I’ve been going to a new coffee place downtown. Northside CoffeeHouse. I think you’d like it. They make the cinnamon rolls just the way you like. 

Josh swallowed hard and sent the email before he could think too hard about it. He hoped he wasn’t being presumptuous that you would remember his routine. Coffee out on weekends usually between 9 and 10. 

You read over the email that came through from Josh a few times. His mention of loneliness made your heart sink, you hated to think of Josh carrying a pain like yours. The thought kind of hurt more than your own heartbreak. 

You knew what he was saying with his mention of the coffeeshop. Tomorrow he’d probably be there if you went when he used to. Josh was secretly a creature of habit despite advocating for chaos most of the time. 

Josh arrived at Northside at 9 am sharp, just in case you came on the early side. He patiently waited in the line for coffee and took a seat by the window. He checked his phone every few minutes, confused why time suddenly moved so slow. 

He remembered the first coffee date you had gone on with him. You both had been late so he should’ve known then that you were the one for him. He showed up twenty minutes late (ten by accident and then an extra ten getting apology flowers) and you ran in five minutes later, out of breath, apologizing that you were so late. Josh was overjoyed to tell you he’d also been late and was so extremely worried about you not being there when he’d arrive. He picked up the flowers on the table and handed them to you, shyly explaining he’d gotten extra late grabbing these and you’d laughed, glancing between the plants and the strangely bashful guy in front of you. You’d been hooked ever since. 

You had been introduced to Josh when you had gotten invited to tagalong with a work friend to a VIP section of a concert series in Nashville. Josh and his brothers had been there and somehow your friend had run into them a few times at stuff like this. You hadn’t initially realized Josh was hitting on you as you talked the evening away with him about all things music and your very different jobs so you were surprised when he asked you out on the coffee date, but you hadn’t declined. Afterall, he was Josh. 

The rest, as they say, is history. Much to your chagrin. You replayed that first date over and over as you paced up and down the cross street for the coffee shop you assumed Josh was now waiting for you at. 

With a single white Peruvian lily clutched in your hand, you finally turned the corner and marched yourself into the coffee shop. You didn’t look in the windows, you were too focused on getting yourself through the door so you had to look around the room for Josh after entering. Your hand was holding so tightly to the flower’s stem you worried you’d break it if you didn’t set it down soon.  

His back was facing you, he’d been looking down the other side of the street and had no idea you’d entered as he was beginning to resign himself to the fact that maybe you didn’t want to see him. It was almost 10 am when you arrived. 

“Josh,” you sigh, hand touching his shoulder as you turn to face them. 

He looks up and the smile on his face almost brings tears to your eyes. It’s the one you’ve missed so much. You can’t help the frown that it brings to your face as you will away the tears. 

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” Josh says, standing to hug you because he knew your facial expressions by heart too. 

You laugh and the stem in your hand finally snaps at his touch. It’s too much. Josh pulls back and looks down at your hand and laughs for a different reason. He motions to the table and your eyes sweep the two empty coffee cups he must have drank waiting for you, his phone and a bouquet of the very same flower, just like the ones he’d given you three and a half years ago. 

“Can I go order you something?” Josh asks softly. “I didn’t want to order the cinnamon roll until you got here. I wanted it to still be warm.” 

You bite your lip. He was still so sweet and thoughtful. You laugh again and nod your head. He knew you needed a moment to ground yourself so he let you have some time to yourself. He walked to the counter and ordered what you always got and a cinnamon roll to share. 

You placed your broken flower with his bouquet, your hands ran gently over the pearly petals, careful not to cause any dents or creases. After studying them, you feel a little less overwhelmed and you lift your head to watch Josh. He’s paying with cash and you’re endeared how he still clumsily handles the coins despite how often he likes to pay with physical money. 

He thanks the barista who was now very accustomed to Josh, considering it was his third time up at the counter in the last hour. You smile sheepishly at Josh as he smooths his palms down his khakis, coming back to you. 

Your conversation is stilted while he waits for his name to be called. He doesn’t want to get into the nitty gritty when he knows there’s an impending interupter. You thank him for the flowers and apologize for your broken attempt. 

He smiles down at the baker's dozen of flowers. “I like it. Here.” His fingers delicately move the broken pieces back into place and then moves your single flower into the center of the bouquet. “It’s all patched up now.” 

You smile and meet his eyes, knowing the Josh metaphor he was trying to obviously make. His name is called saving you from saying more on the subject for the moment. He hands you your drink and places one fork facing you and one facing him on the edge of the cinnamon roll’s box. You thank him again and he hushes you, saying you didn’t need to keep thanking him. 

You quiet as you try the treat. Josh watches your reaction with barely contained glee, knowing you’d loved it. You had missed this feeling. This feeling of someone knowing you so well. How Josh took care of you and how, in return, you took care of him. You grinned, reassuring him that yes it was great. 

You quiet down again about the food. Josh and you smile at one another and it feels like nothing has changed. You want to believe it. 

“Mornings are meant to be spent with you,” Josh blurts out, nerves obvious in his voice. “Soft rock music playing while I bestow a thousand kisses across your body.” 

“There’s the Josh I know,” you tease but you’re beaming at him. 

Flashes of the mornings he was referencing came to mind. 

Josh curled around you or you curled around Josh, Velvet Underground and Grateful Dead records on. Sunlight filtering across the floral sheets you’d bought for him as a welcome back from tour present after Dreams in Gold. Smooth skin against skin as Josh presses kisses to your forehead and yours against his sternum. He’s laughing when you tickle him and you laugh too, happy to be keeping up with him. Just like you used to. 

-

lmk what you think!

taglist: @ofthecaravel @malany-gvf @whiterosekiszka @jaketlove @sinarainbows @gretavanfreaky

[yetanothersparrowofthedawn]

Happier than ever

Pairing: Jake x Reader

Genre: Angst, hurt, ex!Jake

Extended Masterpost

Context: Y/N is so so so perfectly happy *practiced smile* yay marital bliss.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language, so I apologize in advance for mistakes and awkward wordings to come. Also, I guess this fic could be triggering for some because it’s kind of sad and angsty.

Word Count: 2.5k

Previous Track: Honeymoon (3 months prior)

Chapter soundtrack: Happier than ever – Billie Eilish

When I'm away from you, I'm happier than ever. Wish I could explain it better. I wish it wasn't true.

The London night hung heavy outside the windows of the elegant townhouse YN now called home. She sat at her desk, surrounded by scattered sheets of lyrics and half-empty coffee cups. Despite the late hour, her mind refused to rest.

Ever since returning from her honeymoon, YN had been trying her best to bury herself in work. As she sifted through the papers, her phone buzzed insistently, breaking the silence of the night.

She glanced at the screen, the number displayed unfamiliar once again. Another anonymous call, just like the countless others that had become a regular occurrence since her move to London three months prior.

With a sigh, she hit the decline button and tossed the phone aside, frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior.

At first, she dismissed it as a nuisance, perhaps a misguided fan or a random prankster. But the calls persisted. She had tried blocking the numbers, changing her settings, everything she could think of to put an end to it, but to no avail. The rare times she’d picked up, silence had greeted her before the caller abruptly disconnected.

That night, though, she noticed something. The International dialing code seemed different from usual. A quick google search informed her it was Brazilian.

Her thoughts drifted back to a short conversation she’d had a few weeks prior. Josh. He’d mentioned the band's upcoming tour in South America.

No, YN thought, there’s just no way. She brushed off the thought.

Still, she found herself lying in bed a couple hours later, checking Greta’s Instagram account. There was just no way. Only, she was met with a photo posted just an hour before. The description read, “Thank you for a remarkable show. See you soon, Sao Paulo.”

Fuck.

--

A week later, the glow of her phone illuminated the dark bedroom. Another call, another unknown number, another international code.

With a quick glance at Harry's sleeping form beside her, YN slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him. She tiptoed towards their bathroom and quietly locked the door behind her.

The girl leaned against the sink, her fingers trembling as she answered the call. Silence greeted her on the other end, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest.

Enough of this.

"Jake?" she tried, her voice barely a whisper. But there was no response, only the empty void that seemed to stretch on endlessly.

"Is that you?" She tried again, desperation creeping into her voice. But still, there was nothing, only the echo of her own words bouncing back at her.

Frustration bubbled up inside her, mingling with the deep-seated concern that gnawed at her from within.

“Jake, I know it’s-” the call abruptly disconnected. Her heart sank, an uncomfortable feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.

--

For the following three weeks, YN found herself in a semi-constant state of anxiety, her eyes darting nervously to her phone at every passing moment. Nights offered no respite, each small noise in the house sending her heart racing as she scrambled to check her phone.

Finally, on yet another sleepless night, her phone lit up. American dialing code. The boys might have returned to the States before embarking on the European leg of their tour.

Silently slipping out of bed, she made her way to the kitchen and answered the call. Without surprise, she was once again greeted by silence.

After a brief moment, she spoke into the void. "Are you alright?"

There was no immediate response, only the sound of uneven breaths on the other end of the line.

"It's late," she stated firmly. "I'm going to hang up now—"

"I wanted...” the caller suddenly spoke. Her breath was caught in her throat. She’d been right. “I wanted to hear your voice," his voice was rough, his words slurred. YN sighed.

“Are you drunk?” she asked, her tone annoyed. But there was no reply, only the quiet of the night surrounding her.

Suddenly, a noise erupted from the other end of the line, a distant car horn echoing through the darkness.

"What was that?" YN's voice rose with concern. "Was that a car? Have you been driving?"

She knew too well of Jake's reckless habits, the demons that had haunted him like a shadow. The thought of him spiraling out of control in some far-off corner of the world sent a chill down her spine.

"Fucking say something," she snapped, her frustration boiling over. But before she could receive an answer, the call abruptly ended. She winced.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Panic began to gnaw at the edges of her mind as she struggled to make sense of the situation.

“Love,” a voice broke her train of thoughts, “what are you doing up?”

Harry.

“It’s Patty” YN said, turning to face him. “Go back to bed, I’ll be right behind you.”

Harry's brow furrowed with concern. "Is everything alright?" he asked, his eyes searching hers for any sign of distress.

"Yeah," she replied hastily, attempting to brush off his concern with a forced smile. "Just... schedule stuff." She shocked herself with how quickly the lies kept on tumbling out.

“Okay," Harry nodded, turning to head back to bed.

YN couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that ate at her conscience as she watched him leave the room. She hated lying to him, but she couldn't bear to burden him with the truth of her worries, not when she didn't even know how to confront them herself.

When the bedroom door clicked shut behind Harry, YN wasted no time. With trembling fingers, she dialed a number and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" Josh's voice, groggy with sleep, came through the line.

"Do you know where he is?" YN's hushed words rushed out.

"YN, it's like 1am over here, what—" Josh started to protest, but she cut him off.

"Do you know where he is?" she repeated, her tone insistent.

"Where is wh—"

"Jake," she interjected, her voice trembling. "Do you know where Jake is?"

Josh paused for a moment before responding, his voice serious. "At his place, I assume. Why? Wh-what's going on?"

YN struggled to find the words, her mind racing with a million thoughts at once. She quickly explained the situation, knowing that Josh would understand without needing further explanation.

Josh fell silent for a moment. He, too, knew the root of her concern, and understood what scared her to death.

"I'll take care of it," he assured her, his voice firm with determination. "Don't worry."

Relief flooded through YN as she hung up the phone, though she couldn't bring herself to return to bed. Instead, she sat on the sofa, her nerves on edge as she waited anxiously for an update.

 The minutes stretched into hours, and the first rays of sunlight began to filter through the window when she finally received a text from Josh.

"He's okay," it read.

Exhaustion gave way to mounting frustration and anger. That’s it? She thought. She’d been staying up all night for this shit; lying to her husband for this shit. She sighed heavily; biting the inside of her cheek so hard she could taste blood.

Fuck this.

YN texted back, “Thanks. Tell him to leave me alone.”

__

After a couple of weeks of silence, with no calls disrupting the uneasy calm, YN began to hope for long-lasting peace. She almost felt guilty for her earlier frustrations, often wondering whether Jake was doing better.

However, any hopes of tranquility were shattered when a storm erupted in the Greta Van Fleet online fandom.

A fan's comment on one of Jake's posts caught fire, igniting a frenzy of speculation. The comment read, "Okay, I was at last night's concert and let’s just say, it was not it. I feel like that's been happening a lot recently. So, what is it my man? Trouble with the fam? or did some bitch do you dirty?"

To everyone's shock, Jake had replied to the comment.

 Two words.

 "The latter."

The internet exploded, and although Jake deleted the comment an hour later, the damage was done. The news reached YN like a punch to the gut.

She couldn't believe it. To have Jake talk shit about her on the internet was a new low. Though no one outside of their inner circle knew he was referring to her, the mere implication cut deep. And there was nothing she could even do or say. Especially from halfway across the world.

YN stood on the balcony, gazing out at the sprawling London skyline, but instead of feeling captivated by its beauty, bitterness flooded her senses. Jake had somehow managed to make her hate this city. Worst, he’d made her resent Harry for simply asking her to move there. The constant rain felt like a mockery, and the distance from where she truly belonged only amplified her sense of displacement.

And the most infuriating part? She had let him. Her thoughts were blinded by anger as she put pen to paper. Even after all this time, she had allowed Jake to ruin everything good. Perhaps it was a good thing she found herself far away from him. All he seemed capable of doing was bringing her endless sorrow.

Harry, on the other hand, was the epitome of reliability. He always showed up on time. Got along with her friends, got along with Patty. Did everything right.

So why was Jake the one occupying her thoughts day and night? It was like a poison, slowly corroding the good in her life until all that was left was the bitter taste of regret and anger.

As YN stood on the balcony, her phone suddenly lit up. Jake's name. He finally had the guts to call her with his own phone.

She reached for the device, her fingers curling around it tightly. She stared at it for a moment, considering her options. She could let it ring. Or she could reply. For what, though? She thought. Some half-assed apology? Telling her how it’s all some big misunderstanding?

Without a second thought, she clenched her jaw and, with a determined flick of her wrist, let her phone drop over the railing, watching as it plummeted towards the ground below.

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the night as the device met its demise on the pavement.

It was a stupid but cathartic gesture. With a sense of finality, she turned away from the balcony, leaving behind the remnants of her broken phone and the memories it held.

--

Two weeks later.

Jake stumbled along the hotel hallway. The band had just wrapped up a show in Glasgow, which had gone rather well considering the blinding hangover that had been clinging to their lead guitarist throughout the tour. Jake had therefore rewarded himself with a local treat, that is, the now half-empty bottle of scotch in his hand. When in Rome, right?

Feeling for his keycard in his pockets, Jake cursed softly as he came up empty-handed. He decided to try the room across from his, hoping his baby brother hadn’t gone to bed just yet. He pressed his ear against the door and breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of a TV playing inside. Bingo.

With a drunken knock, Jake announced his presence before the door swung open to reveal Sam. "What's up?" he greeted.

"Lost my key," Jake mumbled, brushing past Sam and collapsing onto the nearest bed. " m’tired," he added, his words slurred from the alcohol.

However, amidst the haze of his drunken stupor, Jake noticed something amiss.

 It was too quiet.

“Why d’you turn it off?” Jake asked, curious.

“Mmh?” The bass-player replied.

“The TV” Jake specified. He had a feeling something was up.

"Oh, uh, nothing good is on right now," Sam replied nervously, his attempt at nonchalance falling flat. "British TV sucks ass," he added hastily. The youngest Kiszka had never been much of a good actor. Jake stared for a moment and Sam knew he could see right through him.

“Jake-” Sam tried protesting, but his brother had already snatched the remote and turned the TV back on. The bright light of the screen suddenly lighting up their features and the sound of laughter filling the hotel room.

There she was. Seated elegantly on the talk show couch. YN exuded confidence as she engaged in conversation with the host.

“So, tell me something,” the host leaned in, a glint of excitement in his eyes, “when are we going to get some new music?” A ripple of anticipation coursed through the audience, and a mischievous smirk danced across YN’s lips.

“Well, I actually just finished recording a bunch of tracks, so—" Before she could finish, the audience erupted into deafening cheers, their excitement palpable. “I know, I know, it’s exciting,” YN continued, her voice barely audible over the enthusiastic applause, “I can’t wait to get back on the road.”

“Back on the road?” the host raised an eyebrow, a playful tone in his voice, “Have you grown tired of Hubby already?”

YN chuckled. "Well, who says I'm not packing him in my suitcase?" she quipped. The audience laughed at her comeback.

"Talking about Mr. Harry Styles,” loud cheers exploded at the host’s mention of YN’s husband, “a little birdie told me you two just purchased a house in our fair capital, is that right?”

“Uh,” YN looked slightly surprised, feeling a pang of discomfort at the invasion of privacy, “yeah, we did get ourselves a little nest-”

“-a 9-million-pound nest” the host joked, eliciting laughter from the audience.

YN let out a polite chuckle. “Yeah, it is ridiculously grand, actually.”

“Is it your first time owning a place?” the interviewer asked.

“It is, yes, see, I’m originally from New York, so renting appartments has always been the way for me.” Jake’s mind drifted to their little apartment back in Nashville.

“Must be quite a change” the host declared.

“Kinda, yes,” she added, “it’s got a bunch of rooms that I haven’t seen in a while, like an actual laundry room, who knew that was even a thing?” the audience laughed, “and a foyer, whatever that is, and a-”

“-Nursery?” the host filled in. The audience leaned forward in anticipation.

“Well, aren’t you curious?” she said, maintaining a playful façade at the interviewer’s lack of tact, “But no, no nursery,” the audience could be heard huffing in disappointment.

“Ah well,” the host remarked, “someday soon.”

“Sure,” she replied with a forced smile, “someday.”

As Jake listened to the conversation, a thought crossed his mind: YN had always been unequivocal about her reluctance to have children. Then again, she had also once been adamant about her aversion to marriage. And yet, here she was with a ring around her finger. The bile rose in his throat.

“Well, we’re running out of time here,” the host abruptly announced, glancing at the monitor. “It’s been a real pleasure, and I think I can speak for everyone here when I say that the world is thrilled to see you embrace this newfound happiness, is that accurate?”

“Oh absolutely,” she replied with a tight smile. “I’m,” she paused, something unseen briefly flickering in her eyes, “happier than ever.”

--

YN never knew why but, after that night, the calls stopped.

--

Next Track: The Bomb

Extended Masterpost

Hope you liked it! Once again, I am begging you all to interact and leave comments it makes me so happy to get feedback and reactions xxx

Also, this is only the beginning lol. I have a billion drafts for other chapters so stay tuned, peaceful army.

Taglist

@aintthatapity

@sinarainbows

@vanfleeter 

@gretavanhockey

[stardustjmk]

Tears For Fears | J.T.K

Summary: in which spending some time with your friends sounds like a fun time, until alchohol gets involved.

Warnings: angst, alcoholic parent, alcohol consumption.

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader | Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, friends to lovers | Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: one thing about me is i’m gonna write self indulgent fics. i’m also sure there’s someone else out there who needs this, and even if you may not relate, i hope it brings you some joy and comfort, because who doesn’t love a good, fluffy jake fic? also, i apologize if there are any errors, it’s been so long since i’ve written anything. oh, and this fic has nothing to do with the duo tears for fears i just rocked with the name LMAO

You knew alchohol was bound to be involved. After all, you’d spent almost a decade with the four boys, so their habits weren’t something you we’re oblivious to. Regardless, you accepted, reminding yourself that even when damn near shit-faced, they never acted like your mother. In fact, the last time you’d been around the group while they were drinking, you felt comfortable enough to relax, and even have a drink of your own. It was only a wine cooler, but it was a step farther than you’d normally go, and the fact that you felt comfortable doing it was a big deal to you.

So, going into the little getaway, you figured it would be like that again, but that wasn’t the case. At the time you accepted the offer, you were in a good mood, almost entirely unbothered by the idea of alchohol being present. In fact, having a few drinks of your own sounded nice, but now, as you pad down the stairs and hear the unmistakable popping sound, your heart sinks.

You were all to familiar with it, and when you rounded the corner to then be hit with the smell of whiskey, you swear your stomach flipped, and your head began to spin. You’d taken a deep breath, trying to not let it bother you, but then came the sound of ice clinking as it hits the glass, with the crackling sound of the liquid being poured over it a moment later. For a second, you felt like your younger self again, the dread you felt then coming back to you in this very moment. For your sake and everyone else’s, you decided that a breath of fresh air would do you some good, and made your way to the back door.

You step onto the back porch and pull the door closed behind you, being ever so gentle with it. For whatever reason, if you used even a little bit too much pressure, the door would slam shut, and you remember Karen jokingly scolding you for it the first time you’d been here. The memory brings a small smile to your face, despite the anxiety that manifests in your chest. You suck in a sharp breath, the cool air filling your lungs as you do so. It’s refreshing and grounding, your breath swirling in front of you as you exhale.

You release the door knob and fold your arms in front of yourself as a gust of wind travels through the Michigan night, and your body shudders involuntarily. You scan the porch, and the scenery surrounding it, taking in the nostalgic view. Then, you remember the boys mentioning that they’d put up fairy lights the last time they were here, and sure enough, the string lights lined the roof of the porch. You scanned the floor, searching for where you could plug in the lights, and did just that as you found it.

It lights up the porch, casting a gentle, warm glow over everything. The light only travels a few feet out from the porch, leaving the rest of the yard to only be lit up by the bright moon. You sigh, then walk to the steps that lead to the grass, and take a seat on the top one. The wooden floor of the porch is cold, on your thighs, making you shudder again. It’s quiet, aside from the muffled chatter coming from inside of the cabin. Then, the whole reason you’re sitting here dawns on you again, and inevitably, your mind wanders to an unpleasant place.

Jake is the only one who knows about your past. In depth, at least. He found out years ago, when you both were still teenagers. It was common for you to flea to the Kiszka home to get away from your mom, but usually, you would disguise it as something else. Fortunately, they were always welcoming you with open arms, happy to have you no matter the circumstance. Normally, you’d be able to leave your house before it got bad, until one night where you’d pushed things too far.

You were fed up with your moms habits, and for the first time, tried to stand up for yourself. You simply tried to stop her from getting another drink, doing your best to be calm, but of course she, in her intoxicated state, blew up on you. Normally, you wouldn’t fight. You’d disassociate as she scolded you, telling you that you’re too young to understand, and that you should wait until you’re her age, having to soak up everyone’s bullshit, and then you can ask about how many drinks she’s had.

That time, though, you fought back. You argued with her for at least an hour, and by the end of it, were in shambles. She’d told you off in a way that you’d never been told off before, essentially calling you a disappointment and a burden. You managed to text Jake before she took your phone - for no reason, might you add - and when you told her that you were leaving, she said “Go cry to the Kiszka’s like you always do.” with a venom dripping from her words unlike any you’d heard before. To this day, you remember that vividly.

You held off your tears long enough to get past Karen, as the last thing you wanted to do was worry her, certain that she had enough on her plate with her own kids. Despite being able to tell you were upset, she could also read that you didn’t necessarily want to talk about it, so she dismissed you. You’d been to their house enough to know who’s room was where, so it wasn’t hard to get to Jakes- the twins’ room. You were relieved to find that Jake was the only one in the room when you walked in. Not that Josh being there would have been a problem, - in fact, in most cases, you’d gone to Josh for comfort, as he was always the perfect balance of silly and comforting - but this time, you longed for Jake.

Before you could determine why that was, you’d broken into tears. Jake immediately jumped up from his bed and took you in his arms, hugging you tightly. You buried your face into his neck, wrapping your arms around him twice as tightly as he did you. He was taken aback and remained silent, just letting you sob in his hold. He carefully brought you to the bed, where he continued hugging you. Unsure of what exactly to do, he wearily rubbed your back. You missed it in the moment, just Josh had come into the room, and before he could say anything, Jake shooed him away.

Josh closed the door and left, knowing that wasn’t the time to be snarky.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to guess?” Jake said, his tone somehow a mix of playful, concern, and comfort. You drew in a shaky breath and ended up explaining everything to him. You told him how it happened, what your mom had said, and even traveled back to past experiences. Jake was at a loss for words, but his touch delivered a comfort that surpassed anything he could have said, and you spent at least an hour clinging to him.

Later that night, your mom called, having sobered up. At that point, everyone except you and the twins had gone to bed. Josh was the one who picked up the phone, and you ended up taking over. You’d been too exhausted to fight with her, and simply went along with her suddenly apologetic acts. She didn’t put up a fight when you said you’d be staying at Jake’s place, but you knew she’d be on your ass about it the next day. However, as Jake looked at you from the couch with worried eyes, you couldn’t be bothered. This was your home - he was your home, and in that moment, you were sure of it.

In the midst of recalling the bittersweet memory, the back door opens and brings you back to reality. You look over your shoulder, relieved to see Jake standing there. “Hi,” you say softly, your voice strained slightly. “Hi,” he hums in response, shutting the door in the same manner you had done when you came out a few minutes ago. “You okay?” he asks, the soft rasp of his voice making you slightly giddy. “Yeah,” you say, but he knows all too well that something has to be bothering you at least a little bit.

He remains silent, standing near the back door, his gaze lingering on your backside. It’s quiet for a few moments, before he speaks. “Is it the alcohol?” he asks, and you should have known that he’d be able to easily detect the issue, but a part of you is still shocked that he was able to figure it out in such a short amount of time. Reluctantly, you nod your head. Guilt begins to pool in the pit of your stomach, as you hate the idea that your own issues might affect their fun, but unbeknownst to you, that’s the last thing Jake is worried about.

He takes a few steps forward and leans on the railing of the porch, forearms resting on the wood. He glances down at you, then looks out in the distance, following your own gaze. “Do you want me to tell them to put it away?” he asks, and you sigh. It’s frustrating, in a way. The fact that you can’t seem to get past it, that you can’t just let loose and trust yourself, and your friends, all because of a bottle of alchohol. “No,” you respond flatly. You can feel Jake’s eyes on you, and you try your hardest to stop your bottom lip from quivering as you get the urge to cry, but you can’t help it.

Fortunately, Jake doesnt overreact. He takes slow steps behind you, his signature chelsea boots thudding on the floor with each step. He plops down beside you, his thigh pressed against yours. It’s a subtle move of comfort, one that works, and only does so when Jake does it.

Your relationship with him, at this point in time, is hard to explain. You’re not just friends, you both know it, and so do the boys…hell, even his parents have probably caught onto it. That being said, you’re not officially dating either. Neither of you are oblivious to the chemistry you share, and you suppose that’s why you never felt the need to bring it up. However, as time goes on, a part of you wants to push the line of friends, to see what could become of your relationship if you were to bring attention to the aforementioned chemistry you have.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Jake asks, his eyes practically staring into your soul as you make eye contact with him. Your heart leaps at his words, and you swallow harshly. “I don’t even know,” you mutter, chuckling softly. It makes him smile; your brief amusement. “I guess i’m just frustrated,” you say, eyes flickering down to his lips as they purse. “Elaborate,” he says simply. Now, he’s turned his full body towards you, and rests his arm over your lap, his hand cupping the outer side of your thigh. Again, your heart leaps in your chest, and your stomach flips.

You avoid his gaze, looking off into the distance once again. You press your lips together for a moment, thinking about how to word your thoughts. “I feel bad…like, I hate that I can’t just relax and let you guys have fun.” Jake hums, “We are having fun,” he says, making you roll your eyes subtly. “You know what I mean,” you finally return your eyes to his, and every part of you wants to lean in and kiss him, especially given how cute he looks in these moments. He’s staring at you with big, brown eyes, ones that are too often hidden behind dark sunglasses, and the way he looks at you makes your head spin.

“Sure, but we don’t have to drink to have fun,” he explains, pressing his point further. You eye him, shoulders slumping with defeat. “I know, but,” you pause. It’s always conflicting; the half of you that wants to join in on the drinking, to just goof off and enjoy the tingly feeling of alchohol in your system, versus the other half of you that wishes it would cease to exist. “But what?” Jake asks, his voice impossibly softer. Your brows furrow, “Do you do that on purpose?” you ask, and his expression mirrors yours, with his brows knitting together in confusion. “Do what?” he asks.

You aren’t even sure how to explain it to him. If only you could put him in your shoes right now. “I don’t know, Jake, you just,” you’re getting flustered now, almost regretting that you even said anything. He waists, and you swear he’s batting his eyelashes at you. Your breath catches in your throat, and it takes every fiber of your being to remain still. “You just have this way of…being, I suppose,” you say, and you know it sounds stupid, but it’s almost worth it when Jake smiles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs, looking away, and a part of you is almost frustrated with him, but it doesn’t last for long.

“Come on, talk to me,” Jake says after a few moments of silence. “About what?” you ask. “Either the drinking situation, or whatever my way of…’being’ is,” he uses air quotes when he says ‘being’, playfully mocking you. You huff, “I guess i’m just scared,” you say, then clarify, “of drinking, I mean.” He nods, “What are you afraid of?” he asks, and your mind goes right back to where it was earlier, when you’d seen Josh pop open the very whiskey your mom used to drink - you weren’t upset with Josh, or any of the boys. They didn’t know, and even if they did, you wouldn’t have been upset.

“Well I mean, for starters, it doesn’t even feel that great to drink-“ Jake stops you. “No, what are you afraid of?” he repeats, making you swallow. You stay quiet, pressing your lips together. You’re searching for any comfort you can get, and Jake delivers it as he takes your hand in both of his, his thumbs soothing over your skin.

“I’ve seen what it does to some people, Jake,” you mutter, and he leans in to ensure he hears you. He nods, thinking back to the night where you told him everything.

He felt so helpless, it hurt. He remembers it almost as vividly as you do, and certainly remembers the way his chest ached as you cried into his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He also felt angry, knowing that you’d have to go home and deal with your mom again, but he knew better than to try and do anything - at the end of the day, all he could do was hold you, be there for you, and even if he wasn’t sure how to do that, he internally promised himself to do his best.

“I don’t want to be the way my mom was-is…she stopped for a while, just drinking wine here and there, but she’s picked up whiskey again,” you explain. Jake had yet to learn that, and that tells him all he needs to know. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and the sheer gentleness of his words makes you want to dissolve into a puddle of tears. “It’s okay,” you respond, voice barely above a whisper. “We don’t have to drink, but I want you to know that you will never be like your mom, okay?” He says, and you can feel a lump forming in your throat. You choose to nod rather than speak, not trusting that your voice wouldn’t fail you. He lifts a hand to your cheek just in time for a tear to fall from your eyes, and he swipes it away gently.

“Come here,” he says sweetly, cradling your head to his chest as he embraces you. It’s nostalgic, this moment, and how similar it is to that night you spent with him, sobbing in his arms. Fortunately, this time, you’re much more calm, even if the tears are still falling. “Jakey,” you hadn’t intended to use the nickname, but sometimes, it finds it way out almost instinctively. “Yes?” he responds, rubbing your back. You nuzzle into him, taking a moment to relish in his hold.

“Do you want a drink?” you ask. He didn’t know exactly what to expect, but that wasn’t it. Between the overwhelming urge to confess to him right now, and your desire to finally overcome your own fear, you’re warming up to the thought of a shot or two.

“Yn, sweetheart, I already told you that I don’t care. I don’t need to drink to have f-“ you’re the one to cut him off this time. “I know, but do you want to have a drink? Because I think a drink sounds kind of nice,” you say. Jake sighs, not a frustrated sigh, but rather a…disappointed sigh? He’s unsure of what exactly he was sighing for, but the possibility that you were going to confess to him flashes through his mind, and he knows deep down that’s the reason for it. Suddenly, he’s on par with a drink as well, but remains mindful as you lead him back inside.

Youre half expecting to be bombarded by the other boys, but you find sam sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep, with Josh and danny in the middle of some intense conversation, one that they don’t pull away from. “Probably talking about music,” Jake mutters, shutting the back door. You glance at Jake, then look at Josh. His hands mimick Danny’s when he’s drumming, and what Jake said makes sense. “Seems like it,” you respond, then follow Jake into the kitchen.

“Please tell me you bought something other than whiskey,” you say, grimacing at the sight of the half empty bottle. “Honestly, I don’t know, I didn’t buy anything,” he says as he starts rummaging through the cabinets, and the idea that he refrained from buying anything because of you warms your heart. You watch as he scans the cabinets, and eventually, he finds the stash of drinks, listing them to you. You take your pick, grabbing two glasses as Jake opens the bottle. He pours a small amount into both glasses, and you don’t miss the way he takes a second to put the whiskey out of your view.

He turns his attention to you as he grabs his glass. “Thank you, Jakey,” you say softly, and he smiles, clinking his glass against yours. “Your welcome,“ he says softly, and you both down the shot, almost in sync as you place your glasses on the counter. You stand in a comfortable silence for a few moments, and given how rare it is for you to drink, it’s not long before you feel the subtle affects of the alcohol taking place.

“D’you wanna tell me about my way of being, now?”Jake asks suddenly, eyeing you. You know that, unless you seriously didn’t want to, he’s going to press you until you expound. Now, you’re even more unsure of how to explain it. “I don’t know how to explain it,” you mumble, looking at him. Your eyes meet, and he waits patiently for you to continue. “You just…” you bite your lip, hesitant to tell him the truth. He steps forward, closing some of the distance between you both. “Talk to me, baby,” he says, and it takes everything in you to keep your composure.

The amount of love you feel for him is overwhelming, and right now, between the very slight buzz you’re experiencing, his closeness to you, and the nickname, you’re almost dizzy. “Nobody makes me feel the way you do, Jake,”

you finally give him a peak into your mind, and even though you can’t tell, his heart is rapidly beating against his rib cage. He nods, encouraging you to continue. “Like, everything you do is so…you bring me so much comfort and peace, just by existing,” you explain, and despite trying to fight it, tears well in your eyes.

“You just mean so much to me, Jake and…I don’t know what i’d do without you, and especially nights like these, I can’t hardly stand just being your friend,” you know you’re jumping around a little bit, but you figure your point is getting across just fine.

“Then, what do you want us to be?” he asks softly. He’s not trying to be flirtatious, or teasing, he’s genuinely asking, and with the way he steps even closer, making you feel like he’s the only person in the world, you feel so comfortable giving him an answer. “Everything,” you respond. “I like what we have, I dont want to lose it…but I also want more, I suppose,” you say, eyes unable to break away from his. “I want to wake up to you, to go to sleep with you, to go everywhere with you, to just-“ you pause, choosing to save him the long explanation. “I love you, Jake.”

There’s a moment of silence, and you talk again just as he opens his mouth to speak. ���And that’s not the alcohol talking,” you assure him. He laughs, shaking his head. “Baby, you had maybe an ounce or two, I know it isn’t the alchohol,” he hums. If it weren’t for the pet name, you’d likely have been annoyed at his teasing, but instead, you feel like you’re melting under his gaze. He takes one more step, your body’s almost touching. He slowly leans down, cupping your cheek as he does so. You lean into the warmth of his palm, eyes fluttering shut. They open only for a moment, and close when his lips land on yours. It’s a soft, but passionate kiss. One of your hands finds its place on his chest, the other gripping his wrist to keep his hand on your cheek as you fervently kiss him. When he pulls away, you’re both giddy.

“I love you too, yn,” he says honestly, and even if the way he just kissed you should have been enough to tell you that, hearing him say it lifts any doubts you had. “…And that’s not the alcohol talking,” he playfully mocks you, laughing as you gently smack his chest.

[wildbluesorbit]

London: Holiday Prelude || JTK

18+MDNI

Paring: Jakexreader(f)

LONDON SERIES MASTERPOST

A/N: Howdy! Here to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with twist on the London menu: A TIME JUMP! This is how I envision the first meeting between Jake and the reader unraveled. This one is very fluff (which is a bit off brand for this series) and is my gift to all readers who have remained loyal amongst the endless angst. I'm aware, holiday editions are normally posted before the holidays, but I have chronically delayed holiday spirit that doesn’t spark until about a week before Christmas which is when I started this. My holidays got a bit more hectic than I expected so I didn’t finish till just now, but I figured I’d pos. Also, know that my particular style of writing is shaped by an editing process of which requires time I did not have, so baby this is ROUGH. Anyways, I am very open to criticism so pretty please let me know what you think.

Summary || Before the storm, there was a calm. Your first interaction with Jake is less than ideal, but you give him a redeeming chance only to spark something more.

Content Warnings || holiday [stress], workload stress, slight verbal aggression, holiday party setting, depictions of affectionate displays

Word Count || 6.6k

– December 24th, London, UK –

Your arduous typing is disrupted by the groan of your office door as it’s hesitantly eased open. You rigorously resume your work, not even averting your eyes to make note of who has disturbed you. You already know it's your colleague. You know they have trouble for you. And you know it's a problem you don’t currently have the attention span nor time for. 

Eyes still pinned to the numbers on your computer screen, you address the damsel in distress dawdling in the doorway behind you, “Is it urgent? I’m on a deadline.”

“Um- There’s a customer out here who I have tried my best to help with the knowledge I have,” she remorsefully squeaks.

You mellow your tone as you can hear desperation shrouding her every word, “Tell them I’m unavailable.” 

“I did- He insisted he speak to some form of management,” she huffs exasperatedly.

You come to a stopping point in your numbers game and begrudgingly pry your hands from your keyboard. You spring from your chair and propel yourself through the doorway, already eager to crawl back to the stillness of your office. Your footsteps echo against the hallway of dark offices and storage rooms in a unison stride to your coworker a pace behind you; two valiant knights on their quest to the front of the store. 

Preparing yourself for battle, you dig for your finest customer service armor as it's buried beneath all the enervating adversities and blows of running the shop; a duty you normally carry so effortlessly and gracefully, but this year you had been the only manager who volunteered to work the holiday week. Your workload alone is enough to spook the average person, but the extra weight you foolishly decided to take on this year is a different beast. You have half a heart to gift yourself hair dye this Christmas as you’re already convinced the New Year would find you prematurely gray. 

“Alright, let’s see the prick who is harassing my-,” your finishing thought never arrives as you swing the door open to reveal the store.

Any and all resentment is momentarily tamed by the endless sight of musical paraphernalia. Every last inch of the walls are shrine to the greats; posters, pins, buttons, stickers, clothing, books, CDs, tapes, cassettes, and of course aisles and aisles of record vinyl LPs; all seem to celebrate your great escape from the confinement of your office. 

Your eyes adjust to the warm lighting that coats everything and everyone bustling about isles, faces beaming with joy as they discover new treasures to call their own; treasures you ordered and stocked the shelves with yourself. 

You take a deep inhale of the healing sight in front of you. You never tire of walking through this door after a long day; a portal to your favorite realm. Your spirit beams as you recognize the classic rock sonic of The Dire Straits pouring through the speakers at way too loud a volume. You find it almost impossible to be upset within these walls. Almost.

Though you want nothing more than to idly wander around the store, you redirect your focus to the task at hand; eyes scouring the floor for the customer that so desperately needs your attention. Within an instant, you undoubtedly deem a man within your gaze responsible for your unnecessary ordeals; no guidance from your coworker is required to know exactly who summoned you from your hideaway. 

He is an ornate scene; one that confiscates and pleases your attention all at once. He stands, bare chest proud and puffed, fingers fidgeting with the facial hair that roofs his protruding pout as he devoutly scans through titles of the nearby books. His narrow shoulders are cloaked by long chestnut waves that frame delicate facial features and a prominent nose. He’s rather small in stature, yet strong in physique. 

The pretty man is bewitching in the way he seems to have just hopped out of some antecedent reality; a walking, talking antique. Doused in all black, he wears a blazer and waistcoat with nothing underneath to properly clothe his tan skin except chunky chains weighed down by a ridiculous amount of pendants; all silver to match his oversized hoop earrings, reflectively gleaming as he saunters through trespassing sunlight. His torso is paired with black pleated trousers and seasoned black boots. This man looks as if he woke up and couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be a pirate or a rockstar. 

“You know, Halloween was almost two months ago,” you heedlessly blurt as soon as his golden brown eyes collect yours.

“Real original,” the customer retorts with a smirk and a slight shake of his head, “definitely never heard that one before.”  

His American accent nearly startles you; his features certainly tell an origin story of Central Europe, yet his phrasing is not harsh enough to miss the hint of something not quite American in his raspy tone.

You quickly steer away from your cheeky dig and towards a more professional rapport.

“What can I help you with today Mr.?”

“Jacob Kiszka,” he extends his hand to shake yours, “but you can call me Jake.”

The Jake Kiszka. You have definitely heard his name before. A guitarist whose discography is infamously compared to and even deemed gross appropriation of classic rock legends; and whose romantic track record has an even worse stench. 

You prematurely take the sincere offer of his hand before weakly falling back to your satirical ways, “Wow, lucky me- I’ve only heard stories of The Illustrious Jake Kiszka.”

He is not oblivious to your sarcasm but decides to take the cocky route anyway, “Oh- A fan, huh? Glad to know my reputation precedes me.”

“I never said they were good stories,” your hand repels from the guitarist’s calloused grasp and attaches to your hip, “but what brings you to my store?”

“This is the only place in town not playing Christmas music,” his eyes flit around the store trying to commit every last detail to memory as if his knowledge might be tested later and questions you with an intimacy he hasn’t yet earned, “So this is your kingdom, huh?”

“I don’t own it, just run it, but yes- this place is my baby and I’m its sales manager,” you briefly answer out of the scarce supply of decorum you currently possess and efficiently reroute to the reason for his visit, “but I doubt you came all this way just to escape the holiday spirit.” 

“Well, I am currently in town and in dire need of a last-minute Christmas gift, and you came highly recommended as far as rare LP sets go,” his features stretch into a ponderous tightlipped smile. 

The musician either isn’t receiving your assertion of pace or blatantly holds no regard for it as he digresses once again.

You aren’t certain whether his narrative is spoken to you, himself, or some unseen force, “But this really is some marvelous little store you run here. I have to admit I'm a bit envious. Somedays, I swear I would trade it all in for a simple quiet life like this.”

Simple? Quiet? Who the hell does this man think he is to come in the day before Christmas and casually spend your time and patience, only to then reduce your entire world to simple and quiet?!

Your fists discreetly curl behind the secrecy of your back as you scrupulously monitor your highly explosive tone, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Kiszka, but maybe we can hurry this along. I have lots of work in my simple quiet life to return to.”

Instantly, his entire physique cowers to a posture of mortification and regret. If your composure hadn’t already been so far spent, you might have even felt a strand of empathy or reprieve for him.

His face takes on a shameful shade of pink as fragments of an apology trip over one another, “No- No- That’s definitely not what I meant- Of course, the work you do here is very important. The responsibility of granting access-”

You wave him off, bestowing him clemency in hopes of ending this interaction as fast as possible, “It’s fine, but I really do have lots of work to return to, so just follow me.”

You hastily string him to the glass cases in the back of the store, a stream of clicking and clacking trails behind you with every heavy-footed step of his boots. His footsteps gradually sound less and less, his pace a relaxed rhythm compared to yours. You impatiently arrive at your destination of high-valued items and turn to see he is only leisurely tracing your path, still gazing about the store as if he is in an art gallery.  

You inhale. You’ve dealt with worse. Today would not be the day you lose your patience with a customer. 

Once he finally rejoins you at the display case, you begin the tour of each LP, explaining its contents, history, value, rarity, and your favorite details about it. Showmanly, you set a scene of necessity for each set as to speed his decision process along by targeting his obvious lack of impulse control. 

You’re about done appraising almost five sets when a lack of opinions, theories, and questions registers from his silence. You transfer your vision to learn your audience had not at all been concentrating on your dissertation, those amber eyes studying you right back; eyes reflecting not a strand of cognizance for your vain words, pronouncing your breath wasted.

Your abrupt eye contact seems to burst his trance, clearly not expecting you to break from your sale. 

“Are you hearing a word I’m saying or-,” you fuss, condemning any remaining attempts at professionalism. 

His features reveal comprehension, your confrontation certainly registers but his ample lips only vacillate in a dumbfounded silence.

You flatly attempt to jumpstart his verbal reflexes, “Mr. Kiszka?”

Pressure-buildup from every imprisoned word rattling around his head with no escape, erupts all at once, “I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I heard you- It's just- When I asked for help today- I didn’t expect someone so-”

A brittle tone emerges before you can even take the time to contemplate what he is trying to articulate, “Young? A woman? A different stigma that probably has nothing to do with my knowledge of music or ability to manage a business?”

“No it's not that- It's just- you-,” he hesitates to catch the breath he forgot to take and decidedly abandons his current thought to expedite his next, as if they might trample over each other if he doesn’t, “This is very inappropriate but I seem to keep putting my foot in my mouth and I would appreciate it if you let me make it up to you over drinks tonight. Also, please call me Jake.”

His unanticipated proposition hitches your breath and widens your eyes, “You’re right, that is very inappropriate.”    

He quickly shrinks yet doesn’t withdraw his offer, “My brothers will be there too if that makes you feel a bit better, but your expertise so far fascinates me, and I would love to discuss more with you.”

Asking you out. After insults. After disrespect. After no regard for your time-poor schedule. He is asking you out.

You take it back. You have not dealt with worse. This is definitely the worst. 

Panic and indignation concoct a bitter climb in pitch, “Unfortunately, Mr. Kiszka, there’s still so much that requires my attention before the year’s end. I’m as busy as someone with a simple and quiet life can possibly be. That leaves no time for idle pints with random guys in pubs. So will you be purchasing anything today?”

“No- of course- you’re right- I’m terribly sorry- I do need to get something,” his attention finally converts to the vinyl with an oncoming frown, “but nothing here stands out to me. I know you certainly don’t owe me any favors but is there any way you can show me anything else? You know- the good stuff?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you blatantly feed him a white lie, “Excuse me? I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

You know exactly what he’s referring to. However, the thought of sharing another second with this infuriating stranger threatens to ignite fire to your dwindling composure. So, you tuck away all opportunities that would admit him to take any step that isn’t towards the door. 

He drives his agenda one last time, “You know? The treasures that never see the shelf? Surely, you have a secret stash. Every great store has one.”

“I guess we’re just not that great of a store then,” the shit-eating grin that smears across your face wards off any other inquiries he might probe for, “I can assure you this is the best we have. Maybe next time, do all your Christmas shopping before Christmas Eve.”

You are immediately pricked by a pang of guilt. Even you can admit you are being impudently cruel; for which you expect at least a return of assailment. Yet it never arrives. 

Instead, his eyebrows turned upwards just above a sheepish smirk and a diffident man takes the place of the obnoxiously charismatic rockstar once before you. He just might genuinely grieve the score of your transaction. As if he knows something you don’t. As if he knows in some other time or place this narrative was supposed to take a different course and he is now mourning a great failure.

“Okay- well, I can take a hint,” he meekly forfeits, “I apologize for wasting your time. Thank you so much for your help.”

You can’t seem to wrap your fingers around any response, lost somewhere amongst the spate of regret that you might have misjudged him based on presumptions. Your mouth runs dry and you’re only able to blankly stare back at him.

In your silence, he impulsively shoves his hand into his coat pocket and shimmies out some small notebook. He flips through pages and pages of scattered notes and highlights and even some light sketches before he finds the first blank sheet. He materializes a pen from the same pocket that had been sheltering the notebook and quickly scribbles before tearing out the page, folding it in quarters, and gifting it to you. 

You’re not sure why, but you find your hand an open landing for the paper. Unconvincingly, you reassure yourself it's because you know little resistance will only usher him out of your store sooner. 

As soon as he successfully rids himself of the note, you witness a bashful movement emerge upon his face in what you swear is the biggest and prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. You aren’t allotted time to admire or commit it to memory as its life spans less than a second, quickly shrinking till it's gone.

He bids you a rushed, “Take care, Merry Christmas,” before he turns on his heels and rapidly weaves his way through the isles till he disappears past the glass doors without so much as another word or last glance. 

Your eyes gravitate back towards the paper in your hand. You inspect the folded thing before you decide reading its contents would hold no worthwhile benefit and absentmindedly place it in your own pocket. 

— December 26th —

You mentally file through your checklist: The doors are locked, the drawer counted, and the lights turned off. Your colleague took care of the floor prep portion of closing duties before she left; you stayed way too late to finish your end-of-year reports. But you can’t seem to shake the feeling that you are forgetting something.

Your phone! You realize as you pat down your pockets you don’t have your phone. 

You race to your office through the dark void store to see your abandoned device sitting on top of your desk. As you grab your phone, the little forsaken folded paper you forgot you had placed on the work area earns your attention. Whether you set it aside for two days in a veto or for safekeeping is beyond you.

Now having endured your irrationally aggravated haze that always shrouds end-of-year stress, the only thing that remains is a flare of burning curiosity. 

You resist your own inquisitive demands and desert the mysterious note once more to hesitate towards the door, each step becoming more burdensome the further you trudge from your office.

Did you misconstrue him, seduced by mere whispers floating in the wind? Did you indignantly vilify him deceived by your own occupational duress? Despite being verbally clumsy, he was endearingly unconventional, and he clearly carried some remorse for your interaction.

You’re even baffled by the rumination this small piece of paper has conjured. Customers come and go, but you can’t seem to justify why he has become an unwelcome stowaway in your mind.

For the past two days, you’ve been choking on the bitter taste of rueful pining that you can’t seem to wash down. Suffocating under abrasive waves of what might have been if you’d only had patience to spare, till you can no longer deny your craving. 

You find your limbs and retrace the progress you’ve just made. You restively unfold the note to read confirmation of the exact information you imagined was inked into the little white sheet.  

Please, please, call me Jake.  And pretty please reconsider those drinks. (248)434.5508

You are alarmed by the giggle that sounds past your giddy smile, penetrating the silence of an otherwise lifeless building. Your chest is ambushed by an aching weight as your sight darts across the hall to the storage housing the “secret stash” as he put it.

You suddenly have no idea why you’d been so hard on him; just that you’re now certain of your looming resentment. You’re not sure if it’s this reasoning, or the way he looked stunned by you, or even the shape of his giant childish smile you can’t seem to recall, that drives your thumb as you dubiously dial the phone number on the paper. 

Each ring of another number entered descends you further on your fall from professionalism and floods your head with panic. As soon as the dial tone begins to ring against your ear you’re immersed into a fit of denial, convincing yourself his answer is an unlikely outcome; despite this being his phone number and you are, in fact, calling it. 

“Hello,” his vaguely familiar rasp becomes one of undeniable recognition.

Neglecting to even consider what you might say if he did answer, you awkwardly blurt, “Hey, Mr.- Jake-,” it occurs to you that you never properly introduced yourself, “It’s the girl with a simple quiet life.”

You possess no control over your hand as it impulsively smacks against your forehead amid your poor choice of words.

You’re mortified he might have heard your reflex as he giggles through the line, “Hey, pretty girl. I was hoping you might call.”

— December 31st —

You aimlessly pace about the bathroom, your platform loafers suctioning with every sticky step on the tile. You survey the sting of your angry nail plates, red and visible from an anxious nail-biting fit. 

A jiggle of the doorknob and a harsh knock on the door interrupts your examination. 

“Just a minute,” your voice shakes trying to overpower the blaring music.

You possess no concept of how long you’ve been hiding out from the party just beyond the bathroom door. You had been wading through a sea of strangers for almost an hour looking for Jake before you finally became overwhelmed, retreating to a random bedroom and locking yourself inside its bathroom. You’re beginning to question Jake’s attendance at the very party he invited you to.

Another bang at the door.

You squeak in panic, “One second!”

You run your hands against your dress to wipe the sweat from them as you shuffle over to the mirror to perform a last-second evaluation. You straighten the collar of your little black button-down dress and readjust your pantyhose so the hem isn’t visible from your dress’s high-thigh split. You quickly retrieve your wine-red lipstick to featherly dap it over your lips in reapplication and sloppily attempt to recoil any broken curls before you're startled by another thud on the door.

You growl as you stomp over to the entryway, “Who the fuck?! I said hold-”

You swing the door open to gather those wide honey eyes framed by pretty chestnut waves.

The weight lifted from your chest is quickly chased by the embarrassment of your reaction, “Jake?!” 

The both of you, relieved to see the other, spill your words out in unison, “Where have you been? I was looking for you!”��

You aren’t sure whether the uncontrollable giggle you let out is induced by amusement or nerves. Jake only gives you a peculiar smirk while scanning you up and down. 

He slightly tilts his head and tries to interrogate you through a chuckle, “How long have you been hiding in here?”

You’re only able to bat your eyes at him, clueless as to how to save yourself. The way he reads the situation with such accuracy makes you question whether you have the words “socially celibate” written on your forehead; which isn’t true about you at all. You are usually a social butterfly but something about Jake makes you want to gasp for air. 

“I’m not hiding,” you blurt the lie straight through your teeth. 

“It's blatantly obvious you're hiding,” he playfully rolls his eyes and leans against the doorway, listing the factors that clue him in, “this is not the most accessible bathroom. There’s a bit of wandering you have to do in order to end up here.”

You attempt to redirect his heat back on him, “Well, what are you doing in here?”

His brows draw together in confusion, “You mean…in my bedroom?”

If your face wasn’t beaming pink before it certainly is now.

That night on the phone he had apologized profusely. After you reciprocated the remorse, he insisted on making up for the misunderstanding in person and invited you to a New Year’s Eve party. You spent the hours of that night learning bits and pieces about each other over the phone, yet not once did he make you aware it was his party. 

“I mean you invited me, but you failed to mention you own the place,” you shake your head and light-heartedly chide.

There’s a lot of attention that comes with being the host; attention you couldn’t compete with being that you have known Jake for all of five minutes. You have half a mind to make up some excuse to escape now and be done with this. 

Jake’s words soothe your storming thoughts, “I’m just glad you’re here and I found you. It's almost midnight and I was starting to think you flaked.”

From where your abrupt banter appears you’re not certain, just that you’re pleased with its arrival, “Wow, all these guests and those pretty eyes were searching for little old me? I’m flattered.”

“I was only concerned you might be hiding in a bathroom somewhere,” he teases back.

You roll your eyes and exit the bathroom. Only now do your inhibitions hush, admitting you to espy Jake dressed essentially in the same ensemble as your first meeting, the sore difference being the color palette. However, this single change is not one of subtlety, as you discover navy blue is certainly Jake’s color.

Jake instructs you to reenter the party and he’ll come find you in a few before disappearing into his own bathroom. 

You almost scoff out loud. There is no way you are subjecting yourself back to that lion's den alone. You instead idle about his room. 

You presume this bedroom is the master due to its excessive space and height. Two walls of a deep timber green meet one of exposed cobblestone, where the head of the bed is positioned, and another wall that is made completely of bookshelves. Mounted on these walls are frames of various historic maps and sketches and what you assume to be sailing routes. The decor is accented by espresso wooden floors and leather furniture; everything within your line of sight could certainly tell stories of a life dating well before your own. 

You wonder how it hadn’t occurred to you before, this room might belong to him; Jake is almost the room personified in its rustic aesthetic.

You saunter over to the wall of books, extending your reach to them. The pads of your fingers ridge against the embroidered spines of various vintage books as you skim through their titles; from which you determine the wall displays are most likely of a piratical lore. 

As you scale the bookshelf you run into a bar cart. Surely, he won’t miss a sip of liquor as much as you’re in need of one. You grab a cocktail glass from its rack and start with an easy pour of sparkling water. You aren’t sure which liquor to choose as they are all top shelf but land on tequila, mixing in an extra shot to take off the edge. You dress your drink with the squeeze of a lime and drop it in with a plop of ice, the residual juice left on your fingers begins to sting at your bitten fingernails. You take a moment to admire the symphony of each bubble fizzing its way to the top while ice chimes against your glass; the mere song of a tequila soda already easing your nerves. 

As you sip on your elixir and further snoop, you notice there are not many pictures in the room. The few you do find tell the story of four siblings. Although, you struggle to pick Jake out amongst the bunch, having it narrowed down between two in every photo. 

A whisper from somewhere just beyond your shoulder shatters your sleuthing trance, “Nosy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your drink nearly escapes your glass from the jolt his ambush sends through you.

He further teases you, “Ah, now you’re going to spill stolen liquor on my floors too?”

“It’s not stolen if you owe me a drink, sir,” you quip, referring to his offer of your first encounter. 

He playfully reclaims your drink from you while declaring, “Let’s see how good of a cocktail you can mix-,” he takes a swig and speaks through a stifled cough, “whoa, bit stiff there! I suppose you may just be able to keep up with me.”

You are on the verge of investigating the family pictures when his phone rings. He frowns, yet still retrieves the device from his pocket to read the notification. However, his eyes break from their summon within a second, elated to receive yours once again. 

Jake almost pounces on you, giddy to usher you back to the party, “Come on, I want to introduce you to some people!” 

You tail him down the hall to the main part of the house until you reach the outskirts of crowd congestion. He shifts his lead to your side, his arm still extended to precede you, parting the way through traffic. 

Parading through the guests, almost everyone attempts to greet their beloved host, stepping in front of or trying to walk between you. 

You feel Jake’s broad hand lightly rest against the small of your back in an attempt to stay tethered, your skin waking to the sudden warmth and weight of his touch. 

As you travel deeper into the heart of the crowd, it only multiplies in its density. Jake's fingers delicately travel from your back, over your hip, and wrap into your waist. He tugs you into his side, practically walking hip to hip; a measure taken to make certain you remain by his side.

Ordinarily, touch from any stranger is an unbearable concept you desperately flee from, but Jake’s hands are ones you’ve never known. He grabs you like he is certain your skin is his to touch. Simultaneously, it's assertive and amenable and affectionate. It grants status in a house full of strangers. You know you’ll only grieve its absence. Yet, you fear how you already crave more. 

Your buffer’s escort sees you into the kitchen and immediately draws towards a group of three men: two of a tall lean stature and the other petite like Jake. He walks before you and seizes their attention from whatever concentration previously held it.

You shadow Jake, shifting behind him so there is as little space as possible without physically touching him; weary of your new appetite. 

Even inches away from the men’s huddle, you can barely hear over the roar of the overcrowded house and the blaring music; your only indication of Jake speaking is the wave of his hands and the three boys’ responding laughter. 

You lean as an attempt to hear their conversation when someone stumbles past you, knocking you straight into Jake’s backside and sending him into a light stumble. 

Like some bashful toddler hiding from scary stranger danger, you stand straight and peek over Jake’s shoulder to see three wide-eyed men gaping at you. Jake loops his hand around your arm and casts you dead front and center as if you are a surprise gift he’d been concealing behind his back this whole time. 

He lightly rests his hands on your shoulders and leans towards your ear, you gauge he’s close not by sight, but by the warm sensation of his words tickling your skin, “These are my brothers,” then reverts his attention to the other men, “guys, this is who I was telling you about.”

You formally introduce yourself and one by one they do the same: Sam, whom you recognize from the pictures and assume is related to Jake, Danny, whom you’ve never seen before but seems to possess the same familial chemistry, and finally Josh, who you now identify as the other face you couldn’t differentiate from Jake’s in the photos; you know they must be brothers. 

You turn to confirm your suspicions with Jake and find he is no longer behind you. Eyes apprehensively detailing the scene, you scour till you recover him at the bar topping off your drink. You know he means well but the last thing you want is to be stranded.

As if he can access your thought flow, the man who earlier introduced himself as Josh is standing next to you now and gingerly places his fingers on your bicep to reassure you, “Don’t worry, you're in good hands.”

As your insecurity is driven away, curiosity remains, “So, what has Jake told you exactly?”

“Well- really, only that he came into your store and bugged the shit out of you-,” across from you,  a slightly tipsy and loose-lipped Sam is silenced by Josh nudging him, “ow?!”

“He told us that you hold an interesting perspective and a vast knowledge in the world of music,” Josh earns the title of damage control, “in addition to your immunity to his charms.”

When Josh laughs, it is a grand thing, his whole body participating in his colossal giddy smile. You can’t help but receive the glee he is emitting.

Only now does it occur to you, that pretty smile has graced you once before. It's the same one Jake wore for a mere second, of which the imageless memory has been bugging you for a week. Their wide smile seems to exist in exactly the same shape yet live in different lights: Josh’s a bit more generous and Jake’s a bit more significant.

It isn’t until now that you’re able to delineate all the same features about their face, noting now that they aren’t similarities at all but replicas. Only now can you see they’re twins. 

“Stop scaring her,” Jake’s voice rasps from behind you as a fresh drink is placed in your hand. 

“If you haven’t done that already, I’m not sure what will,” Josh collects Jake’s warning with a banter of his own. 

Suddenly, the boys’ are uprooted by a slow bluesy ballad sounding throughout the house; not a conventional party tune but after all it’s not your party. One after another, each brother’s face lights with recognition of a happening and disappears from the kitchen to the heart of the house, dragging along a someone as their chosen company. You witness every bystander in the kitchen mimic the strange migration. You never imagined a change of song could so dramatically alter the behavior of a room. 

Immediately, consciousness of an unknown tenses in your muscles. Your eyes storm Jake for clarification, yet the coy grin that he produces does nothing to soothe your skies. 

“So it's kind of a Kiszka New Year’s Eve party tradition,” his hand finds the back of his neck as if he is trying to thread together bad news, “to have a last dance just before midnight.”

“Oh,” your chest drops at a much less severe diagnosis than you anticipated. 

Jake distances himself a step from you to offer his hand and bashfully beams, “Care to be my final dance in these last fleeting moments of a year’s dying life?”

“I- um- actually,” you panic grasping for any declination, only to find a confession in reach, “I can’t dance. Well, not slowly anyway.”

He feigns shock, “A beautiful girl of your musical knowledge and you don’t know how to dance?!”

Despite the urge to run far and fast the moment Jake calls you beautiful, you charge to your own rescue, “No one ever taught me!”

He raises an interrogative eyebrow, “You promise that’s the only reason?”

You give Jake a confused nod while also averting your eyes in shame, so you aren’t aware when he lunges to snatch your hand from its comfort zone by your side. 

“It’s never too late to learn,” Jake chimes while tugging you from the kitchen.

The unforeseen tow renders you almost tripping over your own feet, docking your sweating glass of courage on the nearest counter. 

You’re dragged into a tempest of strangers waltzing about until Jake decides your destination in the eye, a center spectacle accessible for anyone to gawk at. 

Jake plants you in position by steading your shoulders. You pay him no mind as your consciousness is currently employed by the surrounding cloud of people. He lifts your arms by the wrists, resting them around his shoulders before drawing in close to place his hands on your waist. You’re once again consumed by the warm weight of his heavy hands that spell you starving for more. 

“Jake-,” you begin to fret, suddenly feeling like you might burst into tears. 

“Shh- It’s okay- Look- Look, it’s simple,” he consoles you like an eager child. 

Jake motions your sight to follow his to the floor as he steps out with his left foot. Paralyzed by your own nerves, Jake doesn’t give up when you completely miss his cue to mimic his movement. You barely process the light chuckle that leaves him as he retraces his step back to starting stance.

Nimbly, his palm delineates your pelvis as his grip runs from your waist to your hip. Jake then replicates his previous action, this time firmly swatting your right side to follow; the slight impact sends an unsolicited shudder down your spine that you pray goes unnoticed. 

Hesitantly, you pursue his step. Then again with your left. Retrace. Repeat. Again. Then again. And again. Until you are swaying along with the rhythm.

Jake's eyes have since left the floor, amused at the sight of concentration you are. He allows you a moment of beginner’s peace before disturbing your count.

“I think you’ve pretty much got it,” his finger lands under your chin to lift your hanging head back to eye level again, rejoining his honey-brown gaze, “you can look at me now.”

You recognize something perennial in his tired eyes and all at once you’re aware the road to unwind is undoubtedly a long one, but whether it routes through pleasure or pain is beyond your discernment; the only thing of which you're certain, is at this moment he became ineradicably and irrevocably undeniable. 

After a few confident strides, you courageously let your head fall to Jake’s shoulder, only tripping over your instructor’s feet a few times but he doesn’t appear to mind. If you were rhythmically inclined you suppose you might even enjoy slow dancing, swaying about solely to remain blissfully close to your pretty dance partner as the rest of the reality seems to wane from existence. 

You swear hours pass before the melody finally fades out, yet Jake and you take your time to rejoin the rest of the world, lingering in your bubble; a countdown to midnight being the hammer that eventually breaks your glass.

TEN! NINE!

You hastily revert back to your own, excusing yourself from any rejection or inquiry by joining the chant. 

EIGHT! SEVEN!

Rather than dwell, your abrupt modesty strikes Jake endeared. He simply restructures himself, respecting your space, with a regaling smirk as he now jumps into the sequence. 

SIX! FIVE!  

Achingly aware that you’re the one who broke it, you’re assailed by a twinge of loss, fighting the appetite to feel him pressed against you once more. 

FOUR! 

That is until you feel Jake’s slight caress against your wrist. At first, you assume it’s an accident. The remaining life of the current year dwindling provokes the roaring crowd to compact, dancing and hugging, in hopes for a better year. 

THREE!

Yet, Jake’s touch doesn’t retract. His fingers dawdle about your skin, dancing down till he climbs into your palm. 

TWO!

His vast hand is extensively more than you’re able to hold, so his calluses tickle as he swiftly rakes them against your skin to interlock his fingers in yours; the bond devoted and interminable.

ONE!

You expect a confession from Jake as he cranes his head to fall in close to yours, but instead, feel a pink blaze rise to your cheeks as he delicately places his pretty plump pout just before the corner of your mouth; the sensation of his facial hair, prickly against your skin, being one you’d like to know further. 

As he pulls back to revel in your bemusement, you’re finally caught in that beautiful beaming smile for the second time. Your ache to witness the entrancing sight again hadn’t registered until it surfaced long enough for you to savor it this time; your hope for the year to come instantly blossoms from Jake’s smile. 

“Happy New Year,” his blessing is barely audible over the cheers of a new era.

Some unseen and unfamiliar force greater than lust, commandeers your limbs diminishing all conscious control as you impulsively cling onto his lapel and yank him back into your orbit.

Recklessly, you devour those pompous pink lips into your own. Jake doesn’t hesitate to consume the small of your back and dip of your waist within the swallowing grip of his palms. His mouth emulates your hunger, letting your kiss flourish and thrive against your lips. You give into your need for an air supply only when you feel the shape of that giant ass smile break the seal of your embrace. Nimbly, you press a small pucker to Jake’s dimples while they exist. 

You remain within the gravity of your shared breaths, giggling your wish against his smile, “Happy New Year, Mr. Kiszka!”

pretty please let me know what you think🫶🏼

taglist❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹- @ageofbajabule @alwaysonthemend @anythingforjtk @becinabubblegvf @dancingcarbon @dannys-dream @dayumclarizzel @do-it-jakey-baby @dont-go-home-without-me @edgingthedarkness @fomopheobe @gretasfallingsky @gretavangirlie @gretavanglimmers @gretavangroupie @gvf23 @gvfmarge @hannahrk @heckingfrick @hsfallingsky @imleavingyoufornewyork @kiszkazz @klarxtr @itsafullmoon @jakesguitarsolo @jakesmustache @jakeysbuttsheeks @lipstickitty @livkiszka @lyndz2names @mindastreamofcolours @mountain-in-springtime @mrbrownstne @nina-23-45 @notjordie-gvf @sacredjake @smoking-jakelane @sparrowofthedawnsworld @styles-canvas @takenbythemadness @dancingcarbon @thewritingbeforesunrise @tommie-gvf @tripthelightfatality @vanfleeter @violet-hayes @wetkleenex-gvf @zoe-tally06

[stardustcatcher]

Pretty Boy

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: SMUT (18+ minors DNI), swearing, needy subby-ish josh, dry humping, praise, fluff, josh being a lil sad (bc that indeed needs a warning), biting? like once, a lot of pet names cause i'm a slut for that, uhh i don't think there's anything else but let me know if i missed anything.

AN: babby posts writing?!? it's a christmas miracle! this has been in my drafts for literally ever but i kinda revised it and decided why the fuck not. idk if i'm really happy with it but i wanted to get something posted and i'm deep in josh land so this is what happened. heavily inspired by the need i have for josh to be in my lap. it's not my best and it's short but i hope you all enjoy it anyway :)

this is also my first time writing in second person and it wasn't as hard as i thought so maybe all my fics will be like that from now on, but with my inconsistency, who knows  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

taglist

You were sitting on the couch, glass of wine in hand reading your favorite book for the umpteenth time when you heard the front door slam. The jingling of keys were heard as they were set on the little hook by the door and you peeked over to where your beautiful lover stood, toeing off his shoes with a heavy sigh. Josh looked absolutely drained, hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, and shoulders tight with an unknown tension. Nevertheless, the sight of him made you smile. He’d been so busy recently, putting the finishing touches on the band’s newest album, and it felt like he hadn’t been home in ages. 

Josh trudged over to where you sat on the couch, his lips pursed in a slight pout as he bent down to kiss your forehead, then your nose, and then planted a chaste peck on your lips. “Hey, mama,” he said with a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes and it seemed forced. 

“Hi, baby. How was work?” you asked, handing him the glass of wine knowing that he could probably use it. He sighed with a roll of his eyes and took a gulp of the red in the glass. 

“Don’t wanna talk about work,” he shook his head, running a hand down his tired face. You nodded, knowing that wasn’t true. Josh always said he didn’t want to talk about what was bothering him, but in fifteen minutes or less, he’d be venting. 

“Okay, we don’t have to talk. But come sit with me, I miss you,” you shut your book, laying it on the coffee table before patting the space beside you. Josh flopped down on the cushion, sinking into the softness before you cuddled up to his side, head on his chest and arm thrown around his waist. His hand made its way into your hair, smoothing it over and pressing his fingers lightly into your scalp. His lips left a kiss on your temple as you listened to the song of his heartbeat, his body heat warming you up. 

“How was your day? Hope it was better than mine,” he whispered, lips on your forehead. 

“Boring without you,” you answered. “I put those shelves up in the bedroom, did the laundry, and cleaned up the kitchen. Just stuff that needed to get done,” you shrugged and felt his chest rumble with a small laugh. 

“What a pretty little homemaker you are,” he chuckled.

“Shut up,” you laughed along with him, shoving his side playfully. “I’m happy you're home.”

“I’m happy to be home,” he replied with a hum. “Today was just not my day. Sam was extra late today and cranky, we found out that one of the takes for a song we recorded was almost completely unusable, Jake was being an ass, I didn’t get to eat lunch, and just to top it all off, I got a fucking flat tire on the way home,” Josh ranted, face becoming redder with each inconvenience he recalled. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” you pouted at him, genuinely upset that he had such a bad day. Josh was the sweetest, kindest man you’d ever met. He deserved nothing but the most wonderful days. “I can’t do much but would a cuddle help?” you asked hopefully, pushing yourself away from him and opening your arms welcomingly. Josh smiled, the first real one you’d seen, his pearly white perfect teeth on display, looking just a little bit happier at the suggestion. 

“A cuddle always helps,” he grinned. You readjusted yourself in your seat, lifting the blanket up with one hand and patting your lap with the other. 

Josh got up before plopping himself down in your lap, straddling you with a leg on the side of each hip. His head burrowed into your neck as you laid the blanket back over the both of you. Your left hand moved to his curls, raking your fingers through them while your right hand slid under the back of his shirt, nails training up and down his spine. He wrapped himself around you like a koala, inhaling the scent of your shampoo and body wash, taking slow deep breaths and calming himself. 

With his incessant need for constant physical touch, you’d found out early in your relationship that this was the ideal position for Josh to get what he needed to ground himself and calm down. Everyone needed to be held sometimes, and he was no exception. His arm tenderly wrapped around your waist as he gave you a squeeze, his breath warm and soothing against your neck. “Is there anything else on your mind, lover?” you asked, leaning your cheek against his head as you continued to rub his back. 

“Just miss you, I guess,” he mumbled into your skin. “Feels like forever since we’ve been like this. Miss holding you, being held by you. Miss your kisses, touching you, loving on you. Just miss you.”

“I miss you too, Josh,” you sighed, feeling tears well in your eyes at the thought of him feeling so starved for attention and affection and love. “But we’re here now, and you’re off for the next few days, aren’t you?”

He nodded, hair tickling your face. “Yeah, wanna spend them just like this,” he hummed, completely and utterly content. 

After a few moments he lifted his head, moving to rest his forehead against yours. His lips gently pressed into yours  and he melted against you even more, your hands moving to hold his hips. Your lips melded together as he poured all his love into you with a kiss that said I love you, I miss you, I need you. 

Josh deepened the kiss as his mouth parted, a tiny high pitched whine escaping his throat. His hands moved from behind you to tug at the bottom of your shirt. “Want it off,” he muttered against your lips. You smiled before pulling back, tugging your shirt off carelessly and tossing it behind you as he did the same with his own. He groaned at the sight of your naked chest and you could feel him grow hard in his pants from where he sat in your lap. “You’re so beautiful, mama,” Josh whispered before reconnecting your lips, his tongue immediately tangling with yours in a sloppy kiss. You swallowed the wanton moans and sighs that left him, gulping them down greedily as his hips began to move against you on their own accord. “Fuck,” he shuddered when his hips caught a particularly good spot.

“Feel good, sweet boy?” you asked, caressing his cheek with your thumb. His face was flushed and his eyes were clazed over with lust and love and pleasure. “It’s been so long, you must be real pent up, huh?”

“Yeah,” his breath hitched and eyes clenched shut as he ground his covered c ock against your lower stomach. “I had plans, y’know. Soon as I got home, was gonna make you cum on my tongue, then my fingers. Then I was going to fuck you, slow and sweet, just like you deserve.”

“We can still do all that, baby,” you kissed his neck, sucking and biting in all the places you knew drove him crazy. “But you deserve this, and you look so fucking pretty like this, Joshua.”

He keened high in his throat, the noise needy as his hands grappled at your sides, squeezing the soft flesh. “Say that again, please?”

“You like being called pretty, baby?” you whispered into his ear as his head dropped to your shoulder, his hips grinding faster against you now. “You wanna be my pretty good boy?”

“Yes,” he groaned, biting lightly at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “Gonna be so good for you, promise.”

“You already are, baby,” you said, and he was. Josh was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen, all the time. When he was on stage performing for thousands, when he was concentrating with his tongue poking between his lips, when he was sitting as still as he possibly could while getting his rhinestones applied, but he was especially pretty like this when he was sat on your lap, grinding his hips back and forth feverishly chasing that high that was building in the pit of his stomach. You kissed his bare shoulder, loving the feeling of his naked chest pressed against yours, how his hips rutted into you without care, how his neck and chest and ears were all blushed pretty pink. Your hands held his hips firmly, helping guide his movements, to grind him down on you just a little bit harder. “You’re always so good for me, Josh. So good to me. No one has ever loved me like you do, cared for me like you do, fucked me like to do, made me cum like you do. My best boy, the sweetest boy in the world, and you’re all mine. Aren’t you?”

“All yours, all fucking yours,” he gasped and lifted his head and threw it back, an expression of pure bliss etched onto his god-like face. 

“God, I’m the luckiest woman in the world. Do you know how many people would kill to see you like this and I get it all the time, anytime I want,” you mouthed at his collar bones and moved one hand from his hip to cup the bulge in his pants. “You’re so hard, pretty boy. This must hurt. You wanna cum?”

“So bad,” he nodded, his back arching while he ground into the palm of your hand. You could almost feel him throb through his pants. 

“Go ahead, cum for me,” you leaned up to capture his lips once more. “Just like this. I wanna see it.”

“But my pants,” he whined but didn’t stop or slow his movements. 

“I don’t care, and I don’t think you do either. Now c’mon, make a mess, pretty boy.”

A broken moan clawed from the deep within his chest as his hips stuttered against you and a warm wet spot blossomed on the front of his pants, darkening the fabric. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cried before slowing the movement of his hips gradually, riding out his high. 

When it finally died down, he slumped forward and pressed a row of kisses across your shoulder, breaths coming out in heavy pants. “Feel better?” you asked, hand tangling in his hair once more. 

“So much,” he smiled with an airy, fucked out giggle. “Thank you, darling. I needed that so bad, you have no idea.”

“Anything for my pretty boy,” you ran a hand over his warm face before tapping his hip. “Now get up and I’ll run us a bath, then we can order-in dinner. How does that sound?”

“Like heaven.”

=

taglist: @peachpitpearls @alexxavicry @spark-my-nature

[dilflover-4ever]

Open road

Josh x f!reader

Friends to lovers

Summary: When summer comes and your junior year in college closes, you and your best friend decide a cross-state roadtrip was the perfect idea. In the back of your mind while planning the trip was the crippling fear you wouldn’t last the trip without spilling your feelings for your friend. Losing him was something you didn’t even want to think about, it made your heart hurt.

Minors DNI!!!

Warnings: fluff (not a warning but) Angst, arguing, crying, emotions, Smut, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, oral sex (m & f receiving), body marking (?), kissing, slight choking, I think that’s it lmk if I missed any

Warnings aren’t specified with each chapter so read at your own discretion.

a/n: So excited for this new series guys! But I probably should wait bc my schedule is filled up but I’m gonna do it anyways! Hope this is entertaining and a good read for yall - I’m working out kinks in my writing so bear with me if it’s shitty. Chapters under cut!

~~~~~~~

Chapter will be here when they come ;)

[sunshinevanfleet]

use somebody - j. kiszka

pairing: jake x reader

a/n: hi there everyone! this one is for u @goldlionsilversun for inspiring me to write this<3 it is loosely based on the song 'use somebody' by kings of leon, so give that a listen if you so desire. i hope everyone enjoys. pls let me know ur thoughts. ok love u bye

genre: smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), angst

word count: 3.7k

summary: jake vents his frustrations to the reader. some truths come out.

warnings: alcohol consumption, oral (m receiving), spanking, unprotected sex, angst, explicit sex scenes, etc.

“Rock ‘n roll’s not always sunshine and rainbows, you know.” A small, bratty smile played on Jake’s lips as he lifted the beer bottle to his lips. He looked at you out of the corner of his eye as he drank, his eyes taking in your expression.

“What makes you say that?” You lifted an eyebrow at him curiously. He kicked back in his chair, bare feet propped on the little ottoman in front of him. His figure looked strangely out of place in your hotel room, so relaxed in the foreign place. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, ripped apart in your heated struggle against one another only minutes before; it was strange how quickly the two of you went from fondling each other to an existential discussion.

He emptied his drink, tossing the bottle easily into the trash bin in the corner. He folded his arms behind his head. His glassy eyes bored into you intensely; you squirmed a bit in your own seat across from him. 

“So many things…” he sighed heavily. The heavy expression on his face made him look suddenly older; he looked as if he were carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders.

“It can’t be too bad,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “Waking up in a new city every morning. Meeting new people. Having thousands of people screaming your name.” You smiled cheekily.

The corner of his lips turned up, but he shook his head. “Who gives a shit how many people are screaming your name, if you don’t have anyone just saying it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean– picture this…” He splayed his hands out in front of him, as if lifting a poster into the air. “You’ve got all of these people who think they know you… They think they love you. They care about you in some parasocial way, of course, but…” he sighed again. “You’ve got no one there who actually knows you. Who actually cares about you.”

You frowned. “Jake, I’m sure there are plenty of people who actually care about you.”

He laughed. It was a humorless sound, almost bitter. 

“That’s not what I mean, Y/N.”

You weren’t sure exactly what he meant. 

“The sex is fine,” he said, continuing on in his explanation. 

“Just fine?”

“Just fine,” he said, voice almost bored. “Got about a dozen girls to keep my bed warm, sure, but what’s any of that good for?”

An amused smile graced your lips. You were too drunk to be having this discussion, and so was he. The whole thing was all over the place. You came up here just to be another one of those dozen girls, as you had time and time again. But sometimes you got your angsty Jake; every now and then, you were his escape. His person to vent to.

“Yet you keep coming back,” you said softly. He looked at you as if you had grown another head. He hated when you made sense, when you made him realize he had a part in all of his own problems. Whose fault was it that he kept fucking a different girl in every city?

“What?”

“You keep hooking up with random girls, instead of settling down. That’s what you’re getting at, right? You want someone who sees you… You want someone who’s yours.”

“Sure,” he said, still not following.

“But you don’t let yourself have it.”

“You’re saying this is my fault.”

“I’m saying you have a part in it, Jake,” you said reasonably. “You put all these walls up, all of these protections. The only time you’re vulnerable is when you’re drunk.”

“That’s not true,” he said. He almost sounded hurt.

“Well, that’s the only time you’re vulnerable with me. Of course, I wouldn’t know anything about your everyday life. You only call me when you want some ass.”

“That’s not true, either.”

He was looking hurt, now. His eyes softened, but you could see how hard he clenched his jaw. One of his hands picked at the frayed upholstery of the chair, his finger finding a string and twisting it roughly around his finger. 

“I dunno,” you said, with a little more empathy, “it sometimes feels that way to me, at least. I never see you outside of these shitty hotel rooms.”

It was true; your only in-person meetings were hookups in stuffy hotel rooms, his dressing room, and the tour bus occasionally. You knew he was closer to you than most of the other girls he was sleeping with. The two of you could almost be considered good friends. You texted often, if not every day, and facetimed once or twice a week. But you had never been together outside of fucking each other once or twice every blue moon, when you ended up in the same city at the same time. 

“I still talk to you outside of these places,” he said, voice weak. “It’s not like– like with the others. I can actually talk to you.”

“Okay,” you said, regretting your previous words. “That was harsh, I’ll admit it… But I’d still like to see you outside of these four walls.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

The two of you were quiet. He stared out of the sliding glass door, out onto the balcony. You stared at him. Seeing him looking so torn apart made your stomach do a turn. His glossy eyes watched a plane passing by, miles and miles away, lights flickering in the darkness. You couldn’t tell if his eyes were wet from the drinks or because he was upset. You fidgeted with one of your rings, worried. 

“I need a minute,” Jake breathed after a moment. He pushed out of the chair and ambled out onto the balcony, leaving the door cracked behind him. You pulled your bare feet up into your own chair, tucking them beneath you. Outside, Jake leaned over the balcony railing, breathing in the night. You recognized that he was probably feeling trapped by your presence, but still you wanted to go out there to him. Snake your arms around his waist and press your face into his back. You wanted to be skin-to-skin with him, breathing in the scent of his skin mixed with the cheap beer he had been drinking. 

Several long, dragging minutes passed. You wondered if you should just leave, even though it was your hotel room. Being by yourself began to feel like the only option; when Jake got into one of his moods, it was very hard to drag him out. You didn’t want to leave him, but he was the type to close-off and run if you pushed him too far. Even worse, there was the possibility that he would storm off and find another girl to blow off his steam with. That was almost too much to handle. 

He was able to breathe for almost ten minutes before you couldn’t take the aching silence anymore. You padded over to the glass door, and joined him outside. Without a word, you shuffled up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You rested your cheek against his back, smelling the leftover cologne and tangy scent of his sweat mingling on the fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled quietly. Your voice was barely audible over the sound of the busy streets below; it was early enough for people to still be out bar-hopping and being too loud in public. Even several stories up, Friday nights were always loud in the city after hours. “I didn’t mean to sound like an asshole back there.”

“‘S okay,” Jake said, though it didn’t sound like it was. “Just been having a hard time lately. I know it sounds cliche, but nobody understands.”

“No,” you agreed. “I guess I can’t understand what’s going through that pretty little head of yours.”

He chuckled lightly at your words.

“But I can listen, and I can be here for you. If you want me to, that is.”

With a deep breath, you felt him relax slightly under your touch. He wriggled in your arms, spinning around to face you. Leaning back against the railing, he was silhouetted by the shining red lights from the dive bar across the street. The air seemed to glow around him, enhancing his soft features and making him look even more upset. You reached for him, one of your hands pressing delicately against the side of his face. Tracing your thumb over his cheek, down to the corner of his lips, you pressed closer to him. He was beautiful, in a broken sort of way. 

“You just gonna stare at me all night?”

You smiled. “God, I’m trying to have a moment here with you, Jake.”

His lips turned up, though it didn’t completely meet his eyes. “I’d like to have more than a moment with you, my dear,” he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. He leaned into you, his nose brushing yours as he hovered less than an inch away. His warm breath tickled your lips and cheeks as he eyed you.

“Guess it’s your turn to stare at me, then, huh?”

Your snarky reply was cut off by him pressing his mouth against yours. The kiss was slow, but there was an undertone of desperation to it. His lips were soft, like rose petals, pressing against yours firmly. He hooked one finger under your chin, lifting your face closer to his, opening you up for him. You clutched at the fabric of his shirt, bunching it in your hand as you tried your best to pull him even closer. The two of you stumbled drunkenly, pressing him back against the railing. Your skin was burning against his, you dressed in only your bra and his shirt halfway off. 

One of your hands slipped beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, pushing it off of his shoulders. He surrendered to you for a moment, taking his hands off of you for one second to shrug the fabric off before he was all over you again. One hand found the back of your neck and the other tangled roughly in your hair; you moaned against his lips–this was your Jake, fiery and burning against you. You clutched at his shoulder with one hand, while your other hand snaked between your bodies. Your fingers found the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button with practiced ease. Teasingly, you dragged your fingertips over the clothed form of his bulge, already straining against his pants.

He sighed against you, hips twitching imperceptibly. Your lips parted for half a second, both of you catching your breath before diving back in. At this, your hand pushed beyond the fabric of his jeans and underwear, finding his throbbing length. 

He hissed then, feeling your fingertips touching him, whispering against the skin. You touched him just enough for him to feel it, your thumb ghosting over him to spread out the moisture from his leaking tip. You swallowed his moan with a smile, pleased that you had this effect on him. A second later, you pushed him back, pulling your raw lips away from him. 

“What are you doing?” he asked impatiently, watching as you carefully peeled his pants down, exposing his cock to the cool night air.

“Seems like you need some special attention, Jakey.” You dropped to your knees without a second thought. You gazed up at him through your lashes as you tied your hair back from your face. The view of him from this angle was salacious, his hair slicked down on his forehead, eyes hooded as he watched you expectantly. A nasty little grin played on your lips as you finally leaned into him, gathering saliva in your mouth and licking a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock. As you reached the tip, you gently parted your lips around him, swirling your tongue tenderly around the tip.

Jake groaned, a low, gravelly sound that sent a jolt down your spine and straight to your core. You couldn’t wait for him to lose his patience; you loved teasing him to the point of no return, loved getting him so worked up that he’d fuck you until the muscles in your legs seized up and you couldn’t walk. You drooled around his cock at the thought, ever so slowly bobbing your head and suckling softly. You couldn’t give him too much– you had to keep him just on the edge of toe-curling pleasure until he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“God, fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, throwing his head back.

You hollowed your cheeks around him, speeding up your movements for a second before slowing down again, and repeating your ministrations over and over. You used one of your hands to hold his hips back against the balcony railing, while the other joined your mouth on his cock. Your movements had increased from slow and sensual to almost aggressive, thrusting him quickly towards his climax. As you flicked your tongue against the vein at the base of his cock, you could feel his thighs trembling slightly. Little whimpered moans and breathy pants of your name poured from his lips; he was so pretty standing there above you, unable to look you in the eyes as you took care of him. You adored the way he gazed down at you, almost hypnotized, then looked away as he became bashful at the sounds he was letting out. 

Trying to ignore the needy throbbing between your own legs, you pushed yourself to the limit. Tears filled your eyes as you took him completely to the base, the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat as you moaned around him. He moaned sharply, one of his hands tangling into your hair once again.

“Ah, Y/N, enough,” he hissed, pulling against the strands of your hair. You groaned in protest around him, still swirling your tongue with determination. Another pointed moan left his lips, but he still was pulling you away. “I said enough,” he growled, voice tinged with frustration. He dragged you up to your feet, one hand in your hair and the other gripping your arm.

You stared at him, wide-eyed with an excited sort of fear. Licking your lips, you looked at him with those doe eyes and waited for his next move. 

“Feeling like a dirty girl tonight, huh?” The hand that was wrapped around your arm moved to circle around your throat. Your heart thrummed excitedly at the feeling of his calloused fingers pressing into the delicate, unmarked skin of your neck. He squeezed, perhaps harder than intended, and you winced as he pressed his lips to yours. A breathy sigh left your lips, the pain deliciously blooming beneath his fingers. You were dripping at the thought of what was coming next: Jake dragging you back into the room to drill you into the mattress.

But you were wrong.

“Think you need to be punished, my dirty girl,” he muttered as he pulled out of the kiss. “When I tell you to do something, you do it. You understand?”

“Hmm, yes, sir,” you responded. A mischievous glint flickered in your eyes; he knew you loved it when he treated you like a disobedient little brat. 

“That’s right, baby,” he said, tracing his touch over the finger-shaped bruises blooming on your neck. He pulled your hair sharply, exposing your throat to him fully. He trailed his mouth down your jawline, marking the skin with his teeth before finding your neck and sucking a few marks into the skin. You writhed in his grip, desperate for him to get his hands on the rest of you. At this rate, you were going to orgasm from the gravelly sound of his voice egging you on.

“Take these off,” he hooked one finger into the waistband of your pants and snapped the waistband against your skin. You bit your lip; it crossed your mind to disobey him again, to see just how worked up you could get him, but you caught the look in his eyes and knew he wasn’t in a joking mood tonight. He was going to ruin you. You removed the pants, goosebumps prickling your burning skin as the cool night air surrounded you. 

His eyes drank you in for a moment, dragging over the curves and valleys of your body hungrily. He bit his lip, taking a deep breath before he reached for you again. He directed you towards the balcony railing, pushing you against it. He placed one hand in the center of your back and pushed down, bending you over the cool metal. You hissed as it bit into your skin, but the pain was nothing in comparison to his burning touch. His other hand traced a path down your spine, over the curve of your ass, and found its way in between your legs. You were soaked clean through your panties, even your thighs were sticking together, slick with your arousal. Jake groaned throatily at the sight. 

“You’re a fucking mess for me, baby,” he said, a dark chuckle tumbling from his lips.

“Only for you,” you said, voice shaky. Your legs were weak already; he practically had you on your tip-toes, chest pushed over the side of the railing; his body pressing you against the metal was the only thing keeping you grounded. The thrill of it all was only making you more needy for him.

There was a smile in his tone as he spoke again, “Look at you, baby, being all sweet for me now.” His palm traced up your soaked slit and found your ass, rubbing lovingly against the skin. “Oh, it’s just too bad I’m gonna have to mark this pretty little ass up…”

You gasped at his words, the hand quickly following his sentence with a sharp slap against your ass. You bit your lip to keep from crying out, your brows pulled together at the delightful pain spreading over your skin. Your core was throbbing desperately at this point, clenching around nothing. You needed him so badly you thought you might scream.

“Jake, please,” you breathed, unable to even form a proper sentence. 

“Please, what?” he asked, voice curious.

“Just please, please do something,” you whined. 

He laughed again. “I am doing something sweetheart…”

You groaned. At that, there was another ringing slap and burning pain blooming over the same spot. You knew you were going to be sore tomorrow, his handprint stained into your skin like a red and purple mosaic underneath your clothes. The sweet torture of his hand landing blows against you came again, and again as you begged him for mercy. By the end of it all, you were trembling so badly and aching between your legs so much that you were practically on the edge. As soon as he touched you, you thought you were going to explode.

Your dear Jake wasted no time. 

“Ready for me, sweet baby? Ready for me to finish torturing your aching little pussy?” His words dripped with pure lust, hot and breathy in your ear. The spanking had done as much for him as it had for you, and that fact made things even worse. You squirmed wildly as he finally pressed against you, swollen tip finding your entrance with ease.

“Fuck me, please Jake,” you cried out. Your hands shook as you gripped the metal railing pressed into your stomach. There would be another mark for you to worry about in the morning, but you didn’t care. Jake bottomed out inside of you and an obscene noise tore from your lips, luckily still drowned out by the sound of the city below. 

Sweat poured down your face as you grew dizzy at the feeling of his hips slamming into you. You could barely see, your vision swimming as your orgasm approached at the speed of light. Your knees had collapsed minutes ago, but Jake and the railing held you in place as he drilled into you. The pair of you were soaked through with your arousal, filthy wet noises joining the chorus of both of your moans and whines as he fucked you ruthlessly. 

“Y/N, I need you to cum,” Jake breathed, pressing his forehead against your back. His lips found the skin of your shoulder, kissing you gently. The feeling drove you crazy, how gentle he was being despite his unwavering pace fucking into you. “I need you to cum, baby, I’m not gonna last much longer.” His breath fanned over your back.

He needn’t tell you twice. With a few more hard thrusts, his cock had you flying into your climax. You cried out his name, eyes squeezed shut so tightly that a thousand colors bloomed behind your eyelids. He rode you through your orgasm, hips growing shaky as he tried his hardest to hold his own off. You came down, still clenching around him, and he forced himself to pull out of you. His release painted the skin of your back, warm against your cooling skin. You breathed deeply as you pushed away from the balcony railing. The ache was finally beginning to settle into your body; you were sore all over.

Jake buttoned his pants back up, and retrieved his shirt from the floor so you could wear it. You hobbled clumsily back into the hotel room, letting him close the door behind the two of you. 

“I’ll get you a rag,” he said gently, as you flopped face-down onto the bed. He returned from the bathroom, unhooking your bra and using the rag to wipe all his cum off of your skin. As he stood, one of his hands gently rubbed over the raw skin of your bare ass. You winced. “Sorry, baby.”

“‘S okay,” you muttered, voice weak. You were exhausted. He returned again, patiently dressing you in his shirt and buttoning it halfway. You muttered a garbled thanks, dazed as he joined you in your bed, curled up beneath the covers.

“Would now be a bad time to say that I was talking about us earlier?”

“What?” you asked. A yawn played on your lips, and you breathed him in as he snaked his arms around you. You buried your face into his neck.

“I just– I don’t wanna be fuckbuddies anymore, Y/N. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing your lips gently to his throat. 

“‘Bout time you came out and said it.”